I didn't sleep.Not even a little.
The memory of Ethan's last message Adrian sat in my mind like a ticking bomb. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, every creak of the old house sounding like footsteps outside my door.
By morning, the pale light seeping through the curtains felt like an interrogation lamp.
I was halfway through buttoning my blouse when there was a knock. Firm. Three times.
"Elena," Adrian's voice called from the other side. "Come downstairs. We need to talk."
The words we need to talk from him didn't sound like an invitation it sounded like a summons.
When I entered the dining room, he was already seated at the head of the table, his posture immaculate, his dark suit pressed as if it had just come from the tailor. The morning newspaper lay folded beside his plate, untouched. His coffee sat there, steam curling from the rim.
He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
I obeyed, the sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
"You went out last night," he said flatly. Not a question.
I gripped the edge of my chair. "I told you. I just needed air."
"By the sea?" His gaze was steady, sharp.
I hesitated, and his lips curled not in amusement, but in something colder. "You're a terrible liar, Elena."
My chest tightened. "Why don't you just say what you want to say?"
He leaned back slightly, folding his hands on the table. "I'll tell you exactly why we're married."
The sudden shift in conversation made my stomach drop.
"This marriage isn't about love," he continued. "It's about protection. You are… insurance, in a way."
"Insurance?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.
"Yes." He didn't flinch. "Ethan has enemies. I have enemies. And recently, they've found a way to get to me through you."
I stared at him, my pulse quickening. "Through me? Why me?"
"Because you're a Carter," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "Your family name still carries weight in certain circles. Your father's old business partners aren't all dead. Some of them… want to use you."
I shook my head slowly. "This doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't you just tell me before?"
He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Because telling you puts you in more danger than keeping you in the dark. But after last night…" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Who did you see on the pier?"
The question hit me like a slap. "What makes you think I"
"Answer me." His tone brooked no argument.
I swallowed hard. "I don't know who he was. A stranger."
His eyes searched mine, as if weighing the truth. "If that man approaches you again, you turn around and walk away. Don't speak to him. Don't even let him see your face. Do you understand?"
My mouth was dry. "And if I don't?"
A shadow passed over his expression. "Then you won't have the luxury of choosing who you marry next time."
The words chilled me more than the morning air seeping through the windows.
The rest of breakfast passed in silence. I barely touched my food. My mind kept spinning, trying to piece together his story, Ethan's warning, and the shadow on the pier. None of it fit neatly together.
By the time I escaped back to my room, I felt wrung out, my nerves strung tight. I stood by the window, staring out at the quiet street below.
That's when I saw it.
A flicker of movement just at the edge of the hedge near the front gate.
I stepped closer, peering through the glass. There was someone there. Dressed in dark clothes, half-hidden behind the overgrown shrubbery.
A faint glint caught my eye.
A camera lens.
They were pointing it at me.
Before I could react, the figure lowered the camera and disappeared down the street, swallowed by the morning fog.
I backed away from the window, my heart thundering, the image of that lens burned into my mind.
I couldn't move.It was as if the lens was still there, trained on me, even though the shadowy figure had vanished into the fog.
My breath came shallow. My hand pressed against the glass, cold seeping into my skin.
Who was that?
I tried to convince myself it could have been a random passerby, someone photographing the street, the architecture, anything but me. But the way that lens had tilted deliberate, steady there was no mistaking it.
I stepped back from the window and shut the curtains, my fingers trembling. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. Every sound outside seemed magnified the creak of the front gate, the low hum of a car passing.
It wasn't until I heard footsteps in the hallway that I remembered to breathe.
The door opened without a knock. Adrian stood there, one hand on the frame, his expression unreadable.
"You look pale," he said.
"I'm fine," I lied instantly.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "You're not fine. You're hiding something."
My lips parted to protest, but his gaze dropped briefly to my hands, still curled into fists at my sides. He didn't miss much.
"Did you see him again?" he asked quietly.
The question made my skin prickle. "Who?"
"The man from last night."
I shook my head quickly. "No."
He studied me for a long, suffocating moment. Then he exhaled slowly and crossed the room to the window. He pulled the curtain back just enough to peek outside, his shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly.
When he let it fall back into place, his voice was calm but the calm of a man who'd already decided something dangerous.
"You'll stay inside for the next few days," he said.
I bristled. "I'm not a prisoner, Adrian."
His eyes locked on mine, dark and unyielding. "You are until I say otherwise."
It was the first time I felt the full weight of his authority cold, heavy, and final. The kind of power that didn't need to shout to be absolute.
Before I could respond, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the closed door. My mind replayed the image of the camera lens over and over until it felt like the room was spinning.
Eventually, I forced myself up. If I was going to be trapped here, I needed something anything that made me feel in control.
I found my phone and texted Ethan.
Someone was outside the house this morning. They were taking pictures.
His reply came fast.
Did you see their face?
No. Just a camera.
The typing dots blinked on and off before his next message arrived.
Lock your windows. Don't go near the glass. And Elena… don't trust Adrian.
I stared at the words, my stomach twisting. I wanted to ask him why wanted to demand proof but before I could, footsteps echoed again in the hall.
This time it wasn't Adrian.
A knock, light but deliberate.
I opened the door to find the housekeeper, Maria, standing there with a tray.
"Mr. Carter asked me to bring you tea," she said, her voice low. Her eyes flicked toward the hallway before she stepped inside and set the tray on the table.
"Thank you," I murmured, though my voice sounded distant even to myself.
Maria hesitated. Then, almost in a whisper, she said, "Be careful. Sometimes the walls here have ears."
I turned sharply to face her, but she was already at the door, slipping out without another word.
I stood frozen for several seconds after she left, the echo of her warning hanging in the air.
I sat down, staring at the untouched tea. My reflection in the dark liquid looked like a stranger's face haunted, wary, waiting for something inevitable to happen.
Outside, a car engine started, the sound drifting faintly through the walls. For some reason, it made my skin crawl.
I didn't know how long I sat there, but by the time the light began to fade outside, I had made a decision: I wasn't going to sit in this room and let fear close in on me.
I changed into something warmer, slipped my phone into my pocket, and headed downstairs.
The house was unusually quiet. No staff moving through the halls, no distant clinking of dishes from the kitchen.
As I passed the front door, I paused.
There tucked under the edge of the mat was an envelope.
I glanced around. No one.
My pulse quickened as I bent to pick it up. The paper was thick, expensive, the kind used for formal invitations or private letters.
Inside was a single photograph.
Me.
Standing on the pier last night.
And just barely visible behind me, a shadowy figure Ethan.
The blood drained from my face. My fingers tightened on the photo as the realization hit me: whoever had been watching wasn't just after me. They knew about Ethan too.
Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked.
I stuffed the photo back into the envelope and hurried upstairs, my heart slamming in my chest.
I didn't notice until I closed my bedroom door that my hands were shaking so badly I could hardly hold the paper.