The flashlight beam trembled as it swept across Celeste's face. She flinched, every nerve braced for violence. Adrian's face hovered above hers, sharp features carved in relief by the single overhead bulb in the church entry. He looked older than in the photograph she'd kept hidden. Lines of exhaustion and regret creased his forehead.
Her heart thundered, pounding against ribs hollowed by years of fear. She swallowed hard. Words lodged in her throat. She couldn't pull them free until he spoke again. His voice was low, rough around the edges.
"You shouldn't have come back, Celeste."
The weight of that simple phrase pressed her shoulders down. She took a shaky breath and tried to steady her legs. The church door clicked shut behind her, sealing them in a hushed chamber decorated with candlelit alcoves and peeling frescoes. The scent of melted wax and damp stone filled her lungs.
"Why are you here?" she whispered, though her voice cracked.
He lowered the flashlight and studied her. His eyes burned with something she couldn't name—anger, loss, something deeper. He took a step closer. Footsteps echoed on the flagstone floor.
"I came for answers," he said, almost gently. "I need to know the truth."
Her gaze dropped to the faded carpet at her feet, patterned with angels so worn they had lost their faces. She raised a hand to touch her cheek, where the bruise bloomed purple. Her dress clung to her damp skin, torn at the hem and stained dark at her side.
"I don't have answers," she insisted. "I barely remember anything after the fireworks. I woke up hurt and confused."
He flicked on an electric lamp hidden behind a statue of Saint Mary. The sudden brightness revealed more of the chapel's corners: wooden pews in perfect rows, a scattering of prayer candles, and dust motes drifting in the beam.
Celeste blinked against the glare. She pressed her hand harder to her throat, tasting the faint coppery streak of blood from her lip. Every detail felt too vivid: the roughness of the parched stone wall at her back, the metallic tang in the air, and the rhythm of her frantic heartbeat.
"Show me your arms," he said quietly. His calm tone only heightened her panic.
She hesitated. "I'm fine," she lied, her voice breathless.
He stepped closer and caught her wrist. His grip was firm, not gentle. She winced.
"Don't lie to me." His gaze softened for an instant. "I saw how they hurt you."
She let him lead her to a patch of light near the altar. Every step felt like walking through a storm of memories. She recalled her father's face when he turned away, Bianca's triumphant laughter, and the sting of betrayal that drove her from home.
He pulled up the sleeve of her gown. His fingers brushed her bruised ribs. She flinched, but beneath his touch she felt a surge of something unfamiliar: safety.
"When I found you," he said, his voice laced with pain, "I thought you were dead. Bianca told me you'd run off with another man and abandoned our child."
Her breath caught. "She lied."
His eyes, dark and stormy, searched her face. "I hired people to find you. I tried every lead. All I found was empty space until I saw his drawing." He reached into his jacket and produced the small photo. "This."
He handed her the photograph with trembling fingers. She recognized the child at once: their son, Noah, standing beside a snow-dusted fountain, clutching a crooked drawing of two figures under a tree. In it, one figure wore her favorite blue dress. The other wore a crisp suit jacket.
The picture felt like a living thing in her hand. She traced the edges of the photo, fraying where he must have slipped it from Bianca's files. Tears blurred her vision as shock and rage roiled inside her.
"She kept this. All these years."
Adrian nodded, jaw clenched. "She's used our secrets like weapons." He exhaled, the breath trembling. "I deserve better than that from the woman I loved."
Her pulse thundered. Pain and regret collided in her chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know... I—I was scared."
He studied her face, every scar and bruise telling a story she had long tried to bury. The church's silence pressed in around them, broken only by the distant drip of water from a leaky roof.
"Tell me everything," he demanded. His voice was steady, unwavering. "I want to know how my son came to be in the world without me."
She swallowed hard and stepped back. She wrapped her arms around herself, pulling the torn fabric tight. She remembered late nights rocking Noah, listening to his steady heartbeat in the dark. Remembered his warm weight in her arms and his tiny fingers tracing the scars on her forearm.
"It was the night of Bianca's birthday," she began, voice trembling. The words tumbled out in a rush. She spoke of the fireworks, the laughter, and the first sip of champagne that made her head spin. She recounted stumbling toward the terrace, the flash of light that blinded her, and then nothing until she woke in that stranger's room.
Adrian's jaw tightened as she spoke. He closed his eyes, picturing the pain in her voice. "Go on," he urged when she faltered.
She pressed her lips together and continued, describing waking up alone, bruised, and afraid. How she fled to Dawn's safety. How, weeks later, she discovered the life growing inside her. She named him Noah for the promise of a new beginning. How her world had narrowed to the rhythm of his breathing.
By the time she finished, her voice was flat, emptied by grief. She looked up. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He stared at her as if he wanted to memorize every line on her face.
"He's my entire world," she whispered. "Without him, I have nothing."
Adrian closed the distance until they stood shoulder to shoulder. He took a deep breath, then spoke quietly, "He's my world too."
She turned to look at him. His face was stoic, but the tremor in his fist told her what he felt. He closed his eyes briefly, as if steeling himself, then opened them and met her gaze.
"Bianca suspects I'll find you tonight," he said. His voice lowered. "She warned me not to seek the truth."
Her blood ran cold. "What does she want?" she asked.
He hesitated. "Control." He touched the photograph in his pocket. "She knows I care about you. She knows I care about him. She thinks those feelings will make me vulnerable."
She pressed her hand to her chest, where his words echoed like thunder. "Then she has underestimated us."
He turned away, pacing to the altar's steps. Candlelight flickered across his profile. She watched his hand brush the stone as if drawing strength from it.
"What happens now?" she asked softly.
He faced her again. "We leave this place together. We go somewhere safe. We plan our next move."
She nodded, but a deep dread tightened in her stomach. "She won't let it go."
He closed the gap and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know."
A sudden crash echoed from the main hall of the church. The wooden doors rattled.
They froze.
Footsteps pounded against the floorboards. A harsh voice called out her name.
"Celeste Morgan!"
Her heart stopped at the sound of her attacker.
Adrian's eyes hardened. His grip on her shoulder tightened.
"Stay behind me," he whispered.
She pressed against his side as the old doors burst open. A beam of moonlight and cold wind cut across the pews. In the doorway stood a tall figure, lips twisted into a cruel grin.
Bianca's silhouette was backlit by the night sky. She held something in her hand that glinted like a blade.
Celeste's breath caught.
Adrian stepped forward, voice low and sharp. "Step away from her."
Bianca laughed. It rang like shattered glass.
The church filled with tension so thick they could taste it.
Bianca raised her arm.
Celeste's chest tightened as the figure advanced.
Adrian braced himself.
And then Bianca's voice drifted through the charged air, dripping with malice:
"You took everything from me once. I intend to finish the job tonight."
Their world narrowed to that single threat.
The candle flames fluttered as if in warning.
Celeste's breath froze.