Chapter 6

“My father’s death was an accident. That’s what everyone said. But I never believed it.”

The words hung between us like smoke — thick, choking, impossible to wave away. I reached for him before I thought, my hand curling around his arm, and he flinched. Not from me — from the memory.

“What do you mean you never believed it?” I said soft as I could. “Caelum…”

He turned his back, stared out at the skyline like the answer was written somewhere in the glass and steel. “They said he drove off the road late at night. Rain-slicked highway. Fell asleep at the wheel. Open-and-shut.” He paused, voice scraping raw. “He didn’t fall asleep. My father never drove when he was tired. Never drank and drove. And he always took the scenic route home — not the highway.”

My stomach twisted tight. “So who…?”

“I don’t know.” He faced me again, grey eyes stormy. “But I know Diana moved into the house three weeks later. And I know she started signing papers my father hadn’t finished. And I know —” He cut himself off, jaw clenching so hard I could see the muscle jump. “I’ve spent years looking. Every lead dead ends. Every witness suddenly ‘can’t remember.’ Every file goes missing.”

“Someone’s covering it up.”

“Someone’s been covering it up for ten years.” He ran a hand through his hair, breath ragged. “And now whoever’s texting you thinks they know something. And they’re dangling it — not to help. To watch us choke on it.”

My phone buzzed once more — not a message this time. A photo. Blurry, old, night-time. Two figures standing beside a dark car on a rainy road. One woman — tall, sharp silhouette, unmistakably Diana. And beside her… a younger man. Rowan. Barely twenty.

No message. Just the image.

I showed Caelum. His face drained of every drop of color. For a second I thought he might actually collapse.

“He was there,” he whispered. “Rowan was there. That night.”

 

We spent the rest of the afternoon locked in his study, doors shut, blinds drawn like the walls themselves had ears. Caelum pulled up old news reports, police files he’d fought for, photos he’d hoarded — all the pieces he’d never shown anyone.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I asked gently.

“Who?” He gave a bitter, hollow laugh. “The board? Half of them were already on her payroll. The police? They closed the case in forty-eight hours. I was twenty-two. Just a boy grieving his father. Everyone told me I was looking for blame because I couldn’t accept loss.” His voice cracked. “Maybe they were right. Maybe I’ve been chasing ghosts.”

I reached across the desk, covered his hand with mine. His skin was cold. “You’re not chasing ghosts. You’re chasing the truth. And now someone’s giving you proof.”

“Or leading me into a trap.” He threaded his fingers through mine — desperate, clinging. “If Rowan was there… if Diana was there… they’ll kill anyone who gets close to that truth, Zara. My father. My fiancée left because she saw too much. And now you —” He gripped my hand tighter. “I can’t lose you too.”

Something broke open in my chest — fear, yes, but stronger than that was fire. I wasn’t just his wife on paper. I wasn’t just a name he’d found clean. I was in this. All the way.

“Then we don’t let them,” I said, leaning in. “We don’t play their game. We play ours. We find the truth first. And we hit them where it hurts — right in front of everyone.”

He looked at me — really looked — and for the first time I saw something new in his eyes. Not just gratitude. Not just relief. Hope.

Then the moment shifted. He leaned closer, slow, like he was terrified I’d pull away. I didn’t. My breath caught. His forehead rested against mine, our noses brushing, and when he kissed me it was soft — tentative, questioning, like he was asking permission he already knew he wanted.

I kissed him back. Just as gentle. Just as unsure. And for a second everything fell away — the messages, Diana, the secrets — there was only him, warm and solid and real.

Then he pulled back.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was rough, breathless. He stood, stepped away, ran a hand over his face like he was trying to wake himself up. “I shouldn’t have — I didn’t mean —”

I stood too, heart hammering so hard it shook. “I wanted it, Caelum.”

He looked at me, pain and longing warring in his face. “We don’t know who’s sending those messages. We don’t know if you’re safe. If I —” He stopped, swallowed hard. “If I let myself feel this… I won’t be able to protect you. Not properly. Not from them.”

“You won’t protect me by pushing me away.” I stepped closer, voice steady. “I’m not fragile. And I’m not leaving.”

He stared at me, chest rising and falling, fighting a battle only he could see. Then he reached out — hesitated — and took my hand again, lacing our fingers tight.

“Okay,” he whispered. “But we go slow. Please.”

“Slow,” I promised.

 

That evening, the penthouse door opened without warning.

I was in the kitchen making tea when I heard voices — Caelum’s, sharp and surprised. Then a man’s voice, low, lazy, dripping with arrogance I’d already learned to hate.

Rowan.

I walked into the living room. He was standing there, uninvited, looking around like he owned the furniture. Caelum stood between him and me, tense as a drawn bow.

“Thought I’d drop by,” Rowan said, smiling like a wolf. “See how the happy couple’s getting on. Before the board tears it all apart.”

“Get out,” Caelum said, cold and lethal.

“Not yet.” Rowan’s eyes flicked to me, slow and insulting. “You know, Zara… I’ve been thinking. How did a nobody like you land the richest man in the city? Must be something special about you.” He took a step forward. “Or someone paid you.”

I didn’t flinch. “And if someone did? What’s it to you?”

Rowan’s smile died. “Because whoever sent you… they’re going to destroy him. And then they’re going to destroy you. And I’m the only one who knows how to stop it.”

Silence. Caelum stiffened beside me. “What are you talking about?”

Rowan looked at the door, lowered his voice. “They didn’t just kill your father, Caelum. They’re planning something bigger. Something that’ll bring down the whole company. And I’m not going down with it.” He paused, swallowed hard. “I can help you. But you have to get me out from under her thumb first. And you have to promise — when this is over — I walk away free.”

Caelum studied him, searching for the lie. “Why should I believe you?”

Rowan’s face hardened into something raw and honest. “Because I’m tired of being her puppet. And because… I saw what happened that night. I saw who really drove that car off the road. And I’ve carried it every single day since.”

My breath caught. Caelum went still as stone.

“Tell me,” Caelum said, quiet as death.

Rowan shook his head, eyes darting to the hallway, terrified. “Not here. She has eyes everywhere. Meet me — tomorrow night. At the old boathouse by the river. Alone.”

“Alone?” I said.

“Caelum.” Rowan looked at him, desperate. “If she sees you with me… she’ll know. And then we’re all dead.” He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Don’t be late. And Zara? Watch your back. Whoever’s texting you… they’re not your friend. They’re the one pulling the strings.”

He was gone before we could say another word.

We stood there in the quiet, two people holding hands, staring at the empty doorway.

“Caelum,” I said. “What do we do?”

He looked at me — jaw set, eyes fierce, resolved. “We go. But not alone.”