Chapter 131
Evelyn's POV
"Yes and no." Julian's voice was grim. "The money trail leads to Blackstone, but the actual kidnappers were contractors. Low-level muscle. And when we questioned them—"
He stopped, and I could hear the careful control in his voice. "Blackstone's orders were simple: kill Adrian and make it look random. But the contractors got greedy. Figured if they grabbed him alive instead of just executing him, they could collect the assassination fee from Blackstone and squeeze a ransom out of you. Double payday."
The implications hit like ice water. "So if they hadn't been greedy—"
"He'd already be dead," Julian finished quietly. "They would have killed him this morning and dumped the body somewhere it would be found in a few days. Clean, professional, no leads back to Blackstone. But they wanted more money, so they kept him alive long enough for us to find him."
I closed my eyes, leaning harder against the wall as the full scope of what had almost happened settled over me. Adrian had survived because his kidnappers were too stupid and greedy to follow orders.
If they'd been professionals—real professionals, like the ones Kholod would have sent—he'd be dead already. No ransom call. No chance for rescue. Just another tragic headline about a wealthy heir killed in a random act of violence.
"Adrian's asking for you," Julian said after a moment, and something in his tone made my chest ache. "He's been asking since we pulled him out. Kept saying your name. Asking if you were safe."
Of course he was. Because Adrian still saw me as someone worth protecting, someone worth saving. Still held onto whatever feelings he'd had before I'd left, before I'd become something beyond redemption.
"Can I see him?" I asked.
"I'll text you the address. But Evelyn—" He paused, and I could hear him choosing his words carefully. "He's been through hell. He's going to need time to process this. To recover. Don't—" Another pause. "Just be careful with him. Okay?"
"I will." The words came out barely above a whisper.
"I'll see you at Titan," Julian said, and hung up before I could respond.
I stood there on the street, phone pressed to my chest, trying to breathe through the tangled mess of relief and guilt and dread that was threatening to choke me. Adrian was safe. Julian had saved him. And now I had to face both of them—the man I'd once loved and the man I'd pushed away—and figure out how to navigate the impossible tangle of obligation and guilt and longing that bound us all together.
My phone buzzed with Julian's text containing the address.
I pushed off the wall and started walking, my legs steadier now, my mind already shifting into the careful control I'd need to get through the next few hours.
I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address, settling into the back seat with my phone clutched in my lap.
And tried not to think about what I was going to say when I saw the look in Adrian's eyes.
Tried not to think about Julian's voice when he'd said Adrian was asking for me.
Tried not to think about anything except making it through the next few hours without shattering what little remained of my carefully constructed life.
The Titan medical facility occupied the top three floors of a nondescript building in Midtown. No signs marked its entrance. No ambulances at the doors. Just plain glass that could belong to any corporate office, and security guards who'd seen enough combat to recognize trouble.
I showed my ID at reception. The guard—stone-faced, ex-military—waved me through without questions. Julian must have cleared me in advance.
The elevator ride felt endless. Each floor ticking past while scenarios spun through my head. Adrian asking questions I couldn't answer. Julian watching with cold eyes, cataloging every lie.
The careful balance I'd been maintaining—grieving widow, reluctant consultant, woman trying not to destroy everyone around her—about to collapse completely.
The doors opened to a hushed corridor. It smelled of antiseptic and expensive air filtration. A nurse in tactical black scrubs directed me to room 302.
I found Julian first.
He stood outside the room, back against the wall, phone pressed to his ear. He looked exhausted in a way I'd never seen before. Shoulders tight. Jaw set hard. Dark circles under his eyes. His tactical gear had been replaced by a black henley and jeans, but there was blood on his knuckles he hadn't bothered to wash off.
He glanced up as I approached. For one heartbeat, something raw flashed across his face. Relief, maybe. Or something deeper.
Then his expression shuttered. Cold. Professional.
He turned back to his call.
"I don't care what their lawyers say," he said. His voice was clipped, merciless. "You tell the FBI that if they don't move on Blackstone within two hours, I'm releasing evidence to the press. Let's see how their stock price handles headlines about kidnapping and attempted murder."
He paused, listening.
"No, I'm not bluffing. You know I'm not bluffing. Get it done."
He ended the call. Finally looked at me directly.
"He's stable," Julian said before I could ask. His tone was flat, emotionless. "Mild concussion, bruised ribs, some cuts. Nothing that won't heal. Doctor wants to keep him overnight for observation."
He paused. Something flickered in his eyes.
"He's been asking for you since we pulled him out. Kept saying your name. Over and over. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered."
The words hit like physical blows.
Because I knew what Julian was really saying. I knew what that observation cost him to deliver without showing the jealousy and pain underneath.
Adrian had been calling for me. Not his family. Not his friends. Not the woman he'd been engaged to until this morning.
Me.
The woman who'd stopped loving him somewhere in Vorkuta's frozen wastes. Who'd come back wrong and broken and incapable of giving him what he deserved.
And Julian had saved him anyway.
"Thank you," I said quietly. The words felt inadequate. "For getting him out. For—"
"Don't." Julian's voice turned sharp, cutting through my gratitude like a knife. "I didn't do it for your thanks. I did it because it was the right thing to do. Because Adrian Winthrop might be a lot of things, but he doesn't deserve to die."
The accusation hung between us. Brutal and undeniable.
Because he was right. This was my fault. My past, my choices, my refusal to let anyone help. If I'd been honest from the beginning—if I'd trusted Julian with the truth about my mother, about my revenge plans, about the darkness drowning me—maybe we could have found another way.
"I'm sorry," I said. My voice barely above a whisper. "Julian, I—"
"He's waiting for you." Julian interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "Go. Talk to him. Let him see you're okay so he can stop worrying himself into a panic attack."