CHAPTER ONE His Claim
CHAPTER ONE
His Claim
My fingers trembled as I held the check, and the smooth paper almost slipped from my grip.
One hundred thousand.
More than I’d made that night.
It was definitely mine. I checked the immaculate writing showing my name again: Celestine Devereaux.
Tearing my gaze from the check, I glanced around the room. All my eyes caught were fancy-dressed people, chatting and laughing. Faces blurred together—some familiar, others strangers. A woman smiled at me warmly, and a man raised his glass in a passing greeting.
I forced a small smile.
But none of them seemed to claim ownership of this... odd gesture.
My chest tightened. I’d already sold three of the pieces I’d brought here, so why would someone pay me extra? And no name on the check.
I clutched the check closer to my chest, and a flush crept up my neck as I felt eyes on me. My eyes darted from face to face.
“Celestine!” A familiar voice broke through my racing thoughts.
I turned to see Grace. My insides uncurled at the sight of one of the few people here who felt like a friend.
“Look at you!” Her emerald dress shimmered, catching the light in her eyes. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight. Everyone’s talking about your work.”
By the time I got to my car, I was half-convinced Grace would follow me into the parking lot.
She had this uncanny ability to appear whenever I least expected it, usually with a cup of coffee and an opinion about my life choices, especially about Adrian.
Especially about how I shouldn’t leave my own exhibit to celebrate an anniversary.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I glanced at the check again, tucked safely in my bag. My thoughts wandered as I started the engine.
Was Grace right, and some mysterious benefactor had decided to fund me?
Years in art school hadn’t been wasted after all. Maybe it was time to set up my own studio. I couldn’t keep leaning on Grace and Adrian forever.
A strained sigh left my lips.
Maybe I should talk to him tonight. He’d definitely… have opinions. Adrian always had opinions, unhurried and practical. But I didn’t mind. He had a way of making sense of my chaos, even if it sometimes felt like he was trying to fix me.
He had carried me through darker days without ever mentioning it. Paid my loans and supported our family when we almost became bankrupt.
The parking lot of our familiar building was half-full when I parked and turned off the engine. I smiled faintly, imagining him in the kitchen, engrossed in dinner prep. Adrian liked to cook, especially on nights like this. And tonight was special.
Four years. Four years of support, of quiet smiles and steady hands. I’d planned to surprise him with something small, maybe a new watch or a book he’d been mentioning, but now, with the check burning a hole in my bag, I wanted to do more.
The familiar scent of lavender and faint cooking spices greeted me.
“Adrian?”
No response.
I slipped off my shoes and wandered toward the kitchen, and the faint sound of steak being roasted in a pan filtered through my ears. The stove lights were on, but he wasn’t there.
I turned off the stove and turned to the dining room, grinning like an idiot at the sight of a neatly set table. Candles lit, wine glasses waiting.
“Adrian!” I called out louder this time. A faint shuffle of movement from the bedroom. “You’re going all out tonight, aren’t you?” I started, stepping toward the sound.
A strange scent hung in the air, and I told myself it was nothing.
The door slid open silently showing me what was now in our bedroom… and I froze.
He stood with his back to me. His silhouette broad and disturbingly still. The faint light from the bedside lamp cast long shadows, but it was his hand that drew my eyes.
Time slowed as my breath caught in my throat and the room narrowed to that single detail: the gun held loosely at his side. My stomach churned, bile rising as my gaze shifted, drawn unwillingly to the floor.
The metallic tang of blood hit me first, and then my eyes wandered to the dark pool seeping into the fibres of the grey carpet. My knees buckled.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
Move. Run. Do something!
Adrian lay crumpled on the floor, his limbs twisted unnaturally. His shirt was soaked, the pristine white now a horrifying crimson. His eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—were open, but there was nothing in them.
“No.” The sound didn’t come out of my mouth.
I should’ve run. Every instinct screamed at me to bolt for the doors, but love was the cruelest liar, a rope that bound even as it strangled.
My gaze locked on the figure standing over Adrian’s body.
A man. Broad-shouldered, his back to me.
As I took a step back, the floor creaked beneath me, and I stiffened.
He turned.
The light danced across his features. I’d never forget that face. A scar carved down his cheek, pulling his lip into a permanent frown that twisted with something unspeakable. His eyes—wild, unhinged—glistened with evil.
He didn’t say a word.
But the silence did.
Something in me broke, and I spun on my heel and ran. My bare feet pounded against the threadbare carpet, my breath coming in panicked gasps. Behind me, I heard him move.
I didn’t dare look back. I threw myself into the foyer as my fingers grazed the walls for balance.
The door…. My fingers wrapped around the handle, and I twisted it. I was about to open it when a hand clamped over my knuckles.
I screamed, but my body was slammed against the door, cutting me off. His strength was overwhelming, and then a second later, both my wrists were pinned to my sides. I thrashed, kicked, anything to get free, but he was formidable.
Tears blurred his face, his breath was hot against my skin, and I yelled.
Steel grey eyes penetrated me.
My mouth was dry and I couldn’t gather saliva to talk. But the more I looked at him, the more I hated him. He just stood there, knee pressing between my legs, eyes watching, and hands pinning me down.
I opened my mouth to curse at him, but before I could speak, something sharp pricked my neck. My vision blurred. His hands loosened their hold, and I thumped to the ground on my knees in front of him.
The last thing I saw was his face—twisted in chaos, but utterly, terrifyingly silent.
Then, oblivion.