Her Father Called Him a Killer. Seven Years Later, She Discovered He Went to Prison for Her.
CHAPTER 1
The champagne glass slipped from Eleanor Vale’s fingers.
It struck the marble floor and shattered.
Nobody noticed.
The ballroom was too loud.
Music filled the enormous room. Investors laughed beneath crystal chandeliers. Waiters carried champagne between tables while politicians and businessmen discussed millions of dollars as casually as other people discussed the weather.
But Eleanor heard none of it.
She was staring at the man beside the ballroom doors.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
A scar crossed his left eyebrow.
Seven years had changed his face.
But not his eyes.
Adrian Cross.
Her first love.
Her greatest mistake.
And the man she had believed was a murderer.
Seven years earlier, Adrian had been a poor underground fighter with nothing except his fists and a dream of escaping the life he had been born into.
Eleanor had been the billionaire’s daughter who secretly met him after midnight.
Her father had hated him.
Everyone had told her that Adrian wasn’t good enough.
Then Marcus Hale died in a fighting ring.
Adrian was convicted of manslaughter.
Seven years in prison.
No letters.
No phone calls.
No explanation.
Eleanor eventually believed the lie her father told her.
Adrian had chosen violence.
He had chosen fighting.
He had chosen himself.
Now he was standing inside her father’s mansion.
And he was wearing a security badge.
Her father approached.
“Eleanor.”
She didn’t answer.
“You hired him?”
Richard Vale looked toward Adrian.
“He’s your new private security specialist.”
Her face hardened.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
“He killed a man.”
“That’s what the court decided.”
Eleanor stared at Adrian.
He didn’t look at her.
That somehow hurt more.
Seven years.
And he couldn’t even look at her.
She walked toward him.
“Adrian.”
His eyes finally lifted.
For one second, she saw the man she remembered.
Then the mask returned.
“Miss Vale.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’m working.”
“You spent seven years in prison.”
“I know.”
“You never wrote.”
“I know.”
“You never called.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
“Did you ever think about me?”
Adrian looked at her.
His expression finally broke.
“Every day.”
Then he walked away.
That night, Eleanor woke at 2:13 a.m.
Her bedroom door opened.
A shadow stepped inside.
She reached for the lamp.
Before she could scream, Adrian appeared.
The intruder attacked.
A knife flashed.
Adrian caught his wrist and slammed him against the wall.
The man escaped through the window.
Adrian stood motionless.
Blood dripped from his knuckles.
Eleanor stared at the knife left behind.
A small black crown had been carved into the handle.
Adrian’s expression changed.
“What is that?” Eleanor asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
He looked at her.
“Lock your window.”
“Why?”
His voice became quiet.
“Because whoever came tonight wasn’t trying to scare you.”
He looked at the knife.
“They were looking for something.”
“What?”
Adrian’s eyes met hers.
“You.”
And for the first time in seven years, Eleanor wondered whether the man she had hated had actually been protecting her.
