Chapter 12 : Bound Beneath the Surface
Elena's heart raced as the heavy doors of the estate closed behind her with a sound too final, too loud. It echoed through her chest like a verdict. Adrian hadn't looked back. Not once.
Not when she reached for him. Not when she whispered his name through clenched teeth. Not when her voice broke, pleading for an explanation.
She stood in the grand marble foyer, alone now. Alone in a home that had become her prison—gilded and cold. Her hands trembled as she unzipped her jacket, the scent of his cologne still clinging to her skin like a second punishment.
The silence mocked her.
But silence could be louder than rage. And Adrian's silence tonight—after the confrontation with William Whitmore—had screamed.
She turned toward the hallway, bare feet pressing into the icy floor. One by one, memories played behind her eyes: his fingers brushing the back of her neck in the car, the way his voice had dipped low when he'd told her she didn't belong to herself anymore. The cold flare in his eyes when her father's name passed her lips like a curse.
And now?
He'd shut down. Like a door slammed shut from the inside.
___
In his private study, Adrian stood before a window, nursing a glass of scotch that burned down his throat like vengeance. The city glittered far beneath them—oblivious, undeserving.
He had never wanted to tell Elena the truth. Not like this.
She hadn't seen the worst of William Whitmore. Not yet. Not the manipulation, not the betrayals, not the blood-stained deals made behind mahogany desks. But Adrian had. As a boy. As a man. As the heir to every scar her father carved into the underworld.
And tonight, those ghosts came rushing back.
"Adrian," came a soft voice.
He didn't turn.
Elena stood in the doorway to his study, her presence gentle yet defiant, dressed in one of his shirts—too big for her frame, too intimate for this distance between them.
"You walked away," she said.
He let out a low breath. "You should be asleep."
"I'm not a child."
"No, you're not," he said, finishing the scotch. "But sometimes, I wish you were. Then maybe I wouldn't hate myself for dragging you into this."
Her lips parted, pain flickering in her eyes. "You didn't drag me. I walked in. I signed it."
Adrian turned now, slowly, his gaze sharp and unreadable. "You think that signature meant you had a choice?"
A pause.
She took a step forward. "I think... I want to understand you. Not the businessman. Not the billionaire. You."
His jaw tightened. "That's the problem, Elena. I don't want you to."
Silence stretched between them.
But she didn't back away. "What happened between you and my father?"
Adrian moved to the bar, pouring another drink, not looking at her. "He ruined someone I loved."
Her breath hitched. "Your mother?"
A bitter smile played on his lips. "Try again."
Her mind raced, but he didn't let her answer. He took a drink and spoke, voice detached.
"He had a son. A teenage boy with a head full of fire and a future so bright it made enemies squint. My best friend. He trusted your father with everything. His money. His plans. His secrets."
"And?"
"He disappeared one night. No warning. No body. Just gone."
Elena gasped. "You think my father—?"
"I know," Adrian said, eyes dark. "Your father made people disappear like pawns on a chessboard. And my friend? He was sacrificed to cover a debt that wasn't even his. Your father did it to protect his own name."
She sat down on the edge of the couch, her voice trembling. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He laughed without humor. "Because I didn't want to see your face fall the way it just did."
She stared at him, voice softer. "Then why marry me?"
A long beat.
His expression flickered. "Because hating your father didn't stop me from wanting you."
The words pierced her like blades.
He crossed the room slowly, kneeling in front of her. His fingers traced her jaw, her temple, as if memorizing the shape of her fragility.
"I didn't expect to fall in love with a Whitmore," he whispered.
Her breath caught.
"Adrian..."
"But this thing between us—it isn't pure. It's born from ashes. From revenge. From the worst parts of me."
Her hands touched his, threading their fingers together. "And the best parts?"
He closed his eyes, forehead resting against hers.
"They belong to you."
___
The next morning, sunlight pierced through the silk curtains, and Elena stirred in a bed far too large for one soul.
She reached out, but Adrian's side was cold.
He was gone.
A note lay on the nightstand in his sharp, precise handwriting:
"Meeting with the board. Stay in today. Don't speak to the staff. Wait for me."
It wasn't a suggestion.
It was a command.
She crumpled it in her palm, something bitter stirring in her chest. She walked to the window, watching the driveway below as a black car rolled out of the estate.
Adrian.
She felt the ache again. Not just for his body beside hers—but for his truth. His past. His war.
He had opened up last night, yes. But it wasn't enough.
She needed more.
And that meant finding it herself.
___
By mid-afternoon, Elena had scoured the study, the library, even the wine cellar. Her fingers grazed leather-bound books and steel-locked drawers.
Until finally… a drawer beneath the old gramophone clicked open.
Inside: an envelope. Yellowed at the corners. Unmarked.
She opened it.
Inside were photographs. Newspaper clippings. And a name.
Lucas Devlin.
The same last name as the boy Adrian spoke of.
One article caught her breath— "Lucas Devlin, 19, Disappears Under Mysterious Circumstances" … dated twelve years ago.
Elena's pulse thundered.
She grabbed the folder and ran upstairs—
Right into Adrian.
He stood at the top of the stairs, cold fury etched into every inch of his face. His jaw was locked. His eyes, lethal.
He didn't speak. Just held out his hand.
"Give it to me, Elena."
She froze.
Her lips parted. "You said you didn't want me to understand. But I need to. I deserve to."
His voice dropped. "No, you don't. That file isn't yours to touch."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm your wife, Adrian."
"And that's exactly why you need to stay out of this."
"I won't."
His gaze darkened as he stepped closer.
"You keep pushing, Elena," he whispered. "One day, you'll break something neither of us can fix."
She held her ground. "Then break me."
He took the file from her, crushing it against his chest. "I already did."
___
Adrian turned without another word, disappearing down the hall, the folder in hand, secrets dragging behind him like chains.
Elena stood there trembling—not from fear. From fury.
This wasn't about trust anymore. It was about truth.
And she would find it… even if it meant tearing down the walls of the Knight Empire herself.
____
💔 Reader Questions:
1. Do you believe Adrian's feelings are truly love—or just obsession cloaked in guilt?
2. Should Elena confront William Whitmore next?
3. What would you do if you found out your father destroyed the person your lover once loved?