Chapter 2 - The Shadow from Atlanta
The rest of the day passed in a blur of anxiety. Adrian didn't press the matter further in his office, but he did something almost as alarming: he instructed his personal executive assistant, Sarah, to set up a small folding desk inside his private suite so Mia could color and watch cartoons for the remainder of the afternoon.
Whenever I walked past his glass-walled office, I saw the coldest billionaire in New York quietly handing my daughter juice boxes, or quietly answering her relentless questions about the model ships displayed on his bookshelves. It was surreal, disorienting, and profoundly terrifying.
By 6:00 PM, the office had cleared out. I packed Mia’s things into my tote bag, eager to escape the oppressive tension of the building.
As we stepped out of the private elevator into the underground parking garage, the cool air hit my face. The garage was quiet, save for the hum of the ventilation system.
“Mommy, can Mr. Adrian come to dinner?” Mia asked, swinging her small backpack. “He said he likes pizza.”
“No, sweetie. Mr. Kane is my boss. He’s very busy—”
“He didn't seem busy when he showed me his shiny watch,” she noted logically.
I opened the passenger door of my modest sedan and was helping Mia buckle into her car seat when a heavy footstep echoed against the concrete floor behind us.
I froze.
“Well, well. Look at you, playing house in the big city.”
The voice was smooth, toxic, and hauntingly familiar.
I turned slowly. Standing ten feet away, dressed in a wrinkled designer jacket with a glass of whiskey sloshing in a plastic cup, was Gregory Vance.
My ex-husband.
Gregory was the handsome, charming son of an Atlanta real estate magnate who had systematically dismantled my self-esteem, liquidated my inheritance under the guise of bad investments, and spent three years threatening to use his family’s corrupt legal connections to take Mia away from me if I ever tried to leave him.
I had fled Atlanta two years ago under the cover of night, changing my phone number and securing a fresh start at Blackwell & Reed.
“Gregory,” I whispered, stepping firmly in front of Mia’s car door to block his view of her. “How did you find me?”
“You’re on billboards all over Midtown, darling,” Gregory sneered, taking a slow step forward. His eyes were red-rimmed, carrying the unpredictable flare of a man who had lost his own fortune and was hunting for someone to blame. “The brilliant Elena Vance, rising star of Manhattan branding. Meanwhile, my father’s firm went into receivership last month. You took my daughter and ran off to live the high life while I’m left cleaning up the wreckage.”
“I left because you were destroying us,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the terror racing through my veins. “You have no right to be here. Get away from my car, or I will call security.”
Gregory laughed—a harsh, ugly sound—and took two quick steps toward me, grabbing my wrist in a crushing grip. “You think a few rent-a-cops in Manhattan are going to protect you from me? You’re coming back to Atlanta, Elena. You and Mia. Or I’ll make sure every client on your roster knows about your father’s fraudulent bankruptcy.”
“Let go of her.”
The command didn't come from a shout. It was delivered in a deep, terrifying baritone that sliced through the garage like a steel blade.
May you like
Gregory turned, startled.
Adrian Kane was walking toward us out of the shadows, flanked by two towering men in crisp black suits—his private security detail. Adrian moved with an effortless, predatory grace, his coat unbuttoned, his expression utterly void of mercy.
