Chapter 86
Chapter 86
Morning crept in quietly, painting thin lines of light across the living room floor. Elena woke on the couch, a blanket draped over her shoulders. The apartment was still—eerily still. For a heartbeat, she thought maybe Adrian had gone.
But then she heard the faint sound of running water.
He was in the shower.
Her stomach twisted.
The memories from the night before were hazy, a blur of adrenaline and fear and the strange comfort of his arms. She’d let him stay, despite every instinct screaming not to. She’d fallen asleep beside him, clinging to the lie that love could make monsters human.
Now, in the gray dawn, that lie felt heavier.
She rose quietly and padded toward the kitchen. The broken window had been sealed with cardboard, duct-taped into place. Her coffee maker sat on the counter, half full from yesterday, the smell faintly sour. She poured a glass of water instead, her hands shaking.
The door to the bathroom opened behind her.
Adrian stepped out, towel around his waist, steam curling around him. His hair was damp, his expression unreadable.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He nodded, drying his hair with the towel. “I didn’t mean to stay over. I just—couldn’t leave you like that.”
She managed a weak smile. “I know.”
He crossed to her and brushed a kiss against her temple. “You okay?”
“Still shaken.”
“That’s normal,” he murmured. “But you’re safe now.”
She wanted to believe it. But the image of the intruder’s boot print—the one that looked eerily like Adrian’s—wouldn’t leave her head.
“I called Hale,” she said suddenly.
Adrian stilled. “You what?”
“I had to,” she said quickly. “He’s the detective on the case, Adrian. Someone broke into my home. I couldn’t just ignore it.”
His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching near his temple. “And what did he say?”
“He’s coming by later to check things out.”
Adrian exhaled slowly, his tone measured. “Of course he is.”
“Don’t do that,” she said, stepping back. “Don’t make it sound like some kind of trap.”
“Isn’t it?” he shot back, sharper now. “You call the one man who’s been obsessed with proving I’m a killer, and you think he’s coming here just to help you?”
“He’s doing his job.”
He laughed under his breath. “No. He’s doing what he’s always done—trying to turn you against me.”
She swallowed. “Then help me understand. Why was your car near the other victim’s building? Why were you on my street that night?”
His expression darkened. “Because someone wants it to look that way.”
“Who?”
He took a step closer, eyes burning. “I don’t know yet. But someone’s been following me. Tracking me. Every time I go somewhere, they show up later, leaving just enough to point the finger my way.”
“Adrian—”
“I’m being framed, Elena.” His voice cracked with conviction. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Her pulse quickened. “Framed by who?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But whoever it is—they’re clever. They know how to twist everything.”
She stared at him, trying to read his face. “That sounds like something a guilty man would say.”
His eyes flashed. “You really think I’d hurt someone? After everything I’ve done to protect you?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she whispered.
Adrian took her hands, pressing them to his chest. His heartbeat thudded fast beneath her palms. “Then feel this. Does that feel like a killer’s heart?”
“Stop,” she said softly. “You’re scaring me again.”
He released her immediately, backing away. “I’m sorry. I just—damn it, Elena, I’m losing control of this. Someone’s setting me up and I don’t know why.”
She crossed her arms. “If that’s true, then tell the police everything. Let Hale help.”
He barked a humorless laugh. “You think he’ll listen? He’s already decided I’m guilty.”
“Then prove him wrong.”
He turned away, pacing. “You don’t understand. There are people involved in this—people who don’t want the truth coming out.”
“Adrian—”
“I’m not crazy,” he snapped. Then, softer: “Please. You have to trust me.”
She hesitated. “Who’s framing you?”
He looked at her for a long moment before saying quietly, “Someone from my past.”
They sat on the couch. He told her fragments of a story—disjointed, emotional, heavy with implication.
A business partner who’d betrayed him. A woman who’d vanished years ago. Anonymous emails warning him to “stay quiet.”
“They started after the trial,” he said. “After the first time I was accused. I thought it was over. But they never stopped watching me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked.
“Because you’d look at me like you are right now.”
She blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you’re deciding if I’m dangerous.”
Her throat tightened. “You are dangerous, Adrian. Even if you don’t mean to be.”
He flinched, then exhaled. “Maybe I am. But not to you.”
“Can you hear yourself?” she whispered. “You sound like—like a man who’s trapped himself in his own lie.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then stood abruptly. “I need air.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find whoever’s doing this.”
“Adrian—”
He was already at the door, pulling on his coat. “Don’t talk to Hale alone. Promise me.”
“Why?”
“Because if he’s involved, he’ll twist whatever you say.”
She frowned. “Involved in what?”
But he didn’t answer. He just left, slamming the door behind him.
The detective arrived an hour later. Hale looked tired, his coat damp from the misty rain outside. He took one look at the broken window and sighed.
“You should’ve called me sooner.”
“I was scared,” Elena admitted.
“Scared of him?”
She hesitated. “Scared of everything.”
Hale crouched to inspect the window frame. “Boot prints outside. Pretty fresh. Whoever it was didn’t want to be quiet about it.”
“Adrian said the same thing.”
Hale glanced up sharply. “He’s been here?”
She nodded. “He stayed the night. He said he came to protect me.”
Hale straightened, expression hardening. “Of course he did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that’s exactly what he wants you to think. He’s weaving a narrative—one that keeps you dependent on him. He hurts, then heals. It’s a cycle.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” she said quickly. “He saved me.”
Hale gave her a long look. “You believe that?”
“I don’t know what I believe.”
He studied her a moment longer. “Then believe this: whoever’s behind these murders wants you scared and isolated. And Adrian benefits from both.”
She looked away, hugging herself. “He says someone’s framing him.”
“Of course he does.” Hale’s tone was weary, not mocking. “That’s what every smart predator says when the walls start closing in.”
“What if he’s right?” she whispered. “What if someone is framing him?”
Hale met her eyes. “Then he’d welcome help from the police. Has he done that?”
She shook her head.
“That tells you everything you need to know.”
After Hale left, the apartment felt emptier than before.
Elena sat in silence, watching rain slide down the cardboard where glass used to be.
She wanted to believe Adrian’s story—wanted to believe there was some faceless villain orchestrating this nightmare from the shadows. That it wasn’t him. That love hadn’t been a lie.
But the evidence kept circling back.
The phone records.
The boot prints.
The way he always knew too much.
If someone really was framing him, they knew him intimately—knew her too.
And if that were true… how could she ever be safe?
It was dark when Adrian returned.
He looked exhausted, his coat soaked, hair plastered to his forehead.
“Elena,” he said softly. “I found something.”
“What?”
He pulled a small envelope from his pocket. “This was on my car windshield. No note, just this.”
He opened it. Inside was a photograph—a blurry image of Elena’s building. Her apartment window circled in red marker.
Her breath hitched. “Oh my God.”
“You see?” he said, voice trembling. “Someone’s watching us. This isn’t random.”
“Adrian, who would do this?”
“I don’t know.” His hand shook slightly as he handed it to her. “But they want you to think I’m the monster.”
She looked at the photo again, her pulse pounding.
The image was grainy, the angle wrong, like it had been taken from a car parked across the street.
“Why would they leave this on your car?” she asked quietly.
He met her gaze. “Because they want me to know they can reach you.”
The air seemed to thicken.
He stepped closer, his hands cupping her face gently. “Do you believe me now?”
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to bury every doubt under that photograph.
But the words stuck in her throat.
Because somewhere, deep down, another voice whispered:
What if he put it there himself?