Chapter 7 – The Photograph
The rain had stopped hours ago, but the windows of the old mansion still trembled with the memory of thunder. Laurence moved through the hallways barefoot, the soft thud of her steps swallowed by the velvet hush of night. The house always felt larger at this hour, its shadows stretching like claws across the walls, but she had grown used to them.
What she hadn't grown used to was Adrian.
He was in the library, as if he belonged there, his tall frame leaning lazily against one of the carved wooden shelves, thumbing through a book like he had all the time in the world. The lamplight threw golden flames across his hair, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, and when he glanced up at her, his smile was infuriatingly self-assured.
"You're late," he said, voice low but teasing.
Laurence rolled her eyes, hugging her notebook to her chest. "I didn't know I was on your schedule."
Adrian smirked, closing the book with a soft thud. "You always are."
The words made her stomach flutter, though she hated to admit it. She moved past him, dropping her notebook on the table. "We're supposed to be finishing this project. Not wasting time with your ego."
He followed, his presence filling the space beside her. "My ego is part of the charm. You'll realize that eventually."
Laurence shook her head, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. She tried to focus on the papers spread across the desk, but his nearness made concentration impossible. She could feel the heat of him, the brush of his shoulder against hers when he leaned down to look at the text. His cologne—something woodsy, sharp—wrapped around her, and she bit her lip without realizing.
Adrian noticed. His gaze dipped to her mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to the page.
She cleared her throat. "So, um… you were supposed to analyze Act Three."
"I did." He tilted the notebook toward her, though his eyes never left her face. "Want me to read it to you?"
Laurence lifted her chin, trying not to shiver under the intensity of his stare. "I can read it myself."
"Suit yourself." He sat back, folding his arms across his chest, but that cocky grin lingered.
The silence stretched. Only the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional rustle of paper filled the air. Yet beneath it, something heavier simmered—something neither of them had the courage to name.
Laurence tried to ignore it, but when she reached for a pen, her hand brushed his. Heat shot through her veins like fire. She froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Adrian didn't move his hand away. Instead, he shifted closer, deliberately letting his fingers graze hers again. His eyes were dark now, unreadable, and the smirk had softened into something slower, heavier.
"Laurence," he murmured. Her name rolled off his tongue like a secret.
She swallowed hard. "What?"
"Nothing." His voice dropped lower. "Just… I like the way your name sounds."
Her pulse hammered. She wanted to pull away, to say something sharp that would break the tension, but when he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her resolve crumbled. His fingertips lingered against her cheek, warm and feather-light, and she leaned into the touch before she could stop herself.
Adrian's breath hitched. His hand slid from her cheek to her jaw, holding her as if she were something fragile he was afraid to break.
Laurence's heart thudded wildly. Her hands curled against the edge of the desk, nails digging into the wood. "Adrian…"
He stepped closer, the heat of his body pressing against hers. His other hand brushed over her thigh, tentative at first, then firmer, resting just above her knee. She gasped, her eyes flying to his, but he didn't look away.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
She didn't. She couldn't.
The space between them evaporated. His lips brushed hers once, barely a touch, as though asking permission. Then again, firmer this time, his mouth molding to hers with desperate tenderness. The kiss deepened slowly, their breaths mingling, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. His hand slid higher along her thigh, anchoring her, while the other held her jaw like she was the only real thing in his world.
For a moment, nothing else existed—not the whispers at school, not the gaping hole her father had left, not even her mother's coldness. Just this. Just him.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Laurence stared at him in shock. She'd never felt anything like it. The kiss had been fire and gravity, pulling her toward him with a force she couldn't fight.
Adrian brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, his forehead resting lightly against hers. "I've wanted to do that since the first day I saw you."
Laurence's chest tightened. She wanted to believe him—wanted it more than anything—but something inside whispered caution.
And then she saw it.
On the table, half-buried beneath their notes, lay a photograph she hadn't noticed before. An old basketball team photo, edges yellowed with age. Her breath stilled.
Her father was in it, younger, smiling with the same easy confidence she remembered. And right beside him stood another man—Adrian's uncle.
Laurence's heart plummeted.
She snatched up the photo, her hands trembling. "Why is this here?" Her voice cracked. "Did you know about this?"
Adrian stiffened, the warmth draining from his face. He reached for the photo, but she pulled back.
"Laurence—"
"Don't." Her voice was sharp, brittle. "You knew, didn't you? That's why you've been hanging around. Why you've been—" Her throat closed on the word kissing.
"It's not like that." Adrian stepped toward her, desperate, but she backed away.
"Then explain!" Her eyes burned. "Explain why my father is standing next to your uncle in this picture. Explain why you never said anything."
Adrian ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. "Because I didn't know how. Because I thought—" He broke off, frustration twisting his features. "Yes, my family knew yours. And yes, my uncle… he lost everything because of your father. But it's not what you think."
Laurence's stomach churned. "Oh, it's exactly what I think. You hated me. You only came near me because of him." She shook the photo in his face. "This is all some game to you, isn't it?"
His voice cracked when he answered. "No. God, no. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. At first, maybe… but then—" He stepped closer again, his hand reaching out before dropping helplessly to his side. "Then you weren't just Laurence Daisy, daughter of the man who vanished. You were you. And I…" He swallowed hard. "I fell, Laurence. I fell before I even realized it."
Tears blurred her vision, fury and heartbreak warring inside her. She wanted to believe him, wanted to cling to the warmth of his kiss—but the photograph burned between them like a brand.
"You should go," she whispered.
Adrian froze, his eyes wide, pained. "Laurence—"
"Go." Her voice cracked. "Before I hate you too."
The silence that followed was unbearable. He opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it again, his throat working. Finally, he nodded once, slow and broken.
As he turned to leave, his gaze caught hers for a fraction longer than necessary. In his eyes—stormy, desperate—she saw something raw. Not lies. Not manipulation. Something closer to regret, maybe even love.
It wasn't enough to heal the wound between them. Not yet. But it was enough to plant a seed.
As the library door closed behind him, Laurence sank into the chair, the photo clutched to her chest. The warmth of his touch still lingered on her skin, colliding with the chill of betrayal.
For the first time since her father's disappearance, she didn't know which haunted her more—the mystery of the past, or the possibility of a future with Adrian.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the anger and the pain, a tiny, dangerous flicker of hope refused to die.