Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Ghosts We Left Behind

Elise's POV

The ride back to my apartment was thick with tension. Adrian's hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set like stone.

"I'm serious," I said, cutting through the silence. "I can just find a new place. It's not a big deal."

He snorted. "Yeah, great idea. Let's paint a target on your back while we're at it."

I scowled at him. "Adrian—"

"No." His tone was sharp, brooking no argument. Then, a little softer, almost like he couldn't help himself, he added, "You can use the room where you woke up."

I blinked. "Wait… the room I woke up in?"

He shot me a quick look, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You think I dumped you on the couch like some stray? You had a bed, princess."

Heat crept up my neck as I remembered waking up earlier—warm sheets, a faint citrus scent on the pillows that I now realized was his. I buried the memory quickly, pretending to look out the window instead.

When we finally pulled up at my apartment, Adrian didn't let me linger outside. He kept a hand hovering near my back, herding me toward the door like I was glass about to shatter.

First thing we did was check the security footage on the small door cam. My stomach twisted as the video loaded: there, grainy but clear enough, was the masked face of the man who had been lurking outside earlier.

Adrian leaned in, jaw tightening. "Got you."

Without wasting time, he forwarded the footage to the police, while I tried not to feel like the walls were closing in around me.

The police station buzzed with low conversation and the tap-tap of hurried typing when we arrived. The overhead fluorescent lights painted everything in stark, tired colors.

Adrian stayed close, his shoulder brushing mine every now and then, a quiet barrier between me and the world.

At the front desk, a plainclothes officer looked up. "You're the ones who sent the footage?"

"Yeah," Adrian said shortly, flashing the email on his phone.

They ushered us into a small side room with a battered table and two plastic chairs. Detective Ramirez introduced himself with a nod, flipping open a worn notepad.

"I'll need to ask a few questions," he said. "Routine. Just to get a sense of the situation."

I nodded stiffly.

"Miss Ford," Ramirez began, pen poised, "before tonight, did you notice anyone suspicious around your apartment? Any strange behavior?"

I bit my lip, thinking. "No... no, I don't think so. Nothing I noticed."

"Good instincts sending the video," Ramirez said. "Anything else unusual? Packages, letters, messages?"

I hesitated. My fingers twitched against my side as I thought of the envelope. "Actually—" I started.

Adrian's hand dropped casually on the table, a sharp tap that made me flinch. "No packages," he cut in smoothly. "Just the footage."

I glanced at him, confused, but he didn't look at me. He was smiling thinly at the detective, the picture of calm.

Ramirez nodded and scribbled something down. "We're running facial recognition now. Meanwhile, we'll have a patrol swing by your place. Make sure you're not alone when you go back."

"She's staying with me," Adrian said without hesitation.

Ramirez seemed satisfied with that. "Good. Keep your phones on you. If you see anything, anything at all, call immediately."

I muttered a soft thank you as we were waved out of the room.

The night air slapped against my face as we exited the station. I didn't realize how tightly I was holding myself until Adrian steered me toward the car and I nearly stumbled.

Once inside the safety of the car, I turned to him, my voice tight. "Why did you cut me off? About the envelope?"

Adrian exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel even though the car was still parked. "Because we don't know who we can trust."

I frowned. "They're the police."

"They're people," he said flatly. "And the Laurents have enough power to make things disappear. If they could cover up your parents' accident, you think they wouldn't have hands inside a few precincts?"

I stared at him. His voice wasn't cold—it was something worse. Quiet. Final.

"I'm not taking any chances with you," he said. "Not again."

The weight of his words settled over me, heavier than the night.

"Okay," I whispered, and this time, I didn't argue

"We'll get the rest of your stuff while they pull security feeds from the neighborhood," he said briskly, slipping his phone into his pocket. His voice had that clipped, cold edge he always used when he was holding back something worse. Rage. Fear.

I nodded, still feeling numb. Together, we moved through my apartment, pulling out what I needed—important documents, some clothes, my laptop.

It wasn't until we reached the living room that Adrian froze, his hand brushing against the single framed photo on the side table.

It was the only picture of me and my parents. Elijah and Ruth Ford smiling down at a much younger me, our faces glowing with a happiness that now felt like a dream.

His hand hovered near it but didn't touch.

His voice turned rough. "This is all they left you."

I glanced around the room and saw it the way he did. Pictures of the Laurents. Of Damon. Their smiles crowding out the ones who mattered.

"They invaded your life," Adrian muttered. "Took it over. Like it was theirs to claim."

My chest ached, but I couldn't form words.

"You used to be so annoying," I said finally, my voice thin as I forced a small laugh. "Always picking fights. Making jokes at my expense."

Adrian snorted under his breath. "You were an easy target."

"You made it a sport," I added, folding a sweater into my bag, the corner of my mouth twitching.

He leaned against the dresser, his arms crossed, watching me with something unreadable in his eyes. "Maybe," he said lazily. "Or maybe I just liked seeing you look at me. Even if it was like you wanted to set me on fire."

I shook my head, heat creeping up my neck.

A silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was full of too many memories we hadn't touched in years.

"And me?" I asked, glancing up at him. "How did you see me?"

Adrian's mouth quirked, but his gaze turned serious. "The Laurents..." he said slowly, "they always acted like they were scared to upset you. Like if they cracked you, you'd shatter, and they're at fault, of course."

He gave a short, dry laugh, one without humor. "Guess it makes sense now, huh?"

I swallowed hard, a bitter smile breaking. "And you? How do you think you treated me, huh?" I challenged.

"Me?" he continued, smirking now. "I treated you the way you deserved."

"Which is...?"

He grinned, and the sight of it almost broke the heavy weight in my chest. "A crybaby," he said with deliberate wickedness.

My mouth dropped open, outrage flickering up, but before I could get a single word out—

"A strong one," Adrian added quietly, voice cutting through the teasing like a warm knife. "The strongest person I know."

I froze, every breath trapped somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

He looked away first, suddenly too casual as he reached for a photo on the dresser—an old frame I hadn't touched in years.

It was me and him, side by side on the day of his graduation. I was holding a ridiculous bouquet almost twice my size, grinning up at the camera. Adrian stood behind me, his arm tossed carelessly over my shoulders, his smile boyish and wide.

"That was days before they shipped me off," he said roughly, thumb brushing the glass. "I hated missing your graduation. I wanted to—"

THUD.

The front door rattled.

Adrian moved like a switch flipped inside him before lunging for the door. He moved fast—faster than I thought humanly possible—throwing the photo down safely onto the couch. One second he was beside me; the next he was yanking the door open and lunging out.

"Adrian!" I called after him, heart hammering. Fear shot through me as I chased him out into the hall.

By the time I caught up, he had someone pinned against the wall, face down.

I skidded to a stop, bracing myself to see some hired thug or some shadowy hitman—

But what I saw made me blink in disbelief.

It wasn't a man.

It was a kid.

Sixteen, maybe seventeen at most. Skinny. Trembling violently under Adrian's grip, wide-eyed with terror.

Adrian stared down at him, his breathing ragged, anger bleeding into confusion.

"What the hell?" Adrian muttered, his voice sharp but unsure, like the ground had shifted under his feet.

I stood frozen a few steps behind, struggling to understand.

A teenager.

Just a scared, shaking boy.

And just like that, everything we thought we knew suddenly didn't make sense anymore.