Chapter 5 - The Phantom Caller
"Who was that?" Adrian demanded, his tone instantly shifting from desperate father to ruthless protector, the Chicago titan waking up beneath the surface.
"Celeste," I whispered, the name tasting like ash on my tongue.
Adrian’s expression darkened into something lethal. The temperature around us seemed to drop ten degrees. "She’s in Chicago?"
"She's coming here," I said, my heart pounding wildly against my ribs as the realization of what her phone call meant crashed over me. "She knows you're here. She’s been watching us, or someone she hired has been tracking your movements. If she finds out about the twins..."
"She won't touch them," Adrian cut me off, his voice absolute, flat, and chillingly final. He reached out, grabbing my upper arms, his grip firm but not hurting me. "Clara, listen to me very carefully. Celeste is toxic, and she’s desperate. If she realizes you had my children, she will use them as a weapon to destroy whatever is left of my holdings and drag you through a media circus that will tear your life apart."
"And whose fault is that?" I snapped, pulling back from his grip, tears finally spilling over my lashes. "If you hadn't brought her into our lives—if you hadn't let her get close enough to destroy us—none of this would be happening!"
"I know," Adrian said softly, his voice dropping all defenses. He looked at me, not as an adversary, not as a billionaire, but as a man begging for absolution he knew he didn't deserve. "I own that. Every single second of it. But right now, we don't have time to litigate the past. Celeste is on her way, and she has lawyers, tabloids, and a vendetta."
"What do you propose we do, Adrian? Invite her over for tea?" I asked bitterly.
"I propose we leave," he said, turning to look toward the bakery stairs where my children were sleeping. "Pack a bag. Get the twins. We're going to my private estate in Lake Geneva. It's gated, secure, and completely isolated from the press. Celeste won't even be able to get past the outer security perimeter."
"Run away with you?" I stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "Into another one of your golden cages? I spent three years building a real life, Adrian. I bake bread. My kids play in the park. I'm not trading that for your fortress."
"It's not a cage, Clara. It's a bunker," Adrian said, his amber eyes burning with fierce intensity. "You can hate me all you want. You can divorce me, you can sue me, you can banish me to the guesthouse. But I will not let your sister touch my children."
Before I could form a reply, a black sedan turned the corner of the street, slowing down as it crept past the bakery, its tinted windows rolling down just a fraction.
My breath caught in my throat.
Adrian pulled me behind his broad shoulder, his hand sliding to his inner coat pocket where I knew a weapon rested.
The sedan crept forward, paused for three seconds directly beneath our window, and then accelerated sharply, speeding away down the avenue.
On the windshield of Adrian's town car, tucked neatly beneath the wiper blade, was a small, white envelope.
Adrian stepped forward, pulled the envelope free, and tore it open. He pulled out a single photograph and turned it over.
May you like
My blood ran cold.
It was a picture of Maya and Leo playing on the bakery floor taken through our front window not twenty minutes ago, stamped with a timestamp and a single handwritten note across the back: Found you.
