Page 10 of Owned
"Your father filed a missing person's report," he says finally, his voice a low, even cadence. "It was on the news for two days. The whole world was looking for the missing debutante." He says the word debutante like it's something filthy. "Then I contacted him."
He turns and walks to the bar, pours himself a scotch. He doesn't offer me any. "I told him who I am. I told him I havehis precious daughter. And I told him that if he doesn't drop the investigation, if he even thinks about sending anyone after me, I will go through with my original plan. I will destroy him. Piece by piece. And he'll live long enough to see everything he ever had crumble to the ground. Long enough to see his daughter at my side, for good."
I feel cold all over, my fingers and toes tingling with the shock of it. I was a pawn all over again, even after he promised me this thing between us was so much more than revenge. My father just gave up. He didn't try to bargain. He didn't try to rescue me. He just folded to save his own skin while Adrian gloated that I was his.
"How do you know he dropped it?" My voice sounds to me like it's coming from somewhere far away.
"Because I told him to, and because Laurent is a coward." He takes a slow sip of his drink, unbothered, like we're talking about the weather or something. "He's already told the media you were taking a mental health sabbatical."
"He just...stopped looking for me? He just let me go?"
Adrian is still stiff, but when he speaks, there's an edge of softness. Or pity. I can't tell. "What did you expect, Elena? He's scrambling to find another way to pull himself out of the hole now that his daughter can't marry a cash cow anymore." Adrian throws back the rest of the drink and sets the glass down hard, his control hanging by a thread. "I can't talk about this anymore tonight, Elena. I'm going to shower. I'll see you at dinner."
No invitation to join him, no clever nickname, nothing. All I can do is look down at my feet and nod, hoping he doesn't see thetears gathering in the corners of my eyes as he leaves me all alone, feeling like no one on the planet gives a damn about me.
Adrian triesto make up for his harshness in bed that night, but even as he bends me over and thrusts into me over and over, there's something distant in his touch. There are tears in my eyes again when I come, crying his name like I always do, but feeling so, so lost.
He's gone on family business when I wake up, and the loneliness in my chest continues to grow. I go through the motions, eating breakfast and having an extra shot of espresso before hauling my easel out to the terrace. But my heart isn't in it, and a rebellious idea has been growing in me since last night.
I'm not ready to do something as bold as trying to use his laptop, but I figure I can play innocent if he finds me trying to watch television. Adrian never specifically said not to, but he'd made it clear he didn't want me having any access to the outside world until he was sure 'the threat of you being taken is gone'. It's a flimsy excuse.
The remote control has been moved since my arrival, and it takes me twenty minutes to find where the housekeeper had moved it to, tucked away in a drawer in the library.
I take it to the big television in the living area, and it takes me another few frustrating minutes to figure out how to turn on the English subtitles. When I do, I'm quickly rewarded with the face of a familiar man on the screen when the news story changes. It's Charles Beaumont, my ex-fiancé. There's a picture of him undera bold headline in Italian, and I'm so shaken that it takes me multiple times to read the subtitles as they fly by.
...missing for over a week, sources say. Charles Beaumont, the wealthy businessman and real estate magnateScotch who was engaged to socialite Elena Moreau, disappeared from his New York City home under mysterious circumstances. Authorities are baffled, stating there were no signs of a struggle, and no indication that his disappearance is related to the unexpected sabbatical of Elena Moreau. Beaumont's family is offering a ten-million-dollar reward for any information leading to his safe return.
Missing. For over a week.
I do the math in my head with a sickening lurch. Charles went missing a week ago. The same week I did. I don't know what I expected to see when I turned on the TV, maybe some sign that my father was still looking for me, but it certainly wasn't anything to do with Charles. He was just a footnote in the upheaval of my life, someone who I was sure would quickly move on when I was no longer available, but the timing is just too convenient.
I can't deny it. Nothing else makes sense.
Adrian has done something to Charles Beaumont. Something that I fear is much darker than a simple kidnapping or threat of public humiliation.
The television is off when he comes home hours later, and the remote is back where it belongs in the library. I've spent the entire day in a state of frozen panic, trying to reconcile the man who can make my body sing, who I've started to fall for, with themonster who can make people disappear. I've never felt more like a fool, and more terrified of a man I was starting to love.
He greets me with a kiss on the cheek, his familiar scent doing nothing to soothe me. "Rough day," he says, by way of greeting. "Everything alright?" He must sense the tension in my shoulders, the rigidity of my spine. He has a sixth sense for my mood.
With no sense of self-preservation to be found, I blurt out, "Where is Charles Beaumont, Adrian?"
He goes stiff, taking a step back from me, "What have you been up to, princess?"
"Answer me!" I've never dreamed of yelling at him, but I can't stop myself.
Adrian shrugs one shoulder. "He was a problem that I solved."
I look at him, stunned, and I can feel the blood drain from my face. He's talking about Charles as if he's trash that needs to be disposed of, not another human being. I barely knew Charles, and while he was a pompous ass from what I could tell, it was hardly a reason for him to be murdered.
"Did you kill him?!" I demand, but my throat is so tight it still comes out as a breathy whisper.
Adrian looks at me for a long time, but once again, he skips over my question. "You look pale. When's the last time you ate?"
I want to sob, but I can barely draw breath to speak, let alone cry, and it takes nearly all my willpower to ask again, "Did you kill him?"
5
ADRIAN
