Chapter 5

Chapter Five

“A body.”

I repeated the words because apparently my brain had decided refusing to understand them might make them less insane.

Lucian didn’t move.

I stared at him.

“You put a body in my mother’s basement.”

“Yes.”

“An actual human body.”

“Yes.”

“Seven years ago.”

“Yes.”

I laughed.

There was nothing funny about it, but I’d apparently reached the point in my life where laughter was the only alternative to screaming.

“Okay.”

“Evelyn—”

“No. I’m just making sure we’re clear.”

I held up one finger.

“Yesterday, I was broke.”

A second.

“Then I agreed to marry a billionaire I’d never met.”

Third.

“This morning, I discovered said billionaire had apparently been watching me for seven years.”

Fourth.

“Then his dead brother broke into my bedroom.”

Fifth.

“I found out my father was secretly laundering money for a criminal billionaire.”

Sixth.

“Then I found out he was probably murdered.”

I ran out of fingers on that hand and switched to the other.

“And now you’re telling me there is a dead body in my mother’s basement.”

Lucian waited.

“Did I miss anything?”

“Your father wasn’t laundering money when he died.”

I stared at him.

“That’s your contribution?”

“I thought accuracy mattered.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’ve been told I’m headed there.”

“Good.”

I grabbed my purse from the chair.

Lucian watched me.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going home.”

“No.”

I stopped.

Very slowly, I turned around.

His expression changed immediately.

Not fear.

Recognition.

He knew he’d made a mistake.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t think you should go there.”

“That’s different from no.”

“Yes.”

“Then try again.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened.

“I would strongly prefer that you didn’t go to the house.”

“Better.”

“Evelyn.”

“But I’m still going.”

I walked toward the door.

He didn’t stop me.

That surprised me.

I reached the hallway before he spoke.

“The body isn’t in the basement anymore.”

I stopped.

Of course it wasn’t.

Because apparently we weren’t done.

I turned around.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you lose a body?”

“I didn’t lose it.”

“Was it misplaced?”

“No.”

“Did it get up and leave?”

Lucian’s expression hardened.

“Someone moved it.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re surprisingly uninformed for a man who knows my bank balance down to the dollar.”

“I deserve that.”

“Yes, you do.”

I walked back into the room.

“Start from the beginning.”

“I thought you were leaving.”

“I am. After you tell me why there was a corpse in the house where my mother slept every night for seven years.”

His eyes held mine.

“Your mother never knew.”

“You’d better hope not.”

“She didn’t.”

“Who was he?”

Lucian was silent.

I folded my arms.

“We’re doing this again?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know his real name.”

I stared at him.

“You buried an unidentified man in my mother’s basement?”

“I didn’t bury him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where exactly did you casually store the corpse?”

“There was a sealed room behind the furnace.”

I blinked.

“There is no room behind the furnace.”

“There is.”

“I grew up in that house.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been in that basement thousands of times.”

“The entrance was concealed.”

“Why?”

“It was built that way.”

“By whom?”

“Your father.”

That shut me up.

Lucian walked toward the windows.

“He showed it to me the night he contacted me.”

“Three days before he died.”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“A small room. Concrete walls. No windows. Your father had installed a safe.”

“What’s in it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t open it?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“He never gave me the combination.”

I frowned.

“You said you put the body there.”

“After the crash.”

The words settled between us.

“Whose body?”

“The man who tried to kill me.”

I stopped breathing.

Lucian’s face was completely expressionless.

Almost unnaturally so.

“What?”

“After your father’s car went through the guardrail, I followed him down. I found him. I called for help.”

“I know this part.”

“I wasn’t alone for long.”

My stomach tightened.

“Adrian?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“The man from the Mercedes.”

I frowned.

“I thought Adrian was driving.”

“So did I.”

A chill moved across my skin.

“But?”

“I was wrong.”

I remembered Lucian’s story.

A black Mercedes registered to one of Adrian’s companies.

Following my father.

Lucian behind them.

“Who was driving?”

“I don’t know.”

“But he worked for Adrian.”

“I assumed so.”

“Assumed?”

Lucian looked at me.

“He tried to kill me, Evelyn. I didn’t ask for his résumé.”

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped.

I immediately hated myself for it.

Lucian’s mouth moved.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Smile.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“No.”

The hint of amusement disappeared.

“What happened?”

Lucian looked away.

“He came down the embankment approximately two minutes after I reached your father’s car.”

“Did my father see him?”

“Yes.”

“Did he recognize him?”

Lucian hesitated.

“I think so.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because your father panicked.”

My chest tightened.

“What did he say?”

“He told me not to let the man reach him.”

“And?”

“I didn’t.”

The way Lucian said it made my skin prickle.

“What did you do?”

“He had a gun.”

“Lucian.”

“He fired first.”

“Did he hit you?”

“Yes.”

My eyes moved over him.

“Where?”

He touched his left side.

“Here.”

“Show me.”

His eyebrows lifted.

The request surprised both of us.

“I don’t need to see it.”

“No.”

I folded my arms.

“You’ve lied by omission about virtually everything else. Show me.”

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then Lucian reached for his shirt.

My brain immediately informed me that perhaps I had not thought this through.

He unbuttoned the first button.

Then the second.

My eyes dropped.

Third.

Fourth.

Oh.

This was stupid.

Very stupid.

“That’s enough.”

Lucian stopped.

His mouth twitched.

“I haven’t shown you anything.”

“I’ve reconsidered.”

“You wanted proof.”

“I believe you.”

“That was fast.”

“Lucian.”

He continued.

Of course he did.

He pulled the shirt away from his left side.

There was a scar beneath his ribs.

Small.

Round.

And several inches below it, another jagged line.

My humor disappeared.

“That’s the bullet?”

“Entry wound.”

“What happened to the man?”

Lucian buttoned his shirt.

“I shot him.”

The words were matter-of-fact.

“Did he die immediately?”

“No.”

My stomach turned.

“How long?”

“Several minutes.”

“Were the police coming?”

“Yes.”

“Then why hide his body?”

Lucian’s eyes met mine.

“Because your father asked me to.”

I stared at him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why would my father ask you to hide the body of the man who tried to kill him?”

“I asked him the same thing.”

“And?”

“He said if the police found the man, they’d find you.”

Again.

That warning.

Find Evelyn.

“What does that mean?”

“I still don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know.”

“Did you recognize the man?”

“No.”

“Did you search him?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“No wallet. No identification. No phone.”

“Weapon?”

“Unregistered.”

“Anything?”

Lucian hesitated.

There it was.

“What?”

“He had something in his pocket.”

“What?”

Lucian reached into his jacket.

I almost laughed.

“You’ve been carrying it around for seven years?”

“No.”

He removed his wallet.

From behind a black card, he pulled out something tiny.

A key.

Old.

Brass.

A strip of faded blue plastic was looped through the top.

The number 317 was stamped into it.

I stared.

“What does it open?”

“I don’t know.”

“You never figured it out?”

“I’ve tried.”

“For seven years?”

“Yes.”

I took the key.

It was cold against my palm.

“Why give it to me?”

“Because I think it’s yours.”

“Why?”

“Your father saw it before he died.”

My heart started pounding.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Lucian.”

“He couldn’t.”

I looked away.

“Right.”

Silence.

I studied the key.

Nothing about it meant anything to me.

“Did Adrian know about this?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so.”

“No.”

“Wonderful.”

I handed it back.

Lucian didn’t take it.

“Keep it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s safer with you.”

I stared at him.

“Have you been paying attention to my day?”

“For once, Adrian doesn’t know you have something.”

“And you’d like to keep it that way.”

“Yes.”

I closed my fingers around the key.

I hated that he was probably right.

“Fine.”

I slipped it into the zippered pocket inside my purse.

“Now the body.”

Lucian nodded.

“I moved him before emergency services arrived.”

“While you’d been shot.”

“Yes.”

“And my father was dying.”

His expression changed.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“There was a service road approximately a quarter mile away. I brought my car around.”

“You put a dead man in your car.”

“Yes.”

“And drove him to my mother’s house.”

“Not immediately.”

“Where did you go first?”

“A hospital.”

I blinked.

“For the bullet wound?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That I’d been shot during a robbery.”

“And they believed you?”

“No.”

“But you’re Lucian Vale.”

“Exactly.”

Of course.

Money apparently bought many things.

Including very incurious emergency rooms.

“Then you went to my house.”

“At approximately four in the morning.”

“My mother was home.”

“Yes.”

“I was home.”

“Yes.”

My skin crawled.

“You were inside my house while I was sleeping.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I never entered the living area.”

“How did you get into the basement?”

“Exterior access.”

I remembered the old cellar doors behind the house.

We hadn’t used them in years.

“My father gave you a key.”

“Yes.”

“And you put the body in the hidden room.”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“I left.”

“And when did you go back?”

“Two days later.”

“After my father’s funeral?”

“Before.”

I stared at him.

“And the body was gone?”

“Yes.”

“Someone knew it was there.”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Adrian?”

“Possibly.”

“Your father?”

“Possibly.”

“Someone else?”

“Possibly.”

I rubbed my temples.

“You’re making me hate that word.”

“I know.”

I looked toward the hallway.

Somewhere downstairs, people were moving quickly through the house.

Adrian was gone.

Someone inside Lucian’s security operation had helped him escape.

And now there was an unidentified dead man who had apparently disappeared from a secret room beneath my childhood home.

Normal Tuesday.

“I need to see it.”

Lucian went still.

“The room.”

“No.”

I gave him a look.

He exhaled.

“I would strongly prefer—”

“Very good. You’re learning.”

“Evelyn.”

“I’m going.”

“Then I’m coming.”

“No.”

“That’s not negotiable.”

I laughed.

“There he is.”

“I’m not letting you walk into that house alone when Adrian sent us a photograph of it less than five minutes ago.”

“You aren’t letting me?”

Lucian closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again, his voice was controlled.

“I’m asking you to allow me to accompany you.”

“That looked physically painful.”

“It was.”

“Good.”

His phone buzzed.

Neither of us moved.

Then mine did.

I froze.

Lucian looked at my purse.

Another buzz.

I pulled my phone out.

Unknown number.

My stomach dropped.

Lucian crossed the room.

“What does it say?”

I opened the message.

YOUR HUSBAND IS LYING TO YOU.

I showed him.

“I’m not your husband.”

“Not the important part.”

Another message arrived.

ASK HIM WHO THE BODY WAS.

I looked at Lucian.

“You said you didn’t know.”

“I don’t.”

The phone buzzed again.

A photograph loaded.

I stared at it.

The image was old.

A man stood beside my father outside an office building.

My father looked younger.

Maybe forty.

The other man had one arm around his shoulders.

They were smiling.

Friends.

I zoomed in.

My chest tightened.

I knew that face.

Not well.

But I’d seen him before.

Somewhere.

“Who is he?” Lucian asked.

“I don’t know.”

Another message.

YOUR FATHER DID.

Then another photograph.

Same man.

This time standing beside a much younger Lucian.

Lucian’s expression changed.

“You recognize him.”

He took the phone.

His face went completely still.

“Lucian.”

Nothing.

“Who is he?”

He looked at me.

“My father’s attorney.”

The phone buzzed again.

MARTIN KESSLER.

Another.

HE DIDN’T DIE SEVEN YEARS AGO.

I frowned.

“What?”

Lucian read over my shoulder.

The next message appeared.

LUCIAN SHOT THE WRONG MAN.

Silence.

My heart started pounding.

“What does that mean?”

Lucian didn’t answer.

Another message.

This one contained no photograph.

Only an address.

I recognized it immediately.

My mother’s house.

Beneath it:

BASEMENT. 6:00 PM. COME ALONE IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO YOUR FATHER REALLY WAS.

Lucian reached for my phone.

I pulled it away.

“No.”

“You’re not going.”

“I am.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I thought we’d moved beyond you telling me what I’m allowed to do.”

“This isn’t about control.”

“It always is with you.”

“This is Adrian.”

“Which is precisely why I’m going.”

Lucian stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

“He broke into this house today.”

“I remember.”

“He threatened you.”

“He also knows more about my father’s death than you’re willing to tell me.”

“I have told you everything I know.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

I looked at him.

“Then you won’t mind if I verify it.”

His jaw clenched.

“I’m coming with you.”

“The message says alone.”

“I don’t care.”

“Adrian might.”

“I don’t care what Adrian wants.”

“I do if he has answers.”

Lucian stepped closer.

“So this is what you’re going to do? Walk into a trap because he promised you the truth?”

“At least he’s promising me something other than another secret.”

That hurt him.

I saw it.

I didn’t take it back.

Lucian looked away.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

“If you insist on going, I’ll make sure he believes you’re alone.”

I blinked.

“Meaning?”

“You enter the house alone.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be close.”

“How close?”

“Close enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one you’re getting.”

I almost argued.

Then stopped.

Because there was something I needed to understand.

“You said the body was gone when you went back.”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever tell my mother about the room?”

“No.”

“Me?”

“No.”

“Anyone?”

“No.”

“Then whoever removed him already knew the room existed.”

“Yes.”

I looked down at the address on my phone.

The house suddenly felt different in my memory.

Every Christmas.

Every birthday.

Every night I’d slept upstairs believing my family was ordinary.

All of it built over secrets.

“What time is it?”

Lucian checked his watch.

“Three twelve.”

Less than three hours.

I picked up my purse.

“Where are you going?”

“My apartment.”

“No.”

I looked at him.

He corrected himself.

“I’d prefer you stayed here until we leave.”

“I need clothes.”

“You have clothes.”

“Clothes you bought for me before I agreed to marry you.”

His expression didn’t change.

“Yes.”

“Still creepy.”

“I know.”

“And I need my own things.”

“Daniel can collect them.”

“I can collect them.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened.

I waited.

“Fine.”

That surprised me.

“Fine?”

“Daniel drives you. Two security vehicles follow. You don’t enter your apartment until it’s cleared.”

“That’s excessive.”

“My brother infiltrated my home less than two hours ago.”

“Fair.”

I headed for the door.

“Evelyn.”

I stopped.

“What?”

Lucian held out his hand.

My engagement ring sat in his palm.

I looked at it.

Then at him.

“What?”

“Take it.”

“We’re not getting married.”

“I know.”

“Then why would I wear it?”

“Because Adrian doesn’t know that.”

I hesitated.

Damn him.

That made sense too.

I took the ring.

Our fingers touched.

Neither of us moved away immediately.

Lucian looked down at my hand.

Something about his expression made my chest ache.

I slid the ring onto my finger.

“For appearances.”

“Of course.”

Nothing in his voice suggested he believed that.

Neither did I.

I turned toward the hallway.

“Evelyn.”

I sighed.

“What now?”

“If Adrian tells you something about me tonight…”

I looked over my shoulder.

Lucian stood exactly where I’d left him.

“What?”

“Don’t believe him immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because my brother knows how to make a lie sound like the truth.”

“And you?”

His expression didn’t change.

“What about me?”

“Do you know how to do that too?”

Silence.

Too much silence.

I shook my head.

“That’s what I thought.”

I walked away.

⸻

At five fifty-eight, I stood across the street from my mother’s house.

Alone.

At least that’s what Adrian was supposed to believe.

The house looked exactly as it always had.

White siding.

Blue shutters.

Hydrangeas overflowing beside the porch because I’d neglected to trim them again.

Nothing sinister.

Nothing dangerous.

Home.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

COME IN.

I looked down the street.

No Lucian.

No Daniel.

No black SUVs.

Good.

They were better at hiding than I’d expected.

I crossed the street.

The front door was unlocked.

I pushed it open.

“Adrian?”

Nothing.

I stepped inside.

The house smelled faintly stale.

I hadn’t been here in nearly two weeks.

Everything was exactly where I’d left it.

My mother’s ceramic bowl on the entry table.

The old umbrella stand.

A cardigan still hanging from the coat hook because I hadn’t been able to bring myself to move it after she died.

My chest tightened.

Another buzz.

BASEMENT.

I walked toward the kitchen.

The basement door waited at the end of the hall.

I’d opened it thousands of times.

Tonight my hand shook.

I turned the knob.

Darkness.

I flipped the switch.

The old wooden stairs appeared.

“Adrian?”

No answer.

I descended.

One step.

Then another.

The basement smelled exactly as I remembered.

Dust.

Concrete.

Laundry detergent.

I reached the bottom.

The furnace hummed against the far wall.

Behind it—

nothing.

Just concrete.

At least that’s what I’d always believed.

I walked closer.

My phone buzzed.

LEFT SIDE. THIRD BRICK FROM THE FLOOR.

I crouched.

The wall was painted gray.

I counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

I pressed the brick.

Nothing.

Then—

click.

I jumped back.

A narrow line appeared in the wall.

The concrete panel shifted outward.

My heart hammered.

There really was a room.

I pulled the panel open.

Darkness.

I turned on my phone flashlight.

The beam cut through the room.

Small.

Concrete.

Empty.

Almost.

There was a metal chair.

A safe built into the wall.

And something lying on the floor.

I stepped inside.

“Adrian?”

Silence.

My light moved across the concrete.

Stopped.

A photograph.

I picked it up.

My father.

My mother.

Me.

I was maybe six.

Someone had circled my face in red ink.

My stomach turned.

Then I heard breathing.

Behind me.

I spun around.

Nothing.

“Who’s there?”

The hidden door slammed shut.

Darkness swallowed me.

I ran toward it.

“Hey!”

Locked.

I pounded against the concrete.

“LUCIAN!”

A light clicked on behind me.

I froze.

Someone was sitting in the chair.

A man.

Not Adrian.

Older.

Gray hair.

Thin.

Alive.

He lifted his head.

I recognized him from the photographs Adrian had sent.

Martin Kessler.

The man Lucian believed he’d killed seven years ago.

He smiled.

“Hello, Evelyn.”

I backed toward the door.

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“Where’s Adrian?”

His smile widened.

“Which one?”

I stared at him.

“What?”

Martin leaned back in the chair.

“That’s the problem with the Vale family.”

He studied me.

“There are always more brothers than anyone knows about.”

My blood went cold.

He pointed toward the safe.

“Open it.”

“I don’t know the combination.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No.”

“Your father made sure you would.”

I looked at the safe.

Then back at him.

“How?”

Martin smiled.

“Think about the only number he made you memorize as a child.”

My heart stopped.

There was one.

A number my father made me repeat whenever I forgot.

Not a birthday.

Not an address.

Six digits.

I hadn’t thought about it in years.

I turned toward the safe.

My fingers hovered over the keypad.

“What’s inside?”

“The reason your father died.”

I looked at Martin.

“And the reason Lucian Vale has spent seven years making sure you never opened it.”