31

Chapter 31

Martin's Pov

Two days had passed since my meeting with Cole. I had spent every hour, minutes and seconds watching the Rodrigo mansion.

I wasn’t reckless this time, just patient, waiting for the right moment to make my presence known. With calculative precision I watched when and what time they moved out and came into the mansion.

Cole said summer was ending and school would start soon. That meant shopping, uniforms, and the routines wealthy families never missed.

During my days as a kid, my mum had taken me to those same stores to buy things I hardly used. Those small, neat memories stuck with me and made the long hours in my car feel like they had a purpose.

If Adrian left the mansion, it would probably be for something like this.

I parked where the cameras had blind spots. Since meeting Cole I’d come here daily—dawn to midnight learning the mansion’s rhythm: the gardener who unlocked the side gate, the delivery trucks that came at noon, the black Mercedes that left each morning for Rodrigo Industries’ underground parking. Darcy’s pattern told me nothing useful; he returned late most nights, either working late or avoiding something.

At five a black Range Rover pulled out of the gate. It waited inside for an hour, then drove away. I followed at a safe distance.

The drive took about thirty minutes as the sun slid toward the horizon. My heart picked up—part nervous, part a storm of other things I couldn’t name. It had been three years since I last saw Adrian face to face, since I walked away from a visiting room while she cried. How would she look? Would she run? Would she recognize me?

Riverside Shopping Center is the kind of place where you disappear into the crowd where families and couples and the hum of ordinary life. I pulled a hoodie low, kept my head down, and moved in with the flow.

There she was.

Adrian walked with a small girl, Pink—who clung to her hand, animated and trusting. Adrian looked good. Not the pale, worn woman from hard nights and harder choices. Her hair was longer and glossy. Her skin had color. Jeans and a neat blouse fit her well. She moved with purpose, not panic.

Watching her smile at the kid cut through me. The girl looked at Adrian with the simple adoration children give. That warmth in Adrian’s face, gentle, full, was something I’d rarely seen before. It hit me harder than I expected.

Darcy was behind, following them in a suit that screamed money. He looked like the kind of man who controlled.

If Adrian had used men like him before, that would have been one story. Today, though, their dynamic was distant. No private touches, no jokes passed between them—Adrian was a nanny. Relief washed over me. Being a nanny meant she could be fired or exposed, not shielded like a lover.

I kept a careful distance. They moved through the store with purpose. Selecting uniforms, testing backpacks, checking sizes. Adrian laughed with Pink. Darcy pulled a credit card out without a second thought and paid. For him, money solved the problem; for others it didn’t.

When Adrian told Darcy and Pink she’d be right back and ducked into the pharmacy, I knew this was my moment.

The pharmacy store inside the mall was a bit small and tight. It was a reasonable place to show myself and confront her.

She spoke quietly to the clerk and slipped something into her purse. From where I stood I couldn’t read the label, only the furtive motion of her hand. Pills of some kind. Her hand moved slowly and it caught my attention. She covered the pills like she didn't want it seen.

Then she turned to the exit door when I stepped in front of her, lowered my hood cap for her to see my face.

“Hello, Adrian,” I said.

Her color drained. Her bag fell on the floor and the contents in the bag spilled—pads, over-the-counter meds, a bright pencil case. She choked on a breath.

“You,” she whispered.

“Me,” I said. “Miss me?”

She froze, her body tense with that old, familiar fear—the Adrian who once trusted too easily and paid the price for it.

“You can’t be here,” she said.

“Can’t I?” I shrugged. “It’s a free country. I can shop where I like.”

“You followed me,” she said, steadying herself.

“You noticed.” I let a small, cornered smile cross my mouth. “You always notice things fast.”

“Stay away from me, Martin.”

“Or what?” I asked. “You’ll tell security? Your billionaire boss? Think he’ll care about your past? That you once did what you had to do?”

I saw fear flare in her eyes. Satisfaction warmed me—an ugly, precise warmth. She knew what could happen if I decided to interfere. A few words could make life awkward. A few hints could make doors close.

“I haven’t told anyone about you,” she said. “I kept it quiet. I’m trying to move on.”

“Move on,” I echoed. “Play house with a rich man and nanny for his child. That’s moving on.”

My words hit her. She flinched like a struck thing. A quick stab of guilt crossed me—brief and worthless and I pushed it down.

She’d made choices,but surviving doesn’t mean she's strong.

“Why are you here Martin?” she asked, voice steadier now. There was caution in it I hadn’t expected.

“To remind you,” I said. “Remember who put you in that cell. Remember who remembers.”

She met my eyes and I saw more than fear. Underneath was a hard set to her jaw, a new line of resolve. “You can’t hurt me anymore,” she said. “I won’t let you.”

Those words should have satisfied me—defiance wrapped in courage should be easy to break. Instead they gave me pause. Has time changed her more than I’d thought? Was she stronger now?

Voices at the front of the store. Darcy was calling her name, a clerk scanning a barcode—cut the moment short.

“This isn’t over,” I told her. “We’ll talk again.”

I pulled my hood to cover my face to be unnoticed by Darcy, then I walked into the crowd.

Moving back to the car, I was satisfied with today's achievement.

Seeing Adrian stirred back the old resentment, jealousy and a strange, sour regret.

The visiting room’s images returned: her hair tied back, that small voice explaining how she survived on tips and hard choices. Those past moments never really closed.

On the drive home the city blurred into lines of amber. Bits of the day stuck with me—the way Pink watched Adrian, the secretive motion at the pharmacy, Darcy’s distracted ease.

Those small details were anchors. I would not act on impulse. Rushing had gotten me into trouble once. Patience had gotten me out.

Cole had opened the door, but the satisfaction of seeing Adrian belonged to me. Being noticed is power. I planned to use that power carefully.

I would map her routines, note the people who mattered to her, and wait for an opening. No loud threats in public. No boastful displays. Only slow pressure, that's enough to unsettle and force mistakes, not to destroy everything she’d built.

I reminded myself I wasn’t trying to hurt for sport. Revenge feels messy, but I wanted to reclaim control—proof that the past could rearrange the present if I allowed it.

Seeing Adrian with that child had stirred old guilt and a sharp hunger both. Those mixed emotions made the plan sharper; I would not be reckless.

That night I drew a small map, not of every street, but of moments. I marked where she smiled, where she hesitated, the pharmacy counter, the toy store’s entrance, Darcy’s route.

The map became notes: who bought what, how long they lingered, which stores closed early. Details matter when patience is your weapon.

People cling to routines. A tiny nudge can change everything. My approach would be slow and the pressure would be enough to unsettle, not to shatter. I was aiming to ruin her life but I'd take it slow. I wanted her to feel watched and careful. Pressure forces choices; choices make openings.

Time changes people. If she had become resilient, my plan might only test us both. Respect for that possibility changed my method.

I would be deliberate, move quietly, and rely on small truths rather than grand gestures. No public threats, only a steady tightening that left space for her to respond.

Before sleep I replayed the day: Pink’s trust, Darcy’s distracted ease, Adrian’s furtive hands. Those moments would guide me.

Dawn came and I was awake, blinds tilted, counting the hours until I could begin again. The past had reached into her present. I intended to remind her it could do so again.