Chapter 3 - The Engagement Ring is a TrackerUpstairs in the grand dining room, morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the manicured Long Island lawns.
Claire Sutton sat at the mahogany table, looking immaculate in a cream-colored Chanel blazer, her blonde hair pulled back into a sophisticated chignon. Across from her stood Daniel Mercer—whom the security team had finally let out of the vault—and two men in dark tailored suits belonging to the Sutton family's private security detail.
"Where is Adrian?" Claire asked, her voice clipped, tapping a manicured fingernail against her porcelain coffee cup. "He is never late. Especially not on the final walkthrough month before the wedding."
Daniel adjusted his glasses, his face pale and sweating. "I don't know, Miss Sutton. He... he went rogue this morning. He locked me in the server room and dragged Dr. Warren down to the basement. I think he's having a psychotic break. The isolation—the deafness—it's finally fried his brain."
Claire narrowed her eyes. A flicker of genuine anxiety crossed her features, quickly masked by her usual cold composure.
"Find him," she ordered the two security guards. "And if he refuses to come up, use the sedative dart. My father's corporate merger with the Vale syndicate closes in four days. I will not let a madman ruin a billion-dollar empire over a mental episode."
Before the guards could turn toward the hallway, the double doors of the dining room swung open with a slow, agonizing creak.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
He wasn't wearing his usual bathrobe or workout gear. He was dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, the jacket buttoned over his broad chest. His dark hair was slicked back, and in his right hand, he held a heavy silver-plated serving tray.
"Looking for me, Claire?" Adrian asked.
His voice was deep, resonant, and entirely steady.
Claire froze mid-sip of her coffee. The cup slipped from her fingers, shattering against the table, the dark liquid pooling like blood across the white linen.
"Adrian..." she breathed, her face turning chalk white. "You... you're speaking."
"I missed the sound of my own voice," Adrian replied, stepping into the room. "Turns out, I missed a lot of things. Like the sound of rats plotting behind my back."
With a casual flick of his wrist, Adrian tossed something across the long dining table.
May you like
It skidded past the broken coffee cup and came to a halt right in front of Claire’s plate.
It was a tiny, high-tech micro-transponder, no larger than a grain of rice, freshly surgically removed from the interior band of Claire’s diamond engagement ring.
