Chapter 8: Returning to Shadows
The heavy oak door of the security office clicked shut behind me, sealing my quiet compact with Detective Vance. He had pocketed the USB drive without a word, his gray eyes fixing on mine with a gravity that promised no turning back. I walked back down the dim corridor, my emerald silk dress sweeping the floor, and rejoined the glittering chaos of the ballroom just as the orchestra swelled into a slow, classical waltz. Adrian was standing near the center of the floor, chatting amiably with the city's district attorney, but his sharp gaze snapped toward me the moment I stepped into his field of vision.
He crossed the distance between us with long, easy strides, his smile flashing with practiced charm. "There you are, my love," he murmured, his hand settling firmly on the small of my back. The touch was outwardly affectionate, a public display of marital devotion, but his fingers clamped down with enough pressure to bruise. "Where did you wander off to? People have been asking about you."
"Just needed a moment to freshen up, Adrian," I replied smoothly, meeting his intense dark eyes without flinching. I had spent years learning how to mirror his calmness, how to hide my terror beneath a compliant facade. Now, knowing that the evidence of his cruelty was resting in a detective's hands, the fear felt different—it had curdled into a cold, focused resolve.
"Make sure you stay close from now on," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear, carrying an undercurrent of silent warning. "We leave in twenty minutes. The driver is already waiting out front."
The ride back to our modern glass-front home felt longer than usual. The limousine's interior was silent save for the hum of the engine and the faint, rhythmic tapping of Adrian’s fingers against his knee. He didn't speak to me, and I didn't speak to him. I stared out the tinted window at the dark, sweeping highway, watching the pale reflections of streetlights streak across the glass. When the car finally pulled up our manicured gravel driveway, the house loomed ahead like a monument to cold perfection, its massive floor-to-ceiling windows glowing softly against the dark woods.
And sitting right there on the pristine green lawn, illuminated faintly by the security spotlights, was the iron dog cage.
Adrian stepped out of the limousine first, walking around to open my door with chivalric precision. He offered me his hand, his expression impassive. I placed my gloved fingers in his palm, stepping out onto the dew-soaked grass. For a fraction of a second, my eyes drifted to the empty cage where Leo had been locked earlier that week. Adrian followed my gaze, his lips parting into a thin, unreadable line.
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"The gardeners were supposed to remove that eyesore tomorrow," Adrian said smoothly, his voice devoid of any genuine remorse or self-doubt. "I'll have to speak with them about their efficiency."
"Yes," I answered quietly, my heart hammering against my ribs as I walked past him toward the glass double doors. "You do that."
