15. Elena
— ? —
Elena
Three days later, I’m loading wood samples into my car at Morrison’s Hardware when the man appears.
I notice him before he speaks, hovering at the edge of my peripheral vision, watching me lift boards into the trunk with an attention that feels wrong. Not curious. Predatory.
“Heavy lifting for such a pretty lady.”
I don’t respond. Just keep loading.
“I said…”
“I heard you.” I slam the trunk closed. “I’m not interested.”
“Didn’t ask if you were interested.” He moves closer. He’s big, over six feet, broad shoulders, the kind of bulk that could be muscle or intimidation. “Just making conversation.”
“Conversation’s over.”
I move toward the driver’s door. He steps in front of me.
“What’s the rush?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’re just talking.”
“Move.”
“Or what?”
I feel my heartbeat accelerate, not fear, exactly, but the adrenaline spike of confrontation. My keys are in my hand, positioned between my fingers the way Sophie taught me years ago.
“I said move.”
He doesn’t move. Instead, his hand closes around my upper arm.
“I think you should be a little nicer to…”
“I’m sorry.”
The voice comes from behind him, quiet, controlled, and absolutely terrifying. The man turns.
Adrian is standing three feet away. I didn’t hear him approach, didn’t see his car, didn’t know he was anywhere near this part of the city. But he’s here, and something about the way he’s holding himself makes every hair on my neck stand up.
“I don’t think I heard you correctly,” Adrian continues, his voice pleasant in a way that suggests violence. “Were you grabbing my wife in a parking lot?”
“Your wife?” The man laughs nervously. “Look, buddy, I was just…”
“Remove your hand.”
The man’s fingers tighten on my arm. “Listen…”
“Remove. Your. Hand.”
Something in Adrian’s tone shifts. The man must feel it too, because he drops my arm like it’s burning and takes a step back.
“I was just talking to her. No harm done.”
“No harm done.” Adrian moves closer. Not fast, slow, deliberate, each step controlled and precise. “You cornered a woman in a parking lot. You ignored her when she told you to leave her alone. You put your hands on her.”
“I barely touched…”
Adrian’s hand shoots out and closes around the man’s wrist. The man tries to pull away, but Adrian doesn’t let go. His grip looks almost casual, but I can see the white of his knuckles.
“If you ever touch my wife again…” Adrian’s voice is barely above a whisper. “If you touch any woman who tells you to stop, it will be the last thing you do.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m making a promise.” Adrian releases the man’s wrist. “Leave. Now. Before I change my mind about letting you walk away.”
The man stumbles back, rubbing his wrist, eyes darting between Adrian and me. For a moment, I think he’s going to say something else, something stupid, something that will end badly for everyone.
Then he turns and practically runs to his truck.
***
Adrian watches him go, his whole body vibrating with barely contained tension. I can see his hands shaking, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps in his cheek.
“Adrian.”
He doesn’t turn around. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. He grabbed my arm, but…”
“He grabbed you.” His voice breaks slightly. “He put his hands on you.”
“And you stopped him.” I move to stand beside him. “You stopped him without hurting him. Without breaking any laws.”
“I wanted to.” He finally looks at me, and his eyes are dark with something that makes my stomach clench. “God, Elena, I wanted to hurt him so badly. I saw him touch you and I…” He stops. Takes a breath. “I’ve been working on it. In therapy. The rage. The impulse to solve everything with force.”
“I didn’t know you were in therapy.”
“For three months. Ever since…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Ever since I realized I couldn’t control the person I was around you. I kept making everything worse, and I didn’t know how to stop, so I found someone who could teach me.”
I look at him, this man who just terrified a stranger into fleeing without laying a finger on him, who’s now standing in a parking lot admitting he goes to therapy.
“Take me somewhere,” I say.
“What?”
“Anywhere. Just, drive.”
***
We end up parked by the river, the Manhattan skyline glittering across the water.
Adrian hasn’t spoken since we left the parking lot. His hands are still shaking slightly on the steering wheel.
“Pull over,” I say.
“What?”
“Pull over.”
He does. I unbuckle my seatbelt, lean across the center console, and kiss him.
It’s not gentle. It’s not tender. It’s the kind of kiss that communicates everything I can’t put into words, the fear and the relief and the absolute certainty that this man would burn down the world for me if I asked him to.
When I pull back, he’s breathing hard.
“What was that for?”
“For showing up. For being there without me even knowing you were nearby. For terrifying that man without actually hurting him.”
“Elena…”
“It was hot.” I can feel myself blushing. “The way you handled it. Controlled but dangerous. It was… hot.”
He stares at me for a long moment. Then he laughs, a real laugh, surprised and relieved.
“I thought you’d be angry.”
“I’m a lot of things right now. Angry isn’t one of them.”
He leans his head back against the seat, some of the tension finally draining from his body.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“About the parking lot?”
“About the parking lot, and why I was there, and…” He sighs. “About my mother.”
My stomach tightens. “Vivian?”
“She’s been running a whisper campaign. For months, apparently. Telling anyone who’ll listen that you’re unstable. That you abandoned me. That you’re using the divorce to extract money.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s Vivian.” His jaw tightens. “She’s been talking to the Foundation board, our social circle, even…” He hesitates. “Even some of your potential clients.”
“The Miller commission.” The realization hits me like ice water. “That’s why Sarah Miller pulled out. She said the optics were complicated, but…”
“Vivian called her personally. Implied you were a gold digger who’d embarrass the Miller brand.”
“And you knew this?”
“I found out two weeks ago. I’ve been…” He turns to face me. “I’ve been handling it. Quietly. But I think it’s time to stop being quiet.”
“What do you mean?”
“A family dinner. This weekend. With Vivian.”
“Adrian…”
“Not just Vivian. With everyone. My whole family, whatever board members she’s been poisoning against you, anyone who’s listened to her lies.” His voice hardens. “I’ve let her treat you badly for too long. That ends this week.”
I think about Vivian at that dinner table, correcting my fork placement, suggesting I move my workspace to the basement. All those small cruelties I absorbed because I didn’t want to cause problems.
“And if she doesn’t stop?”
Adrian’s expression goes cold in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Then she’ll learn what it means to cross a line. My mother thinks I’ll always choose blood over everything else.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “She’s about to find out she’s wrong.”