Chapter 2 - Ninety-One CallsAdrian stared at me as though the answer I had given him was impossible.
“I tried.”
Two words.
That was all it took to strip the anger from his face.
Dr. Bennett helped me onto the leather sofa while Adrian remained beside the ruined annulment papers, perfectly still.
“I want her blood pressure checked,” Samuel said.
Adrian immediately moved closer.
Samuel blocked him with one look.
“Give her room.”
Under any other circumstances, telling Adrian Vale to move aside in his own house would have been an effective way to discover whether billionaires could kill people using only eye contact.
Tonight, Adrian obeyed.
Samuel wrapped the cuff around my arm.
“When did you last eat?”
“Breakfast.”
“It’s almost seven.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“That isn’t optional anymore.”
Adrian’s head snapped toward me.
“You haven’t eaten since breakfast?”
I ignored him.
Samuel did too.
He took my blood pressure, frowned, then handed me water.
“Low. Not dangerous yet, but you need food, rest, and much less stress.”
His glance toward Adrian was deliberate.
Adrian accepted the insult without responding.
That scared me more than his anger.
Adrian never accepted anything silently.
Samuel stayed another twenty minutes.
He made me eat crackers. He asked about cramping, dizziness, nausea, headaches.
Adrian heard every answer.
When Samuel finally packed his bag, he turned to him.
“She has an appointment Monday morning. I suggest you decide before then whether you intend to make her life calmer or considerably worse.”
“I’ll be there.”
“No,” I said.
Both men looked at me.
“I didn’t invite you.”
Something moved across Adrian’s face.
Samuel wisely said nothing.
After he left, rain continued beating against the windows.
Adrian and I were alone.
Again.
He looked down at the carpet.
Pieces of our annulment petition surrounded his shoes.
“Sixteen weeks.”
“Yes.”
“Twins.”
“Yes.”
“Mine.”
I stared at him.
“You seriously want to ask me that?”
His expression tightened.
“No. God, no. That came out wrong.”
“Everything tonight seems to.”
He dragged a hand over his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
“I received nothing.”
I stood carefully.
“You want proof?”
“Mara—”
“No. You spent thirteen weeks deciding I was a liar. Let’s try evidence.”
I walked from the library.
He followed.
Blackthorn House had belonged to my family for fifty-three years. My grandfather built his medical manufacturing business from a garage in Queens and bought the estate after his first major patent.
After Dad died, the house became painfully quiet.
After Adrian disappeared, it became unbearable.
I climbed the stairs toward my bedroom.
Adrian stayed close enough to catch me but wisely didn’t touch me.
Inside, I opened my nightstand and removed my phone.
I unlocked it, opened the call history I had screenshotted weeks earlier, and handed it over.
His eyes moved down the screen.
ADRIAN — OUTGOING.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Thirty-seven calls during the first week.
Twenty-one the second.
Fewer later, because humiliation eventually teaches restraint.
I opened my messages.
Are you okay?
Please call me.
I need to tell you something.
Adrian, this is important.
Please.
I’m pregnant.
I don’t know whether you’re receiving these.
Samuel confirmed it.
I heard the heartbeat today.
I wish you were here.
His thumb stopped moving.
He stared at the final message.
Sent eleven weeks earlier.
Then he whispered, “I never got these.”
“That changes everything.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I changed phones after Singapore.”
“You disappeared before Singapore.”
“I left you a message.”
“I received nothing.”
He looked up sharply.
“What?”
“The morning you left. Nothing. No note. No call. Your assistant said you were unavailable. Security wouldn’t tell me where you were.”
“Security?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
His face altered.
It wasn’t guilt.
It was calculation.
The Adrian Vale who loved me disappeared behind the eyes of the CEO.
“Show me your phone.”
“You’re holding it.”
“No. Your blocked numbers.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Please.”
The word sounded strange coming from him.
I opened the settings.
His number wasn’t blocked.
Adrian checked anyway.
Then he called his own number.
Nothing.
His phone did not ring.
He called again.
Still nothing.
He pulled his own phone out, compared the numbers, and went very still.
“That isn’t my current number.”
“I know. Your assistant refused to give me the new one.”
“Who?”
“Celeste.”
His head lifted.
Celeste Ward had worked for Adrian for six years.
Brilliant.
Efficient.
Beautiful in a way that looked expensive.
And absolutely loyal to Adrian’s mother, Lenora.
“Celeste told you I ordered her not to give you my number?”
“Yes.”
“I never gave that order.”
The cold certainty in his voice made my skin prickle.
He dialed.
Celeste answered on the second ring.
“Mr. Vale?”
“Where are you?”
A pause.
“At home.”
“I want every communications log between my wife and my office from the last four months.”
Silence.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m not sure—”
“You have ten minutes.”
He disconnected.
I folded my arms.
“One suspicious assistant doesn’t explain annulment papers.”
“No.”
“Or the accusation that I forged Dad’s trust.”
“No.”
“Or thirteen weeks.”
His jaw flexed.
“I thought you betrayed me.”
“And therefore disappearing was reasonable?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
I hadn’t expected that.
Adrian looked out the window.
“My father taught me one rule before I was old enough to understand it. Never let someone see where they hurt you.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“He wasn’t healthy.”
Victor Vale had built the original Vale shipping empire through intimidation, manipulation, and enough sealed lawsuits to wallpaper a courthouse.
He died when Adrian was twenty-four.
Adrian spent the next decade turning what remained into Vale Meridian, a global logistics and technology company.
He also spent the decade pretending his father had left no scars.
“I found the trust papers,” he continued. “Then a private investigator gave me photographs.”
“What photographs?”
His eyes met mine.
“You and Lucas Mercer.”
My stomach dropped.
Lucas had been Dad’s attorney.
And one of my oldest friends.
“What about us?”
“Leaving the Langham together. Meeting three times without telling me. Him transferring documents to you.”
I stared.
“That was about Dad’s estate.”
“I know that now.”
“Now?”
“I began doubting the evidence three weeks ago.”
My anger sharpened.
“And you still came with annulment papers.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because this afternoon I received confirmation that the signature was yours.”
“It isn’t.”
“I believe you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“How generous.”
His phone rang.
Celeste.
Adrian answered.
“Speak.”
Her voice was audible in the quiet bedroom.
“Mr. Vale, there appears to have been a server migration problem. Some communications may not have transferred.”
Adrian’s expression became terrifyingly calm.
“All ninety-one calls?”
I stared at him.
He had counted.
Celeste hesitated.
“What?”
“Ninety-one calls from my wife.”
“I’d need to review—”
“And seventeen emails.”
Silence.
“And a voicemail informing me she was pregnant.”
Celeste stopped breathing.
Adrian’s eyes turned to ice.
“I didn’t say anything about a voicemail.”
Another silence.
Then the line disconnected.
Adrian stared at the phone.
I felt cold.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“She knew I was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“And she hid it.”
He was already dialing another number.
“Security?”
He waited.
“Freeze Celeste Ward’s access immediately. Email, server, building credentials, corporate cards. Do not contact her. Send a team to preserve every device assigned to her.”
He ended the call.
My heart pounded.
“You think she forged the documents?”
“I think Celeste is too intelligent to do something this elaborate alone.”
I knew the answer before asking.
“Your mother.”
Adrian didn’t reply.
He didn’t need to.
Lenora Vale had objected to our marriage from the beginning.
Not because I was poor.
Ironically, that would have been easier.
The Hartwells had money.
But the Vales had power.
Lenora believed I married Adrian to force a merger between our families’ companies.
She had once told me over lunch that women like me mistook love for acquisition.
I had never told Adrian.
Now I wondered what else I should have told him.
Adrian crossed toward me.
I stepped backward.
He stopped immediately.
“I know ripping those papers changes nothing.”
“Good.”
“I know finding out about the babies doesn’t erase what I did.”
“Good.”
“But I am going to find out who did this.”
“For yourself?”
“For us.”
“There is no us right now.”
Pain flashed across his face.
I continued.
“You don’t get to disappear for three months, come back accusing me of fraud, discover I’m pregnant, and suddenly decide we’re a family again.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His voice dropped.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“For forty-eight hours.”
I almost laughed.
“To do what?”
“Find the truth.”
“And afterward?”
“You decide whether I leave.”
Before I could answer, his phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
He read it.
Every trace of emotion vanished.
“What?”
Adrian turned the screen toward me.
Security had searched Celeste’s corporate account.
One encrypted folder had been recovered.
Its title was simple.
PROJECT WIDOW.
Inside were surveillance photographs of me.
Financial records.
Copies of my medical appointments.
And a message sent twelve weeks ago from an account belonging to Lenora Vale.
The message contained only one sentence.
Make sure Adrian never learns about the baby.
My knees nearly weakened again.
Adrian caught the edge of the dresser instead of reaching for me.
His voice was barely audible.
“My mother knew.”
Then another message arrived.
Security had located Celeste.
Her apartment was empty.
May you like
And on her kitchen table, she had left a handwritten note.
Ask Mara what happened the night her father died.
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