CHAPTER 20

Adrian did not sleep that night.

By six in the morning, he was dressed and sitting in his study with a cold cup of coffee. Marcus stood across the desk with a folder in his hands.

"Mr. Lowell has sent your message, sir. A private meeting with Mrs. Blackwood, anywhere she likes, with her lawyer present."

"And?"

Marcus cleared his throat. "Her lawyer called back within the hour. The answer was no. He said she has nothing to discuss with you except the signing of the papers."

Adrian said nothing. He looked at the folder on the desk, the one with Alexander Cole's name on the cover.

He could not reach her through the law. He could not reach her through the college. He could not even find where she slept at night. But there was one door that was still open.

"Marcus. Send a message to Cole Global. Say that Blackwood Group would like to discuss a joint donation to the Westbrook art wing. Today, if possible."

"Sir, that is a very quick request."

"Then make it sound polite."

The answer came back in twenty minutes. Mr. Cole could see him at eleven.

The Cole Global tower was made of glass and quiet. Everything inside it was white, grey, and very expensive. Adrian walked through the lobby with Marcus two steps behind him, and for the first time in years, he felt like a visitor.

The office on the top floor was bright and simple. There was a long table, two chairs, and a single painting on the wall. Adrian stopped when he saw it.

It was a small canvas. A woman's hand resting on the arm of a chair.

"Mr. Blackwood." Alexander stood up from behind the desk. He wore a plain dark suit, no scarf, and his face was calm and polite. "Thank you for coming."

"Mr. Cole." Adrian sat down. "I did not know your gallery was only a hobby."

"I like to keep things simple."

"Yet you did not mention your company at Westbrook."

"Nobody asked." Alexander smiled a little. "Tea?"

"No." Adrian folded his hands. "I will be direct. I am here about a student named Elena Hart."

The room was very still.

"I see," Alexander said. "I thought it might be that. It was not a donation at all, was it?"

"I want to know where she is."

"Why?"

"That is private."

"Then my answer is private as well." Alexander leaned back in his chair. His voice stayed soft, but there was iron under it. "Miss Hart is a talented young artist. She is under the protection of my gallery. I will not discuss where she lives or what she does."

"Protection." Adrian let the word hang. "From whom?"

Alexander only looked at him.

Adrian opened his folder and slid a paper across the table. "Blackwood Group is prepared to invest three hundred million in a joint arts foundation. In your name, if you like. All I ask is one address."

Alexander did not even glance at the paper.

"Mr. Blackwood," he said gently, "you cannot buy her. And neither can I."

Adrian's jaw tightened.

"She is not a thing to be bought or sold. She is a person who ran away, and I think she had a good reason." Alexander stood up. "I am sorry. This meeting is finished."

Adrian rose slowly. For a long moment, they looked at each other across the table, two tall men in dark suits, and neither one blinked.

"You are making a mistake," Adrian said quietly.

"Perhaps," said Alexander. "But I would rather make it for her than for you."

Adrian walked out of the room without another word. In the elevator, Marcus saw his hands curled tight at his sides. He did not say anything. He only watched the numbers drop, one by one, all the way to the ground.

That evening, at home, the house was warm and bright.

Sophia sat on the sofa with her feet tucked under her, a silk scarf in her lap. She watched Adrian walk in. He dropped his coat on a chair and went to the window without a word.

"You are very quiet tonight," she said.

"It was a long day."

"Business?"

"Yes."

"Was it the college again?"

He did not answer. She watched the back of his head for a long time. Something sharp flickered in her eyes, so quick it could have been a trick of the light.

"Adrian," she said softly, "you can tell me anything. You know that."

"I know."

"You are not still thinking about her, are you?"

He turned and looked at her. She was so lovely in the lamplight, with her head tilted and her eyes wide. A year ago, he would have given anything for this moment.

"I am thinking about work," he said.

She smiled and nodded. "Of course."

But later, when he went upstairs, she stayed on the sofa. She waited until his footsteps faded. Then she took out her phone and slipped into the garden, where the night air was cool.

Someone answered on the second ring.

"It is me," she whispered. "He went to see someone today. A man named Cole. I need to know who he is."

On the other end, a low voice said, "I will find out."

Sophia hung up and stood under the dark trees, looking at the lit window of the house.

The next afternoon, Elena walked back from college with her sketchbook under her arm.

The street was bright. She stopped at a small newsstand on the corner to buy a pencil. While the old man looked for change, her eyes drifted across the rack of magazines.

She almost walked away.

Then she saw a face she knew.

A business magazine lay on the top shelf. On the cover, a tall man stood in front of a glass tower, in a dark suit, with his hands in his pockets. His eyes were calm and dark. A grey scarf was nowhere to be seen.

The headline read, The Hidden Billionaire: Alexander Cole of Cole Global.

Elena stared.

She took the magazine down with slow fingers and turned the pages. There was a photograph of an office. A list of countries. A number that made her dizzy.

Chairman and founder. Net worth. Six hundred offices.

The man who made her tea. The man who carried her suitcase. The man who said it was nothing, a client, a man who does not know how to relax.

He was one of the richest men in the country.

She paid for the magazine and the pencil and walked back to the gallery with her heart beating hard. It was not anger exactly. It was something quieter. A feeling of being a small fish in a very big sea.

He had hidden it from her. Why?

Then a colder thought came. A man like that had resources. Eyes everywhere. If he looked closely at her, he would find out everything. Her name. Her marriage. The big house.

She climbed the stairs to the gallery with the magazine pressed against her chest.

Alexander stood in the hall, in front of the first of her paintings. He did not hear her come in. His shoulders were stiff, and his face was pale.

"Alexander."

He turned.

She held up the magazine. "Who are you really?"

For a long moment, he looked at it. Then he let out a long breath and rubbed his forehead.

"I will tell you everything," he said. "I promise. I only did not want you to be afraid of me."

"I am not afraid of you."

"You should know something else first." He swallowed. "An hour ago, a man walked out of my office. He asked where you were. He tried to buy your address with three hundred million."

Elena's blood turned to ice.

"Who?" she whispered.

Alexander looked at her gently, and she already knew.

"Adrian," she said.