Chapter 9
The silence in the grand ballroom was profound, a sharp contrast to the violence and revelations that had just torn through it. Adrian stood still for a long moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. He looked down at Clara, who was watching him with wide, trusting blue eyes, holding her baby sister tightly.
Adrian crouched down again, ignoring the terrified guests and the weeping bride behind him.
"Come here," Adrian murmured warmly, reaching his arms out.
Clara did not hesitate. She stepped forward, allowing Adrian to wrap his powerful arms around her and baby Mia. He lifted them effortlessly into his embrace, holding his daughters securely against his chest. The smell of dust and tears was heartbreaking, but they were safe. They were finally home.
"Catherine," Adrian called out softly.
His older sister, Catherine Hale, stepped out from the paralyzed crowd. The thirty-seven-year-old woman was visibly shaken, her elegant formal gown rustling as she walked down the white-flower aisle. Her fair face was pale, but her eyes shone with a fierce, protective realization.
"Take them to the secure suite," Adrian instructed, handing Clara and Mia over to his sister. "Do not let anyone inside. Have the medical team examine them immediately."
"I have them, Adrian," Catherine promised, pulling the children close. She looked down at the sealed envelope still clutched in Adrian’s hand, then looked back up at her brother. The bond between them was absolute. "What are you going to do?"
"I am going to read a letter," Adrian replied quietly, adjusting the cuffs of his tuxedo. "And then, I am going to paint the streets of this city."
Catherine nodded, turning swiftly and hurrying out of the ballroom through the private side entrance, flanked by four heavily armed bodyguards.
Adrian stood up, his dark, wavy hair falling perfectly over his forehead, masking the cold, calculating monster that was now fully awake. He turned his attention to his lead capo, a hardened man standing near the entrance.
"Lock down the ballroom," Adrian commanded, his American accent sharp and unyielding. "No one from the Ashford family leaves this room. Disarm their men. If they resist, execute them."
"Yes, Boss," the capo responded immediately, raising his radio to his lips. The sound of weapons being drawn and the heavy ballroom doors locking echoed through the hall.
Adrian did not look at Victoria, who was still sobbing on the floor, or at Richard, who was slowly bleeding out near the broken seating chart. He had entirely disconnected from them. They were dead to him.
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He walked slowly toward the private groom's lounge, the bright cinematic lighting casting long, dramatic shadows across the marble floor. He stepped into the quiet room and closed the heavy oak door behind him, sealing out the panicked cries of the guests.
The lounge was silent. Adrian walked over to a heavy mahogany desk, the sealed envelope resting heavily in his hand. He sat down in the leather chair, took a deep breath, and slid his thumb under the flap. He broke the seal, pulling out the folded, handwritten letter from the woman he thought he had lost forever. The truth was finally in his hands.
