I shouldn’t have come back.
The thought kept repeating in my head as the sleek black car slowed in front of the towering mansion I once called home—well, not really home. It was his home. Adrian Knight’s. The place hadn’t changed. Tall iron gates, sharp edges, and intimidating silence. Just like him. I stepped out of the car, clutching the strap of my worn-out bag. My shoes made soft clicks on the marble as I walked up the steps. Every sound echoed louder than my heart, but nothing drowned out the memories flooding back. We used to laugh here once. I used to dance barefoot in this very driveway, teasing him to come out of his office and live a little. And he would—eventually. Always late, always reluctant, but always… him. But those days were gone. So was I. Three years. No calls. No letters. No goodbyes. Now here I was. Back like a ghost, hoping to be forgiven for disappearing like one. The front door opened before I could knock. Elena, the housekeeper, blinked in disbelief. “Miss Ivy?” she said, her voice laced with shock. “Hi, Elena.” “My God… is it really you?” Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, unsure whether to cry or scream. “After all this time…” “I know. I shouldn’t just show up like this.” She opened the door wider, stepping aside. “He’s not going to like this.” “I don’t expect him to.” Still, I walked inside. The scent hit me first. Expensive cologne, polished wood, and a faint memory of the citrus soap Adrian used to keep in the upstairs bathroom. Everything was so familiar and yet completely foreign. The air felt heavy—like even the walls were holding their breath. I followed Elena silently down the hallway, heart thudding with every step. He was in his office. Of course. The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open. Adrian looked up from behind his desk, and for a full second, everything stopped. I had prepared for a lot of things. Anger. Silence. Maybe even cold indifference. But I hadn’t prepared for his eyes. Those same stormy grey eyes that once looked at me like I was the only girl in the world—now staring at me like I was a ghost he didn’t ask for. “Ivy,” he said, voice sharp, low. “Hi, Adrian.” He stood, slowly. “What are you doing here?” I swallowed. “I didn’t know where else to go.” He laughed once, bitterly. “That’s rich. After three years, now you come back? Just like that?” “I had my reasons.” He walked out from behind the desk, jaw clenched. “Reasons? You disappeared without a word, Ivy. You vanished. And now you just show up at my door like nothing happened?” “I’m not asking for anything,” I said quickly. “Not money. Not forgiveness. I just… I needed somewhere safe. Just for a little while.” He stared at me for a long time. Then: “You should’ve stayed gone.” That one hurt more than I thought it would. “I understand,” I said quietly. “I won’t stay long. I just needed a few days to figure things out.” Silence. Then, surprisingly, he said, “You can stay. Guest room. Don’t expect conversation.” I blinked. “Thank you.” “But let’s get one thing straight,” he added, stepping closer. “You’re not the same girl who left, and I’m not the same man who let you go.” “I never asked you to let me go,” I whispered. “But you did go.” His words hung in the air like poison. He turned his back to me. “Elena will show you to your room. I have work to do.” And just like that, the conversation ended. The room she brought me to was familiar. Cream walls. Tall windows. A four-poster bed too big for one person. I dropped my bag on the chair and stood there, staring out the window. I didn’t cry. I had promised myself I wouldn’t. But my chest ached. Adrian had every right to hate me. I had left him without explanation, ghosted the only man who ever truly saw me. But how could I explain that leaving him was the only way I could protect him? Some truths are too heavy to tell. Some secrets too dangerous to share. Still, I was back now. Not for love. Not for closure. But because the past I thought I buried had found me again—and if I stayed out there any longer, it was going to swallow me whole. The lights of the city twinkled in the distance as night fell. I sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in my lap, listening to the silence. Somewhere in this house, Adrian was probably still working, still pretending I didn’t exist. Maybe he wished I didn’t. But we both knew something was still there—buried under years of silence, guilt, and pain. I didn’t come back to open old wounds. But now that I was here… the truth wouldn’t stay buried for long. And neither would the feelings I tried so hard to forget.We left London at dawn.Julian sat across from us in the jet, silent, staring at nothing. His fingers drummed against the leather armrest like a man trying to distract himself from old ghosts. Adrian didn’t say much either, and I couldn’t tell if it was strategy or guilt.The tension between them felt heavy — like something was about to break, but no one wanted to be the one to crack it first.I sat with my thoughts, knowing Mira — M — was out there, watching, waiting, pulling strings. This was her game. And somehow, we were all pieces on her board.“Where’s the vault?” I asked finally, breaking the silence.Adrian looked at me, then at Julian.“In Montenegro,” he said. “Hidden beneath an abandoned estate I bought years ago. It was one of the last places Mira and I worked together… before everything turned.”Julian scoffed. “Fitting. Back to where it began.”Adrian ignored him.“It’s off-grid,” he continued. “No security system. No internet. You need two biometric keys — mine, and Mir
London greeted us with cold rain and a sky like wet concrete. The kind of weather that made the city feel haunted — not by ghosts, but by secrets.Adrian barely spoke in the car.His jaw stayed clenched, fingers tapping silently against his knee as the driver wove through narrow streets. I didn’t press him. I could feel it — the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying yet.We finally stopped in front of an old townhouse tucked between two modern buildings in Kensington. Ivy crawling up the walls. Windows dark. The kind of place you’d walk past without remembering.“Julian lives here?” I asked.“He hides here,” Adrian corrected. “He hasn’t been a ‘public man’ in years.”The door was opened before we knocked.A man stood there, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, dressed like someone who used to be dangerous but had grown tired of it.Julian Cross.He looked at Adrian first. Then me. Then back at Adrian.“Well,” he said with a dry voice, “If you’ve come here, that means she’s moving.”“She alread
Adrian held the card like it might vanish if he blinked.“The web was never just his,” he read aloud again, voice low. “It’s ours now. – M.”He turned it over. Nothing on the back. No fingerprints. No smudges. Just clean, sharp ink on matte black.He looked at me, jaw tight. “This wasn’t a message. It was a warning.”“From who?” I asked, though the chill in my spine already knew we were dealing with something bigger than Lucas.Adrian walked to the bookshelf in the villa’s study — not for a book, but for a hidden safe behind it. He opened it and pulled out an old leather file. Dusty. Untouched for years.He laid it on the table, unzipped it slowly.Inside: photos. Old ones. Faded documents. A list of names. Some crossed out.At the top of the page, underlined in red ink, was a single letter.M.He tapped the paper once. “This… this was my father’s list.”“Your father?”Adrian nodded. “He wasn’t just a businessman. He had enemies. He built things most people weren’t supposed to find. S
I didn’t sleep that night.Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucas’s face. Not the cold, controlled man who’d orchestrated chaos — but the boy in the torn photo, standing beside Adrian, eyes wide and full of something that looked like hope.It haunted me.So did the man I saw outside the window — the one in the black coat who vanished into the street like a ghost.I hadn’t told Adrian yet.Not because I was hiding it… but because something in my gut whispered: This isn’t over.The next morning, Adrian made us breakfast.It surprised me.The man who once solved problems with a wire transfer was now in a black T-shirt, sleeves rolled up, slicing fruit and scrambling eggs.“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.“I’ve just never seen you with a frying pan before.”He smirked. “Careful. I’m very domestic when I’m not being hunted by psychopaths.”It made me laugh — for the first time in what felt like weeks.And for a moment, everything felt… normal.But normal doesn’t last in our
The room held its breath.Lucas stood under the chandelier like a conductor waiting to cue the final note. Adrian held the gun in his hand, but for the first time, it looked heavier than it should. And I… I was in the middle of it all. Not a spectator anymore, but a target. A weapon. A consequence.“You don’t have to do this,” I said, stepping forward.Lucas looked at me with amusement. “That’s the problem, Ivy. I already did. Years ago.”“You’re not proving anything by dragging us back here.”He took a step toward me.“Oh, but I am. I’m proving that no matter how far he runs, no matter who he hides behind, Adrian can’t erase what he built. He made me. He taught me everything. And then he threw me away.”“I tried to save you!” Adrian shouted, his voice raw.Lucas turned, eyes blazing. “You saved yourself. You always do.”The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Of anger. Of history. Of pain so old it had turned to bone.“I loved you,” Adrian said, softer now. “Even when yo
Adrian didn’t sleep that night.I knew because I didn’t either.He stood by the window of the hotel suite, shirt unbuttoned, staring out into the dark Paris skyline as if it held all the answers he’d been running from. His shoulders were tense. His jaw unmoving. The flash drive Lucas left sat untouched on the table between us.I watched it like it was ticking.Like something inside it might explode.“Are you going to open it?” I asked quietly.He didn’t turn. “I already know what’s inside.”“Then why does it scare you?”Finally, he looked at me.“Because you don’t.”He picked up the drive, turned it in his hand like it weighed more than metal should.“You could walk away,” he said. “Right now. Take this drive, give it to the authorities, and disappear. No one would blame you.”“Would you?” I asked.His lips twitched. “I’d blame myself.”I stepped closer. The air between us felt heavier now. Thicker with things unsaid.“I’m not afraid of who you were,” I said. “I’m afraid of who you’ll