Chapter 4 - The Storm on the CoastThe wind off Frenchman Bay slammed against the weathered cedar shingles of the Bar Harbor cabin with the force of a physical assault.
Inside, the air was cold, damp, and smelled of old cedar, dust, and woodsmoke.
Elena sat bundled in a heavy wool sweater and a thick tartan blanket on an old plaid sofa, staring into the flickering flames of the stone fireplace. Her face was pale, shadows bruised beneath her gray eyes, but her expression was carved from unyielding stone.
She pressed a hand gently against her lower abdomen.
Stay, she whispered silently to the tiny, fragile life growing inside her. Just stay with me.
The doctor in Queens had warned her explicitly: Stress is your greatest enemy right now, Mrs. Cole. Your hormone levels are marginal. If you experience severe emotional shock or physical exertion over the next ten days, you risk losing the pregnancy.
That was why she had left.
Not out of dramatic flair. Not to punish Adrien.
When she saw the video of him fastening the blue diamond necklace around Clare Bennett’s neck while toasting her "freedom," the shock had triggered a sharp, agonizing cramp in her lower back—a physical warning bell that her body was buckling under the weight of her humiliation.
She knew Adrien. She knew that if she had confronted him in the townhouse, he would have rationalized it. He would have explained the optics, managed the crisis, and asked her to be reasonable. He would have sucked the air right out of her lungs with his terrifying, emotionless logic.
So she had packed her bags, boarded a plane, and run to the only place in the world where nobody knew her name, where no society columns existed, and where she could protect her child in absolute, unbroken silence.
Outside, the crunch of heavy tires on gravel crunched over the frozen ground.
Elena froze.
She turned her head slowly toward the frost-covered front window.
A sleek, black armored Mercedes SUV—completely out of place among the weathered fishing shacks and pine forests of coastal Maine—had pulled up beside her Range Rover.
The driver's side door opened.
Adrien Cole stepped out into the freezing coastal drizzle.
He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. His custom overcoat was soaked through at the shoulders, his tie askew, and his dark hair plastered against his forehead by the wind. He looked less like the untouchable billionaire CEO of Cole Group and more like a man who had just survived a shipwreck.
He walked up the wooden steps of the cabin.
May you like
He didn't bother knocking.
The heavy oak door swung open with a loud creak as Adrien stepped inside, bringing the freezing Maine gale with him.
Related Stories
