Chapter 72

Adrian's office was heavy with silence, the kind that pressed down on the air like a suffocating weight. Mr. Turner sat quietly in the corner, doing his best to make himself invisible. He'd worked with Adrian Cagliari for years and had witnessed many of his moods: sharp anger, cold detachment, and moments of ruthless efficiency. But today, there was something different—something he couldn't quite define.   Adrian sat behind his massive oak desk, his fingers steepled, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window. He hadn't said much since they returned from the hospital. His posture was as composed as ever, but the set of his jaw and the faint crease in his brow hinted at something far more volatile simmering beneath the surface.   Turner shifted in his chair, his instinct to speak overridden by experience. He had long since learned that silence was often the safest response when Adrian's mood darkened. Especially now, when the man who normally seemed invincible looked... troubled.   The quiet knock at the door broke the spell. Adrian's gaze snapped to it, cold and calculating, as Turner rose to answer. The butler opened the door carefully, admitting the doctor, a poised woman with a clipboard in her hand and a hesitant expression on her face.   Adrian leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as she stepped forward. 'Mr. Cagliari," she began, her voice calm but measured. 'Your personal physician asked me to step in, given the sensitivity of your wife's situation."   He gave a curt nod, his fingers drumming once against the desk. 'I assume you have an update."   'Yes." She shifted uncomfortably, clearly aware of the tension in the room. 'I've completed my assessment of Mrs. Cagliari and put together a care plan." Adrian's expression didn't change, but Turner, standing off to the side, noticed the slight clench of his jaw. 'Go on," Adrian said evenly.   The doctor straightened her posture, trying to maintain professionalism. 'Your wife is recovering from multiple bruises and injuries she sustained. She confirmed they were from the night of the... incident." She paused briefly, waiting for a reaction.   When none came, she continued, 'Her fever is a result of discontinued antibiotics. I've restarted her prescription and provided additional medication to stimulate her appetite. Physically, she is stable, but—"   'But?" Adrian interrupted, his tone sharp, slicing through the doctor's words like a knife. His dark eyes pinned her in place.   The doctor swallowed and pressed on, though her voice faltered slightly. 'I would strongly recommend therapy. From my observations, Mrs. Cagliari appeared withdrawn. She barely spoke during the assessment, and when she did, her voice was so low I had to ask her to repeat herself several times. It's clear that what happened was deeply traumatic, and she needs support to process it." Adrian's fingers stilled on the desk. The cold, unreadable mask he wore slipped for just a fraction of a second, his eyes flickering with something Turner couldn't identify. But the moment was gone before it could settle. 'And you believe therapy will help her?" Adrian asked, his voice low and deliberate, each word carefully measured. 'Yes," the doctor said, her tone softening slightly. 'Therapy, and—" she hesitated, as though weighing whether to say the next part. 'Support from loved ones. She needs someone by her side who can provide stability, reassurance, and encouragement." The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of Adrian's silence suffocating. The doctor shifted on her feet, glancing at Turner as if for backup. None came. Finally, Adrian leaned forward, his gaze narrowing as he locked eyes with her.   'Are you suggesting," he said, his voice quiet but icy, 'that I am the person she needs?"  The doctor faltered, her professionalism cracking under the intensity of his stare. 'I—I only meant that support from someone close to her would help her heal more quickly."  Adrian's lips pressed into a thin line, and he nodded toward Turner, who stepped forward immediately to escort the doctor out. 'Thank you for your assessment," Adrian said, dismissing her with a finality that brooked no argument. As the door closed behind her, the office fell into silence once more. Turner hesitated near the door, glancing back at Adrian. For a moment, it seemed as though the man might say something, but Adrian simply turned his chair toward the window, dismissing him with a flick of his hand.   Turner left without a word.   ************************************   Adrian stared out at the sprawling estate, the manicured gardens barely visible under the overcast sky. The doctor's words echoed in his mind, clawing at the edges of his control.   'A loved one." The phrase grated on him. He didn't see himself as someone Ashleigh would—or could—rely on. How could she? A loved one didn't stand by while their wife's world crumbled. A loved one didn't bury themselves in work, halfway across the world, when their wife needed them most.   And yet, here he was. His phone buzzed on the desk, pulling him from his thoughts. The name on the screen made him pause before answering. Alexander Myron. 'Adrian," Alexander's voice came through the line, tinged with irritation. 'I assume you're home by now?"   'Yes," Adrian replied curtly. 'Why are you calling?"   'To state the obvious," Alexander said, his tone sharp. 'If you'd been home earlier, none of this would have happened." Adrian's grip on the phone tightened. 'Are you calling to blame me, or do you have something useful to say?"   'I'm calling to tell you what you should already know," Alexander shot back. 'Ashleigh told my fiancée weeks ago that someone was stalking her at the college. Did you know about that?"  The question hung in the air, heavy and damning. Adrian didn't respond immediately, his mind replaying every report he'd received about Ashleigh while he was abroad.   'I was notified," he admitted finally, his voice quieter now. 'While investigating her family background, I had bodyguards assigned to her. They assured me she was secure." Alexander groaned on the other end of the line. 'Secure? Adrian, someone was following her. Someone was watching her, and you trusted bodyguards to handle it?" His voice rose with frustration. 'You knew she was vulnerable, and you didn't do anything."   Adrian's jaw tightened. 'I assigned protection. What more do you want from me?"   'I want you to admit to yourself that you failed her," Alexander snapped. 'I dont know what business deal you have with her, she's still your wife, Adrian."   Adrian's silence spoke volumes.   For the first time in years, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind. Had he done enough? Was assigning bodyguards truly enough, or was it an excuse to keep himself at arm's length? To avoid confronting the fact that Ashleigh might have needed more from him than he was willing to give?   'Adrian," Alexander's voice softened slightly, though it still carried an edge. 'If you keep holding Ashleigh at a distance, you're going to lose her. I hope you use this time wisely."   The line went dead before Adrian could respond. He stared at the phone for a long moment before setting it down. His chest felt tight, the weight of Alexander's words pressing down on him. He stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room, his hands clenched at his sides.   The thought of losing her was unwelcome in his mind as it meant nothing to him, but now it clung to him like a shadow.   **************************** Hours later, the house was still. The distant ticking of the grandfather clock echoed faintly through the halls, a somber reminder of the hours slipping by. Adrian found himself standing outside Ashleigh's room, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He hadn't planned on coming here, but when Mr. Atkinson informed him that Ashleigh had refused to eat yet again, his feet carried him upstairs before his mind could register the decision.   Now, faced with the closed door, he hesitated. His grip on the doorknob tightened, his pulse an unfamiliar drumbeat in his ears. He exhaled slowly, steeling himself against the thoughts clawing at the edges of his carefully constructed control. Pushing the door open quietly, he stepped inside. The room was dim, bathed in the faint, golden glow of the bedside lamp. Ashleigh lay motionless on the bed, her pale face half-buried in the pillow, her breathing soft and rhythmic. She looked so fragile, her frame almost swallowed by the heavy quilt draped over her. His gaze caught the faint bruises on her arms peeking out from beneath the covers. His chest tightened, but he pushed the emotion down. For years, control had been his armor, his weapon. But standing here, in this quiet room filled with bruises and broken trust, he realized it wasn't enough. Not this time. He thought briefly of waking her, of telling her something—anything—that would make this unbearable silence disappear. But words escaped him. He turned to leave, deciding it would be easier to ask Susan, her maid, to wake her instead.   Then a soft voice broke the stillness.   'Adrian?"   He froze, his hand on the doorknob, the sound of her voice cutting through him like a blade. Slowly, he turned back, his face a mask of neutrality.   Her eyes were barely open, unfocused, but the pain in them was unmistakable. 'Why are you here?" she whispered, her voice raw and fragile.   The question struck him harder than he expected. He had answers, rational ones, but none seemed sufficient. He stood in silence, a man unarmed before her quiet anguish.   Ashleigh shifted slightly, her lips trembling. 'I got a message from my department," she said, her voice cracking. 'They've withdrawn my test scores. I'm to face a disciplinary panel when school resumes. They said I have tarnished the image of the department."   Her words hung in the air like a death sentence. 'I worked so hard for this," she whispered, her voice trembling. 'It was the one thing I had, Adrian. The one thing that wasn't falling apart. And now..." She trailed off, the words breaking under the weight of her despair.   Her words sliced through Adrian, leaving a sharp ache in their wake. His throat tightened, but he remained silent. What could he say?   Her eyes fluttered closed, her face etched with despair as she drifted back into fitful sleep.   Adrian turned back to the door, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. But as his hand brushed the doorknob, a faint vibration in his pocket pulled him from his turmoil. He pulled out his phone, the screen glowing with a message from an unknown number.   'Mr. Cagliari, what an unexpected pleasure to finally address you directly. I'm sure your bodyguards have mentioned me—or perhaps their failures have spoken louder. They couldn't keep her safe, could they? Poor Ashleigh, already so broken... but this is just the beginning. You'll need far more than a hundred guards to keep her from me, Adrian. Because when I start something, I don't stop until it's finished. And I always finish."   Adrian's blood ran cold. His grip on the phone tightened, the threat searing itself into his mind.   The room seemed to close in around him, the silence no longer a comfort but a suffocating presence. For the first time in years, he felt an unfamiliar emotion clawing at the edges of his resolve.  Fear. But this time, it wasn't for himself.