The door opened with a sound that reminded Lena of a heartbeat — slow, steady, heavy.
She had expected a vault, or weapons, or something out of one of the rumors that surrounded Adrian Blackwood.
She hadn't expected this.
The room was small and cold. The walls were lined with old photographs and faded newspaper clippings, pinned in careful order. At the center stood a large desk covered in files, flash drives, and a single glass frame — cracked across the middle — holding a picture of a man who looked too much like Adrian to be anyone else.
"Your father," Lena whispered.
Adrian nodded once, stepping inside. "Marcus Blackwood."
She followed slowly, eyes darting across the photographs. Some showed Adrian as a child; others showed the same man from the dinner, the one who had warned her about him.
The caption beneath one clipping read:
> Blackwood Industries Under Investigation for Fraud and Insider Trading
Lena turned to him. "This was your father's company?"
He nodded. "His empire. His pride. His downfall."
"And you rebuilt it."
"I rebuilt what was left," he said quietly. "But I didn't know how deep it went — not until after he died."
She frowned. "You think he was murdered."
He didn't answer, but his silence told her everything.
---
Adrian moved to the desk and opened a file, revealing photos — the same man she'd seen tonight. Rafe.
"He worked for my father. His right hand. After the scandal broke, Rafe disappeared with evidence that could have destroyed us. Months later, my father was found dead in his office. Gunshot wound. They called it suicide."
"But you don't believe that," Lena said softly.
He met her gaze. "Would you?"
She shook her head.
"I found this," he continued, opening another folder. Inside was a letter — unsigned, typed, but unmistakably threatening.
> If you don't deliver what was promised, Marcus dies first. Then his son.
Lena's blood ran cold. "Who sent it?"
"That's what I've spent years trying to find out," he said. "Rafe resurfacing means someone's still pulling the strings. Someone who wants what my father hid."
"And what was that?"
Adrian's eyes darkened. "A list — of every illegal deal my father ever made. Names, accounts, shell companies. Whoever controls that list controls everything."
Lena swallowed. "And you think Rafe still has it?"
"I know he does."
---
For a long moment, neither spoke. Rain whispered against the glass, the storm easing into a soft drizzle.
Then Lena's eyes fell on something else — a small photograph half-hidden under a file.
It was her.
Younger. Smiling. Standing outside a small café she used to work at years ago.
Her heart froze. "Adrian… why do you have this?"
He turned sharply, his expression unreadable. "That's not supposed to be here."
"But it is," she said, voice shaking. "You've had this for years. How?"
He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't know it was you. My investigators compiled everything connected to my father's last months. That café — someone he met there was sending messages under a code name. 'L.'"
Her breath caught. "You think I—"
"No," he said quickly, stepping closer. "Not you. But someone used your name. Your initials. And now they've made you part of this without you even knowing it."
She backed away, fear and confusion swirling inside her. "So this isn't about me?"
"It is now," he said quietly.
---
Before she could respond, a noise echoed through the penthouse — faint, but sharp. A door closing.
Adrian stiffened. "Stay here."
"Adrian—"
He was already gone, disappearing into the shadows of the hall. Lena followed to the doorway, peering into the dim light. For a few moments, all she could hear was the ticking of a distant clock.
Then — a crash.
"Adrian!" she shouted.
She ran toward the sound and found the front door swinging open, wind howling through the penthouse. The elevator lights were blinking — someone had just left.
Adrian stood at the edge of the living room, holding a small, black envelope in his hand. His face was pale, eyes burning.
"What is it?" she asked.
He opened it. Inside was a single photograph — of the two of them, taken through the window an hour earlier.
And beneath it, three words scrawled in red ink:
> THE PAST RETURNS.
Lena felt the chill run straight through her.
Adrian crumpled the photo in his fist.
"They've found us," he said.