Beneath the Surface

Adrian's POV

I had barely closed my eyes since the wedding. Each time I did, Amelia's ghostly visage haunted me, her quivering lips and the way her body had gone soft in my embrace, the sheer terror I had to shield her from. When I wasn't ensnared in that memory, Gray invaded my thoughts, his self-satisfied grin, and how he had dissipated into thin air. No, Gray's appearance had been no coincidence, and I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that a sinister truth lurked beneath the surface of the entire situation. I had signed a contract to be a husband; now I was a sentinel.

Morning dawned, yet the sun’s rays offered no warmth as I leaned against the balcony railing. Below, the garden thrummed softly with the songs of birds while silence reigned in the house except for the faint echoes of Nora’s laughter from the playroom. My jaw tightened. Amelia wore a mask of normalcy, rising early, attending meetings, and smiling for Nora’s benefit, but I could see the cracks behind her façade. She was merely pretending, surviving and that angered me. She shouldn't have to carry this burden alone.

And I couldn't sit idly by.

I retrieved my phone and dialed. “Adrian here. I need you to investigate someone, Gray Thompson, and anyone associated with Amelia Hayes. Business adversaries, exes, anyone who might want to see her downfall. Dig into their history. I want every link.”

The voice on the other end belonged to a private investigator I'd worked with before, a man who understood the necessary depths of discretion, and without skipping a beat, he replied, “I’ll update you in two days. Don't worry, Cole.”

I tucked the phone away and retreated indoors. I passed by the hallway where images of Amelia and Nora adorned the walls, a snapshot of tranquility, Amelia cradling Nora at the beach, another of her in a tailored blazer shaking hands with a politician. Powerful. Composed. Yet, I comprehended the truth now. I had witnessed her fear. I had seen her vulnerable. The public persona was a lie.

In the kitchen, Nora swung her legs from the counter as a nanny sliced strawberries. Spotting me, her face brightened.

“Adrian!” she exclaimed. “Why don’t you sleep in Mommy’s room?” The directness of children, always.

The nanny looked taken aback, attempting to quiet her, but I merely grinned.

“Mommy’s room is special,” I replied, strolling over. “And I snore. Quite loudly. We wouldn't want to wake her up.”

Nora giggled. “Mommy snores too!”

I laughed, but when I glanced up, I found Amelia framed in the doorway. Her stance was rigid, lips pressed into a thin line, the mask back in place. Our eyes locked, exchanging a silent message. Was it a warning to keep my distance, or perhaps a flicker of her own fear, exposed by Nora’s innocent question?

I offered her a subtle nod, a gesture of shared understanding in the face of the lie, and she turned away without a word.

Later, I discovered her in the office, perusing files. Dressed in a cream blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, her hair styled into a low bun which she appeared impeccable, the corporate armor fully donned. Yet, as she reached for a binder on the shelf, her blouse rose just enough to reveal a delicate scar on her lower back. I halted.

It was small and faded, yet it bore the mark of something intentional, something surgical or defensive. It wasn't an accidental injury.

Amelia noticed my gaze and her brows knitted together, a sharp sign of annoyance.

"You lied," she stated, redirecting her focus to the paperwork, ignoring the reason for my stare.

"About what?" I countered, raising an eyebrow, feigning confusion.

"Why don't you sleep in my room? Why don’t you sleep in my room?" She asked, her forehead creasing like a fresh wrinkle in our discourse, trying to push me back into the comfortable lines of the contract.

“Do you want me in your room?” I retorted, turning the question back on her, and she sighed, meeting my gaze, recognizing the trap.

“Is something amiss?” she inquired, pivoting the conversation with practiced ease.

I blinked in surprise. "No. I was just... curious about how you acquired that scar. It looks old."

“What scar?” she responded, pretending to be unaware, her eyes avoiding the movement of her own back.

“You know exactly what I mean. On your lower back. It doesn't look like a childhood injury.” I replied, reluctant to delve deeper into her past, but needing to know the measure of the woman I was protecting.

Her pause lingered a heartbeat too long. “Just an old tale,” she stated matter-of-factly before once again burying herself in her papers, effectively slamming the door shut.

I opted not to press further, sensing the hidden trigger, yet the image of that scar haunted me long after I exited the room.

Later that evening, I strode through the courtyard, burner phone in hand, awaiting the anticipated call. When it arrived, the voice of my informant was low and somber.

“I’ve uncovered something,” he disclosed. “Gray Thompson isn’t merely a drifter; he’s tied to a firm that once competed against Hayes International. There’s a murky past with sabotage from within, a collapsed merger, and even whispers of blackmail. And here’s the kicker: your Gray had a romantic history with Amelia’s previous assistant.”

Before he wed Amelia's sister? That made the custody battle exponentially more vicious. Something felt deeply off.

I released a slow breath. “So he’s not a newcomer. He’s been lurking and he has positioned himself to marry Nora's mother to get close to the Hayes estate."

“Possibly circling her for years. He’s meticulous, Adrian. This goes deeper than we thought.”

The only connection that ought to have existed between Grayson and Amelia should have been through Amelia's sister, Nora's mother. There must be more lurking beneath the surface, more intent, more malice.

“Anything else?”

“Nothing solid. But keep your eyes peeled. This man’s a specter, yet even ghosts have their patterns. Watch the people around her, Cole.”

After ending the call, I gazed at the fading horizon, torn between the ghosts of Amelia's past and her secrets she’d withheld. Why the silence? Was it shameful? A desire to protect? Or was that scar and her silence another piece of Gray Thompson's venomous history?

I re-entered the house and found her on the sofa with Nora, sharing a bedtime story. The child’s head leaned against Amelia’s lap, tiny fingers curled around her wrist. Amelia’s voice flowed gently, a soothing melody that concealed any trace of fear or tension.

Yet, once Nora drifted into slumber and I tucked her into bed, I returned to find Amelia shrouded in darkness in the living room.

“You knew he would appear,” I murmured, my voice a low accusation.

Her gaze remained fixed away from me, toward the shadows. “I hoped he wouldn’t.”

“Why keep me in the dark about Gray's firm and his history with your assistant? You hired me to protect you. How can I do that if I don't know the threat?”

“I didn’t want you entangled in this. I paid you to be a shield, not a detective.”

“That’s not how this operates, Amelia. Not anymore. The contract is dead; the danger is real.”

She rose, moving toward the window, putting distance between us. “You’re here due to a bargain. Don’t confuse this for something beyond that. I know the rules.”

I closed the distance, stopping just inches behind her. “What if I already have?” The contract was a lie, but the fire in my gut when I thought of her in danger was undeniably real.

The silence thickened like fog around us, electric and heavy.

Finally, Amelia turned to meet my gaze, her eyes a glacial blue. “Then that’s your dilemma, Adrian. Not mine.”

She turned away, leaving me adrift in the shadows.

Yet, I noticed the faint tremor in her shoulders as she did so.

And that’s how I recognized, despite her words and the icy facade, Amelia Hayes was undeniably frightened.

And whether she accepted it or not, I wasn't backing down.