ADRIAN'S POV
I hang up on the threatening call and stare at the photo of the little girl on my phone.
Grey eyes. My eyes.
"Is she mine?" I asked Eva. "Do I have a daughter?"
But she hung up on me. Won't answer my calls. Has probably blocked my number by now.
I stand in my penthouse, shaking. The city lights of Manhattan spread before me like diamonds, but all I see is that little girl's face.
My driver brought me home an hour ago. I've been pacing ever since. Can't sit. Can't think. Can't breathe.
Eva was pregnant.
The words spin in my head on repeat. Five years ago, when I had her arrested, she was carrying my child.
I stumble to my bar. Pour whiskey with trembling hands. The glass slips. Shatters on the marble floor.
"Damn it!" I kick the broken pieces. They scatter across the room.
My phone rings. Unknown number. I answer desperately. "Eva?"
"No, Mr. Thorne. It's me again." That distorted voice from earlier. "Did you enjoy the photo of your daughter?"
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"I want you to understand what you're dealing with. Evangeline Cross isn't just some woman seeking revenge. She's a mother protecting her child. And you? You're the man who destroyed her."
"I know what I did!"
"Do you? Do you really?" The voice laughs. "You had a pregnant woman arrested. Threw her in a cell for six months. Her family's company collapsed. She lost everything—her reputation, her career, her home. And through it all, she was carrying your baby."
Each word is a knife to my chest. "I didn't know—"
"You should have known! You should have believed her! You should have fought for her!" The voice rises. "But you chose your family over the woman you loved. And now? Now she's going to make you pay."
"Let her. I deserve it."
Silence. Then: "Interesting. You really mean that."
"Yes. I'd let her destroy everything I own if it meant earning a chance at forgiveness."
"Even if she tries to take your daughter away forever? Even if she makes sure you never see that little girl again?"
My heart stops. "She wouldn't—"
"She would. She will. Because in her mind, you don't deserve to be a father. You had your chance five years ago, and you threw it away." The voice pauses. "But maybe... maybe there's still hope."
"What do you mean?"
"Figure it out yourself, Mr. Thorne. You're supposed to be smart, aren't you?"
The call ends.
I stand there, phone in hand, mind racing. Who keeps calling me? Who sent that photo? And why are they helping me—if they're helping me at all?
I pull up the photo again. Study every detail. The little girl—Isabella, Eva said her name was Isabella—sits in a pink bedroom. Stuffed animals on the shelves. Drawings on the wall. She looks peaceful. Safe. Loved.
Eva gave her a good life. The life I should have given them both.
My chest feels like it's caving in. I have a daughter. A four-year-old daughter who doesn't know I exist. Who's probably been told I'm a monster. Who will hate me just like her mother does.
I deserve that hate.
But God, it hurts.
My phone buzzes. Email from Celeste Monroe's office. My heart jumps. Finally. An answer.
I open it with shaking hands.
Inside: a notice that Celeste Monroe's investment fund is launching hostile takeover bids for three Thorne Global subsidiaries. Worth billions combined. The deals could cripple my company.
Attached is a handwritten note. I recognize Eva's elegant script immediately:
You wanted to talk? Let's talk business. My office. Tomorrow. 2 PM. Come alone.
She signed it Evangeline Cross. Her real name. The name she abandoned when I destroyed her.
Tomorrow. I'll see her tomorrow. I'll demand answers about Isabella. I'll beg for a chance to be a father. I'll—
Another email arrives. Different sender. No subject line.
I open it cautiously.
It's a video file. Dated five years ago. The night of our engagement party.
My finger hovers over play. Do I want to see this? Do I want to relive the worst night of my life?
But I have to know. Have to understand what really happened.
I press play.
The video shows me in a private room at the venue. My mother sits across from me. Marcus stands by the door.
"Adrian, we need to act fast," my mother says in the video. "Evangeline has stolen fifty million dollars from the company. We have proof."
Young me looks devastated. "That's impossible. Eva wouldn't—"
"Look at the evidence!" My mother slides a folder across the table.
I watch myself open it. Watch my face change as I see bank transfers, emails, signatures. All fake, I know now. All planted by my mother and Marcus to frame Eva.
But five years ago, I believed it.
"We need to call the police," Marcus says in the video.
"No." Young me shakes his head. "I need to talk to Eva first. Give her a chance to explain—"
"If you talk to her, she'll run," my mother interrupts. "She'll take the money and disappear. We need to act now."
"She's your fiancée," young me argues. "The woman I'm going to marry. I can't just have her arrested without—"
"You can and you will. Unless you want this company destroyed." My mother's voice turns hard. "Your father built Thorne Global from nothing. Are you really going to let some gold-digger tear it down?"
I watch myself hesitate. See the exact moment I make the choice that ruined everything.
"Fine," young me says quietly. "Call the police."
The video continues. Shows the police arriving. Shows me walking back to the party. Shows Eva laughing with friends, beautiful in her white dress, completely unaware that in five minutes, her world will end.
Shows me giving the signal.
Shows police surrounding her.
Shows the handcuffs.
Shows Eva's face—confusion turning to terror turning to betrayal as she realizes I'm behind this.
"Adrian!" she screams in the video. "Adrian, please! I didn't do this! I love you!"
I watch myself turn away. Watch myself walk out while security drags her away.
Coward. I was a coward.
The video ends.
But immediately, another video starts playing. This one I've never seen before.
It shows Eva six months later. In a hospital. Pregnant. Alone.
A doctor speaks: "Ms. Cross, the stress has put you and the baby at serious risk. You're showing signs of pre-term labor. If you don't rest—"
"I can't rest!" Eva sobs. "I have court tomorrow. I have to clear my name. I have to—"
"If you don't rest, you could lose this baby."
Eva's hand goes to her stomach. Her face crumbles. "No. Please. The baby is all I have left. Please."
The video cuts to Eva being released from jail. All charges dropped—not because they found her innocent, but because they "lacked sufficient evidence." A technicality. She walks out of the courthouse eight months pregnant, alone, facing reporters who scream questions:
"Did you steal from Thorne Global?"
"Were you using Adrian Thorne?"
"Is that his baby?"
Eva keeps her head down. Says nothing. Disappears into a car.
The video ends.
A message appears on screen: This is what you did, Adrian Thorne. You destroyed an innocent woman. You almost killed your own child. And now? Now you want forgiveness? You want to be a father? You think you deserve that chance?
The message isn't signed.
I can't breathe. Can't think. The room spins.
I did that to her. Put her through that hell. Almost killed our baby through stress and cruelty.
My phone rings. I answer without looking.
"Did you watch the videos?" That distorted voice again.
"Yes."
"Good. Then you understand. Eva survived because she's strong. But she didn't survive without scars. The woman you loved? She's gone. The woman who came back? She's someone else entirely. Someone harder. Colder. Someone who will never forgive you."
"I know."
"But here's what you don't know." The voice drops lower. "Someone else wants Eva to suffer. Someone who's been watching her for five years. Someone who knows about Isabella. Someone who will use that little girl to destroy you both."
Ice floods my veins. "Who?"
"Figure it out. Before it's too late. Because tomorrow when you walk into Eva's office? You're walking into a trap. And it's not the trap you think it is."
"Wait—what do you mean—"
The call ends.
I stare at my phone. My heart pounds.
A trap. Tomorrow is a trap. But set by who? Eva? My mother? Marcus?
Someone else?
I pull up the photo of Isabella again. Study her face. My daughter. In danger from someone I can't even identify.
I have to warn Eva. Have to call her. Have to—
My phone buzzes. Text message from an unknown number.
The message includes a live video feed.
I click it with shaking hands.
The video shows Eva's penthouse. Right now. Live footage.
Eva sits on a couch. A little girl—Isabella—curls up beside her. Eva reads a storybook. Isabella yawns. They look peaceful. Safe. Like a perfect mother-daughter moment.
But in the corner of the screen, someone else appears.
A figure dressed in black. Wearing a mask. Standing in Eva's apartment. Watching them.
Holding a knife.
The text below the video reads: Tomorrow at 2 PM, you walk into Eva's office alone. You sign over everything she asks for. You don't fight back. You don't argue. Or tonight, while they sleep, I make sure Isabella never wakes up. Your choice, Mr
. Thorne. Your daughter's life... or your pride.
The video feed goes black.
I'm already running for the door.