Chapter 2 - THE YELLOW ROOMForty minutes later, the sedan turned down a quiet, dead-end lane in a forgotten industrial suburb on the city's outskirts. The buildings here were old brick monoliths, abandoned textile factories converted into illegal storage lockers and safe houses.
Adrian killed the headlights two blocks away. He slipped out of the car, opened the back door, and gently lifted Emma into his arms. The little girl stirred, murmuring something unintelligible, before burying her face in the crook of his neck.
“Stay in the car, Grace. Lock the doors,” Adrian instructed, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“Mr. Vale, please be careful,” Grace pleaded, clutching her coat around her. “Marcus has men everywhere. If he realizes you're onto him—”
“Let him try to stop me.”
Adrian stepped out into the freezing drizzle. He walked with the silent, predatory grace of a wolf closing in on a wounded stag. In his pocket, the heavy steel frame of his custom Sig Sauer pistol rested against his thigh—a weapon he hadn’t unholstered since the night of the funeral.
He reached the side entrance of a weathered brick warehouse. The iron door was unlocked, a subtle sign of arrogance from someone who believed no one would ever dare look for him here.
Adrian slipped inside.
The interior smelled of damp concrete, old cardboard, and faint traces of lavender. It was a bizarre contrast—industrial decay mixed with the unmistakable scent of a child's nursery. He followed a faint sliver of golden light leaking from a doorway down the hall.
Soft footsteps. A gentle hum.
Adrian pressed his back against the peeling paint of the hallway wall, his heart pounding not from fear, but from a profound, terrifying anticipation. He crept closer to the open doorway.
Inside, a small room had been partitioned off and decorated with impossibly bright yellow wallpaper adorned with hand-painted white daisies. A tiny crib stood in the corner, draped with a pink lace canopy.
Sitting in a rocking chair beside the crib was a woman with blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail, humming a lullaby.
And sleeping soundly inside the crib, her tiny chest rising and falling beneath a soft quilt, was a baby girl with tufts of dark hair and Evelyn’s exact, perfect nose.
Lily.
Adrian stepped into the doorway. The wooden floorboards groaned beneath his boots.
The woman froze. She slowly turned her head, her eyes widening in absolute horror as she looked up into the tall, unforgiving silhouette of Adrian Vale.
“Adrian...” she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
It wasn't a stranger. It was Elena Vance—Marcus’s personal assistant, the woman who managed his schedules, his travel, and his private accounts.
May you like
Before she could scream, Adrian crossed the room in two strides, his hand shooting out to grip the back of her chair, pinning her in place. His voice was a lethal whisper.
“Where is Marcus?”
