Chapter 21: The East Wing
The third time I attempted the east wing, I was more prepared. I’d memorized Thomas’s patrol schedule, noted when the household staff were occupied with their evening duties, and waited until Adrian was deep in a conference call that I knew would last at least an hour.
The electronic keypad still taunted me with its blinking red light, but I’d been thinking about those smudged numbers. 1247, 7412, 2417—I had a dozen combinations to try based on what I’d observed.
My hands trembled as I entered the first sequence. Red light, angry beep.
Second attempt. Still red.
On the fourth try—1274—the light blinked green, and the lock disengaged with a soft click.
I’m in.
The corridor beyond was unlike anything I’d seen in the rest of the house. Clinical white walls, fluorescent lighting, doors marked with numbers and symbols that looked more like a laboratory than a family home. The air smelled of disinfectant and something else—chemicals, maybe, or medical equipment.
What is this place?
I moved deeper into the corridor, my footsteps echoing despite my efforts to stay quiet. Through windows in some of the doors, I could see rooms filled with equipment I didn’t recognize—computers, machines that hummed and blinked with unknown purposes, storage cabinets lined with bottles and vials.
This wasn’t storage. This wasn’t architectural hazards. This was some kind of research facility, hidden in the heart of what should have been a family home.
But where was Nathaniel? Where was my son?
I checked every room I could access, growing more desperate with each empty space. Medical equipment, chemical storage, what looked like a small operating theater—but no sign of a child anywhere.
“Looking for something specific?”
I spun around to find Adrian standing in the corridor behind me, his silver eyes coldly amused. He was still wearing his business attire from his conference call, but there was nothing professional about the predatory stillness in his posture.
“I—” My voice caught in my throat. There was no excuse for being here, no innocent explanation that would satisfy him.
“No, please, don’t stop now,” he said, moving closer with that fluid grace that reminded me of a hunting cat. “You’ve worked so hard to get in here. You should see everything.”
He gestured to the clinical corridor around us. “Impressive, isn’t it? Though I suppose it’s not quite what you were expecting to find.”
“Where is he?” The question burst out of me before I could stop it. “Where is Nathaniel?”
Adrian’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Ah, there it is. The real question you’ve been dying to ask.”
“Please, I just want to know he’s safe—”
“Safe?” Adrian laughed, the sound echoing off the sterile walls. “Oh, darling. Did you really think I’d be stupid enough to keep him here? Under the same roof as his increasingly unstable mother?”
The words hit like physical blows. Not here. He’s not here.
“You see,” Adrian continued, circling me like a predator sizing up wounded prey, “I learned long ago that compartmentalization is the key to maintaining control. Different assets, different locations, different security protocols.”
My legs felt weak. All this time, all this searching—and my son wasn’t even in the same building.
“He could be on a private island in the Caribbean,” Adrian mused, his voice taking on a cruel, taunting quality. “Or perhaps a secure facility in Switzerland. Maybe a lovely estate in New Zealand where no one would ever think to look.”
“You’re lying.” But even as I said it, I knew he wasn’t.
“Am I?” He reached out to trace a finger along my jawline, the touch mockingly gentle. “I’m Adrian Thorne, darling. I have resources you can’t even imagine. Properties on six continents, private jets that don’t appear on any flight manifests, security teams that specialize in making people disappear.”
His hand moved to my throat, not squeezing but resting there with obvious threat. “One phone call, and your son could be on his way to a new continent before you even realized he was gone. One word from me, and you’d never see him again.”
“Please—”
“Please what?” His thumb stroked across my pulse point, feeling how it hammered with fear and desperation. “Please tell you where he is so you can disrupt his carefully structured life? Please let you destroy the stability I’ve worked so hard to create for him?”
Tears streamed down my face, but Adrian only smiled wider.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his free hand skimming down my side in a parody of a lover’s caress. “So desperate, so beautiful in your desperation. This is exactly why you can’t be trusted with a child, Calla. You’re too emotional, too unstable, too likely to put your own needs above his welfare.”
“I just want to know he’s okay,” I sobbed.
“He’s perfect,” Adrian said, his voice taking on a satisfied purr. “Healthy, intelligent, well-behaved. Everything a father could want in a son. And he has no idea that his birth mother is slowly losing her mind in a house thousands of miles away.”
The casual cruelty of it broke something inside me. I sagged against the wall, all the fight going out of me at once.
“That’s better,” Adrian murmured approvingly. “This is exactly the kind of emotional breakdown that proves my point. Can you imagine if a child witnessed this? The psychological damage it would cause?”
He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “But don’t worry, darling. I’ll take very good care of you. We’ll get you back on your medications, back to that peaceful state where you don’t ask dangerous questions or make impulsive decisions.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“No, you don’t.” His lips brushed my temple in a mockery of comfort. “In a few days, you’ll remember why you fell in love with me. You’ll be grateful for my protection, my guidance, my willingness to make the hard choices you can’t handle.”
As he guided me out of the east wing, his arm possessive around my waist, one thought crystallized in my mind with perfect clarity:
I couldn’t do this alone.
Adrian was too powerful, too connected, too ruthless for me to fight on my own. The resources he commanded, the control he wielded—it was beyond anything I could counter by myself.
But I wasn’t completely powerless. Somewhere out there, I still had family. People who might remember the woman I used to be, who might be willing to help me find my way back to myself.
Amari.
My sister. The brilliant, ambitious woman who’d chosen her career over family loyalty but who might still care enough to help if she knew what was really happening.
As Adrian sealed the east wing behind us, as he murmured reassurances about treatment and healing and becoming the wife he needed me to be, I held onto that single thread of hope.
I need help. I need my sister.
If I could just find a way to reach her, if I could just get a message through Adrian’s web of control…
Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have to fight this battle alone.