CHAPTER 6: The Forbidden Door

When I woke up, the other side of the California King bed was cold.

I ran my hand over the empty sheets. The memory of the previous night crashed into me. Julian’s phone call. She is the Key. I have her exactly where I want her.

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. I wasn't a guest here. I wasn't even a wife. I was a pawn.

I sat up, fighting the morning nausea. I needed coffee. And then, I needed answers.

I walked out into the living area. The smell of roasted espresso and expensive cologne filled the air. Julian was standing in the kitchen, fully dressed in a navy suit that looked sharp enough to draw blood. He was typing on his phone, a frown marring his perfect face.

He looked up as I entered. The frown vanished, replaced by a mask of calm.

"Good morning, Mrs. Thorne," he said, sliding a mug across the marble counter. "Black. Two sugars. That is how you take it, correct?"

I froze. "How did you know that?"

"I told you," he said, his eyes glinting. "I don't make uninformed investments."

He walked around the counter. He looked dangerous, powerful, and unfairly attractive. It was hard to reconcile this man with the cold voice I had heard on the phone last night.

"I have to go to the office," he said, checking his watch. "The acquisition of the hotel is causing a stir. I need to handle the press."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte black credit card. He placed it on the counter.

"Buy whatever you need. Clothes. Toiletries. Do not hesitate to spend."

"I don't want your money," I said, crossing my arms.

"It is not my money. It is our money," he corrected. He stepped closer, invading my personal space. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my jaw.

"There is only one rule in this house, Vivian."

"And what is that?" I whispered, trying not to lean into his touch.

He pointed down the long hallway, past the bedroom, to a heavy mahogany door at the very end.

"My study," he said, his voice dropping. "You do not enter it. Ever. It contains sensitive business files that could get people killed. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I lied.

"Good." He leaned down and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to my forehead. "I will see you at dinner. Stay inside. The press is still camped out downstairs."

He turned and walked out. I waited for the sound of the elevator dings. Then I waited another two minutes to be sure.

The moment silence settled over the penthouse, I moved.

She is the Key.

I grabbed my coffee and walked straight to the hallway. I ignored the bedroom. I ignored the gym. I walked straight to the heavy mahogany door at the end.

The forbidden door.

I reached for the handle. It was cold brass. I turned it.

Locked.

"Of course," I muttered. "He is a criminal mastermind, not an idiot."

I knelt down, looking through the keyhole. It was pitch black.

I stood up, frustrated. I looked around. There had to be something. A spare key? A code?

I walked back to the kitchen, checking the drawers. Nothing but silverware. I checked the living room console. Nothing.

I was about to give up when I saw it.

Julian’s suit jacket from the night before was draped over the back of the dining chair. He must have forgotten to have the maid take it.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was dangerous. But I thought of Caleb’s betrayal. I thought of the baby growing inside me. I couldn't afford to be blind anymore.

I reached into the inside pocket of the jacket.

My fingers brushed against paper.

I pulled it out. It wasn't a key. It was a photograph. An old, crinkled photograph.

I stared at it, the blood draining from my face.

It was a picture of a woman laughing, holding a little girl on a swing set.

The woman was my mother. She died in a car accident ten years ago. And the little girl was me.

I flipped the photo over. On the back, written in faded ink, was a date from twelve years ago. And a name.

Target: Eleanor Hayes.

I dropped the photo.

Eleanor Hayes. My mother.

Julian didn't just know me. He had been tracking my family since I was a child. He wasn't a savior. He was the one who had been hunting us all along.

The sound of the elevator dinged.

I froze.

"Vivian?" Julian’s voice echoed from the foyer. "I forgot my jacket."

He was back. And I was standing there with the evidence of his stalking lying at my feet.