20. Eliana
Eliana
The moment Ethan stepped out of the police car, the atmosphere around me seemed to change.
He looked at me first, taking in my tear-streaked face and the expression I knew must have given away how shaken I was.
His attention then turned toward Adrian, who remained several feet away near the cottage.
Ethan walked toward me without saying anything and stopped at my side. I stared at him, still struggling to understand why he was standing there in the middle of nowhere.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
His expression softened as he looked at me. "Get in the car, Eliana. I'll explain everything later."
I glanced toward Adrian.
He hadn't moved. He simply stood several feet away, watching us with an expression I couldn't bring myself to understand. I didn't know what was happening between him and Ethan, and I didn't have the energy to ask.
I looked back at Ethan.
"Please."
"Just get in the car."
I hesitated for another moment before finally walking toward the police car. Ethan opened the passenger door for me, and I climbed inside. He closed it gently before walking around to the driver's side.
The moment he got in, he started the engine and pulled away from the cottage.
I looked back through the window.
Adrian was still standing there.
He hadn't followed me.
He hadn't called my name.
He simply watched as we drove away.
I kept my eyes on him until the road curved and the trees swallowed the last glimpse of the cottage.
Only then did I turn forward.
Ethan drove for several minutes before finally speaking.
"The fire at Eleanor Ashford's property is being investigated," he said. "Her warehouse was deliberately set on fire during the night, and part of the gardens were damaged as well. I was there because I was assisting with the investigation."
I turned toward him.
"So you were at Eleanor's property?"
"Yes."
"Then how did you end up here?"
Ethan kept his attention on the road. "I saw Adrian leave the property after I arrived. I expected him to take the main road toward the city, but he didn't."
I listened carefully.
"He took a different road," Ethan continued. "A secluded route that leads away from the city and deeper into the countryside. I recognized the road, but I didn't know where it went until I followed him."
"That's how you found the cottage?"
"Exactly."
I looked out at the trees passing by.
"So you followed Adrian all the way here?"
"I did."
The explanation seemed reasonable enough, especially after everything that had happened. At least now I understood why Ethan had appeared when he did.
"Why didn't you tell me you were investigating the fire?"
"I didn't know you were here until I saw you." He glanced at me briefly. "Once I realized what was happening, getting you away from there became more important."
I lowered my gaze.
"I just want to forget today."
"You don't have to make sense of everything tonight."
I nodded, grateful that he wasn't pressing me.
The silence returned, but my thoughts refused to settle. The paintings kept appearing in my mind, followed by the diary, the locked room, Doctor Lara, Adrian's strange behavior, and every moment when I had dismissed something because I wanted to believe him.
Eventually, I turned toward Ethan.
"By the way, do you know Adrian from before?"
Ethan's hands remained steady on the steering wheel. "Nahh... not really. As I told you before, I looked into his file."
"Did they really find no trace of Ana?"
He nodded. "No, nothing... there were just rumors surrounding her death. Nothing was ever proven, and I don't have any evidence to accuse him of anything. But I just can't seem to trust Adrian."
I listened quietly.
"I know you probably don't want to hear any more about him right now," Ethan continued, his voice gentler. "You've been through enough today. I just want you to be careful, Eliana. Whatever Adrian has told you, don't let your feelings for him make you ignore things that don't feel right."
I looked down at my hands.
"I thought I knew him."
"That's what worries me."
His words were quiet, without accusation. He sounded concerned rather than judgmental, and after everything that had happened, I found myself accepting the concern instead of questioning it.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," I admitted.
"You don't have to decide tonight."
I nodded and turned toward the window.
Ethan didn't ask me to explain what had happened at the cottage. He let the rest of the journey pass quietly, giving me the space to process everything.
By the time we reached my building, I felt completely drained. Ethan pulled over near the entrance, and I reached for the door handle before pausing.
"Thank you for coming after me."
"Of course." His expression softened. "Just promise me you'll be careful."
"I will."
"Call me if you need anything."
I gave him a small nod before stepping out of the car.
As I walked toward my building, I didn't question his explanation. I was too exhausted to wonder why Adrian had taken that secluded road or what had made Ethan decide to follow him so far from the city.
All I wanted was to get inside, close the door behind me, and stop thinking about Adrian for a few hours.
But even as I entered the building, his face followed me in my thoughts.
The way he had looked at me.
The way he had let me walk away.
And the terrible uncertainty of whether I had just abandoned the man I loved or finally escaped someone I had never truly known.
By the time I reached my house, the evening had settled over the city, leaving the rooms dim and strangely unfamiliar.
I closed the door behind me and stood there for a moment, listening to the silence.
It was the kind of silence that made every little sound noticeable, from the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen to the faint traffic moving somewhere beyond the windows.
I should bring Cookie back from Mrs. Rodriguez.
But my body seemed to have a mind of its own which didn't want to listen.
I had come home expecting relief. Instead, I felt as though I had brought the cottage back with me. My eyes moved around the house, and Adrian seemed to be everywhere.
The flowers he had given me were still sitting in their vase on the table, their petals beginning to soften at the edges.
I had arranged them carefully when he brought them home, teasing him about how ridiculous it was for a billionaire to think flowers could impress me.
He had smiled and told me he wasn't trying to impress me. He had simply wanted to see me smile.
I looked away from the vase.
On the nearby shelf sat the gifts he had brought back from his business trip.
I hadn't put them away because I had liked having them where I could see them.
Each one had been chosen with an attention to detail that had once made me feel understood in a way I hadn't experienced before.
Now those same gifts felt like evidence from another life.
I walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, staring at the empty space beside me.
This was where I had fallen asleep more than once while Adrian was visiting.
This was where he had sat beside me and listened to me complain about my manuscript.
This was where he had made me laugh when I had been convinced I would never finish another book.
None of those memories felt fake. That was the part I couldn't accept. Whatever Adrian had hidden from me, whatever those paintings meant, whatever had happened in the past, the happiness I had felt with him had been real. At least it had been real to me.
I reached for one of the gifts on the shelf and turned it over in my hands, then put it back.
My phone vibrated again. It’s Adrian.
I let it sit for a moment, but when it vibrated a second time, then a third, I finally picked it up and opened the message.
Adrian
Please let me explain.
Another message appeared before I could respond.
Adrian
I never wanted you to find out this way.
I swallowed and kept reading.
Adrian
I know you're scared, but I would never hurt you. Please believe that much.
I closed my eyes.
I wanted to believe him. That was the problem. If I had stopped loving him, perhaps this would have been easier. I could have looked at the paintings, the diary, the locked room, and everything else and decided that Adrian was simply the man Ethan had warned me about.
But I couldn't erase the nights we had spent together.
I couldn't erase the way Adrian had looked at me when he told me he loved me.
I couldn't erase the tenderness in his voice when he asked me to trust him.
I couldn't erase the feeling of dancing with him in the cottage while the firelight moved across the room.
I couldn't even erase the memory of him crying alone on the beach.
Another message from Adrian came through.
Adrian
I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm asking you to give me a chance to tell you the truth.
I read it twice, my vision growing blurry.
A second message followed.
Adrian
Please, Eliana. Don't decide what happens between us before you know everything.
I lowered my phone and set it aside.
For several minutes, I sat perfectly still, trying to convince myself that ignoring him was the sensible thing to do. Yet my hand kept drifting toward the phone, as though some part of me expected another message to change everything.
It didn't.
The phone vibrated again.
Adrian
I love you. I always have.
I pressed my lips together and looked away. Those words should have comforted me. Instead, they made everything hurt more.
I picked up my phone again and opened our conversation.
The screen filled with messages from the past few weeks—ordinary little exchanges that suddenly felt unbearably precious.
He’d ask if I’d eaten, remind me to bring a jacket, and send me pictures of places he thought I’d like.
He’d tease me about my writing, too, always finding some way to make me laugh.
There were so many moments. Too many. I couldn't separate the man I had loved from the secrets I had discovered.
Maybe that was why I finally made the decision.
My thumb hovered over his contact. I knew what I was about to do. I also knew I didn't want to do it.
Still, I pressed the option to block his number.
The screen changed.
For a few seconds, I simply stared at it.
It felt cruel. Adrian had asked me for time, not for forgiveness. He had never chased me when I told him to stop. Even when I threatened to hate him, he had remained where he was and let me walk away.
Yet I couldn't keep seeing his name appear on my screen when every message made me want to run back to him. I needed distance. I needed to think without hearing his voice in my head. I needed to protect whatever was left of me before I fell any deeper.
I put my phone facedown on the table and stood.
The house seemed even quieter now.
I walked into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and returned to the living room. My gaze immediately landed on the flowers.
I tried not to look at them.
I failed.
The roses reminded me of Adrian standing outside my house with that faint, knowing smile, pretending he hadn't spent far too much money on flowers because he knew exactly which ones I liked.
They reminded me of the first time he had brought them.
The second time. The third. Every memory came with his face attached to it.
I reached for the vase and carried it toward the trash.
My hand paused.
I looked down at the roses.
They were beautiful. That was almost what made it worse.
I thought about the woman who had written the diary. I thought about her fear, her confusion, and the desperate words she had left behind. I thought about the paintings hidden behind the locked door and the possibility that Adrian had been watching me for far longer than I had ever known.
Then I thought about the man who had held me on the beach when I couldn't stop crying.
I didn't know which version of him was real. Maybe both were. Maybe neither was.
With trembling hands, I pulled the flowers from the vase and dropped them into the trash. The petals landed among the discarded papers and empty packaging, bright against everything else.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at them.
It felt like throwing away something much larger than flowers. It felt like admitting that I couldn't keep pretending everything would return to the way it had been.
I carried the empty vase to the sink and washed it before placing it upside down to dry.
Then I went to bed.
Sleep refused to come. Hours passed while I lay beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment of the past few weeks. Eventually, I turned my head toward the bedside table.
The empty vase sat there.
I closed my eyes, but Adrian's face appeared again. His smile. His hands. His voice telling me he loved me. His expression when I walked away.
I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness.
For the first time since meeting Adrian, I allowed myself to consider the possibility I had been too willing to believe in the love story I wanted.
And as sleep remained impossibly far away, one thought settled over me with painful clarity.
Maybe loving Adrian had been the biggest mistake of my life.