Chapter 5

Chapter 5: What They Couldn't Bury

Elise's POV

Adrian dropped me off in front of my apartment, the headlights slicing through the dim evening haze.

We were laughing about how I still owed him a milkshake rematch when he turned to look at me, and for a moment, the world felt... still.

He was smiling, but there was something different about it this time—something softer, less guarded. His eyes lingered on me a second too long, like he was memorizing the way I looked under the streetlights.

"You've got a terrible poker face, you know," he said, voice low and teasing.

I snorted. "Says the guy who thinks sarcasm counts as a personality trait."

He chuckled under his breath, but he didn't pull away like he usually would. Instead, his hand reached up—hesitated—then lightly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my skin for just a moment too long.

My breath hitched, just slightly.

Neither of us moved. The air between us stretched thin, heavy with everything unsaid.

For half a second, I thought he might kiss me.

But then he pulled back with a lopsided grin, like he could laugh it all away. "Go on, Crybaby. Get inside before you melt into a puddle or something."

I rolled my eyes, heart pounding way too fast, and reached for the door handle.

That's when I saw it—a shadow flickering at the edge of the lot.

I stiffened. "Did you see that?" I whispered.

Adrian's entire body went sharp. Without hesitation, he swung the door open like he was ready to chase the figure down.

"Wait!" I grabbed his arm.

The shadow was already gone, but lying at the foot of the stairs was an envelope. Plain. Unmarked. It looked... deliberate.

Adrian hesitated, glaring into the darkness like he could tear it apart with his bare hands. "Someone's stalking you now?" he muttered. "Real brave."

I knelt, picking up the envelope. It was thick, heavy in my hands.

"I'm just gonna take a look inside—"

"Yeah, no," Adrian cut in, grabbing the envelope from me. His eyes narrowed. "You're not seriously thinking of waltzing back into your apartment after someone left you a stalker's gift."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already steering me back toward the car.

"Come on, Crybaby," he muttered, shooting one last look over his shoulder. "You're crashing at my place. End of discussion."

I didn't even have time to protest before he shoved the passenger door open again and revved the engine like a bat out of hell.

It wasn't until we were a few blocks away from my apartment that the weight of the situation really hit me.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "You can just drop me off somewhere nearby," I said quickly. "I'll find another place to stay. I can book a motel or something."

Adrian shot me a look, unimpressed. "Right. Because a cheap motel is so much safer than staying with someone who can actually throw a punch."

"I'll be fine," I insisted, cheeks burning. "I don't want to impose—"

"You're not," he said flatly, revving the engine like it was a threat. "You're staying with me at my place."

I opened my mouth to argue again but faltered, the words dying in my throat.

With him?

After what happened?

All I could think about was the way he'd looked at me earlier—the way his fingers had brushed my skin, the electric second where I thought he might lean in and—

I flushed, mortified at myself.

God, now was not the time to be thinking about that. Especially with the brother of my ex-fiance?

I had bigger problems than my heart trying to betray me.

Still, as I glanced around, I realized something. We weren't heading toward the Laurent estate. Not even close.

I frowned, confused. "Wait—your place? You're not staying at the Laurents'?"

Adrian shrugged, a casual flick of his wrist on the wheel. "Not fun there."

Not fun.

That was one way to describe the Laurents.

I hesitated. "Do your parents even know you're back?"

He didn't answer at first, his jaw tightening slightly, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.

The silence stretched, heavy.

Then, just as we pulled into a gated, private hotel lot, he smirked, the mischief flickering back into his eyes like a lighter snapping to life.

"They'll find out soon enough."

Adrian's penthouse was the entire top floor.

Sleek. Cold. Too big for one person—but somehow it suited him.

All steel, glass, and sharp lines, like a place that didn't expect anyone to stay long.

I set my bag down awkwardly near the door, feeling wildly out of place.

"How can you even afford this?" I blurted before I could stop myself, gesturing around at the absurd luxury.

Adrian shot me a look like I'd asked if water was wet. "Money, Crybaby. You know, the one thing Laurents actually handed out without strings."

Before I could snark back, he moved toward the small kitchen area, grabbing a glass. He filled it with water and came back, pressing it into my hand with a quiet firmness. "Sit," he said, voice low but not unkind. "You're running on fumes."

I sat down stiffly on the nearest couch, trying not to feel how heavy my limbs suddenly were.

Adrian crouched down in front of me, elbows on his knees, watching me closely.

"You okay?" he asked. His voice was softer now, stripped of its usual teasing. "Like... really okay? Have you noticed anything weird the past few days? Anyone watching you before tonight?"

I shook my head slowly. "No. I mean... not that I noticed." But even as I said it, little things started surfacing in my mind—shadows that felt too still, glances that lasted a beat too long.

Adrian reached out, almost hesitated, then rested a hand lightly on my knee. "Hey," he said, squeezing gently. "You're safe now. I promise."

The warmth of his hand lingered longer than the touch itself.

Then, finally, he stood and crossed to the coffee table, tossing the envelope between us like it was nothing more than a bill. He flopped down onto the couch beside me, sprawling like he hadn't just practically kidnapped me for my own safety.

"Well?" he said, nodding at it. His smirk was back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You gonna open it, or you want me to read your death threats aloud?"

I swallowed and set the water down.

“I'm here with you,” Adrian reassured me once more.

My fingers trembled slightly as I tore open the envelope.

Out spilled a series of documents. Newspaper clippings. Photos. A tangle of official-looking reports.

At first, it didn't make sense—until my eyes snagged on the headline: "TRAGIC ACCIDENT CLAIMS LIVES OF A COUPLE."

My breath caught in my throat. The names beneath it: Elijah and Ruth Ford. My parents.

But the documents underneath twisted the knife further—investigation notes that had been suppressed, witness statements altered. Payments made. A list of names connected to the case... and there it was.

Charles Laurent. Laurent Holdings.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

I shook my head, as if that could undo what I was seeing. "This... this can't be real."

Adrian didn't say anything.

He just sat back, his gaze fixed on the document. No jokes. No sarcasm. Just silence.

For the first time in a long time, Adrian Laurent looked like he wanted to burn the world down.

And for the first time, I realized—Maybe I did too.