Chapter Eighteen
The rain had returned that evening, drumming softly against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Blackwood penthouse, leaving streaks of silver light on the polished marble floors. Elena sat on the edge of the sofa, her laptop open, the screen illuminating her tired but determined face. She wasn't supposed to be digging—she knew the rules—but something had shifted in her. The quiet care Adrian had shown during her illness had unlocked a courage she hadn't felt in months.
It started as idle curiosity. While tidying the study—an area Adrian rarely used and kept meticulously organized—her fingers brushed against a faint seam in the massive mahogany desk. Something felt out of place. She pressed lightly, tracing the edges, until her thumb found a mechanism that opened a hidden drawer, almost invisible unless you knew it was there.
Her heart skipped a beat. Hidden drawers usually meant secrets. And secrets, she had learned, often had the power to destroy—or to save.
