Chapter 7: Shadows of the Past...

The night felt colder now.

The weight of the slip of paper in my hand was insignificant, but the name written on it—it carried the weight of a grave.

John.

My second husband.

Adrian's gaze flickered to the paper, his sharp eyes scanning the name before settling on me. "I thought you said he died in an accident."

"He did." My voice was steady, but my pulse wasn't.

Marcus Cain had disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind more questions than answers. He hadn't explained why John's name was written on this paper. He hadn't needed to.

A man who can tell you why your husbands died.

Marcus's words echoed in my mind, sinking in like ice.

I swallowed hard. "We need to leave."

Adrian gave a curt nod. He didn't press for more, but I could feel the unspoken questions in his silence.

We slipped out of the alley, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the glow of the streetlights. The car that had been watching my apartment was still parked in the distance, but there was no sign of movement.

Still, the feeling of being watched never left me.

We took a different route back to the safe house—a small, nondescript building tucked away in a neighborhood where no one asked questions. Adrian led the way, his movements precise, every step calculated.

Once inside, I locked the door behind us, pressing my back against the cool wood.

Adrian pulled the curtains shut, then turned to face me. "You should get some rest."

I exhaled a laugh. "Rest? After this?"

His expression didn't change. "You need to be clear-headed for whatever's next."

I looked down at the paper in my hand. John's name stared back at me, haunting.

"I thought I buried this part of my life," I murmured.

Adrian didn't say anything, but his gaze softened just a fraction.

Then, without another word, he left the room, giving me space.

I stood there for a long moment before unfolding the paper again.

John.

Why was his name the first clue?

And if I followed this lead… what would I find?

Sleep never came.

I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, the shadows shifting in the dim light. My mind refused to quiet, unraveling every memory, every possibility.

John had been my second husband.

Charming. Intelligent. A man with an easy smile and a calculating mind. He had always been careful—almost too careful. But I never questioned it.

Then, one night, he was gone.

A car crash, they said. A freak accident. But Marcus's words tonight made me question everything.

I kept replaying the past, looking for moments I might have missed.

The late-night calls John would take in hushed tones. The way he'd always glance over his shoulder when we walked in public. The way he'd once told me—If anything ever happens to me, don't believe the first story you hear.

At the time, I thought it was just John's paranoia.

Now, I wasn't so sure.

Adrian found me still awake when dawn broke.

He studied me, then sighed. "Get up."

I frowned. "Why?"

"We're following the lead."

I sat up, blinking. "You believe Marcus?"

"I believe we need answers," he said simply. "And so do you."

I hesitated only a moment before nodding.

Because he was right.

The address Marcus had given me wasn't just a location.

It was a name.

Liam Holloway.

A retired journalist. Someone John had met frequently before his death.

I had never questioned it before.

Now, I had no choice but to.

The drive was quiet. Tension sat between Adrian and me, unspoken but understood. He kept one hand near his gun, his posture alert.

I could tell he was already anticipating the worst.

When we reached the address, I wasn't sure what I expected.

The house was old but well-kept, tucked away on a quiet street. The kind of place where secrets could easily be buried.

The neighborhood was eerily silent. No children playing, no passing cars. Just an unsettling stillness, as if the street itself was holding its breath.

I hesitated at the door.

Adrian gave me a look. "You want to turn back?"

I shook my head.

I had come too far.

I knocked.

Footsteps shuffled inside. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a man in his sixties. Silver hair. Tired eyes. But there was something sharp in his gaze, something that made my pulse jump.

"Liam Holloway?" I asked.

His expression tightened. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Everly Carter." I hesitated, then said, "I was John's wife."

A long silence stretched between us.

Then Liam exhaled sharply. "I was wondering when you'd come knocking."

I exchanged a glance with Adrian.

Liam stepped aside, motioning for us to enter.

The moment we stepped in, I felt it—a presence.

Not just Liam.

Someone else was here.

Adrian tensed, his hand shifting closer to his weapon.

I scanned the room, my pulse quickening.

Then, before either of us could react, a voice spoke from the shadows.

"You shouldn't have come here, Everly."

I went rigid.

I knew that voice.

And I knew—without a doubt—that my past wasn't finished with me yet.