Elena did not recognize it.
Cassian saw that.
“He operates financial networks in Bellgrave. Legal ones. Illegal ones. The distinction changes depending on which judge is looking.”
“And Julian?”
“Owed him money.”
“That was years ago.”
“Yes.”
Cassian’s expression became grim.
“But the debt never disappeared.”
Elena stepped down from the piano bench.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the forty-eight thousand Julian took from you may not have been the end.”
Her stomach tightened.
Cassian continued.
“He used your name as collateral on another loan.”
Elena went still.
“No.”
“I have records.”
“No. That’s impossible.”
“He had access to your financial information from when you were engaged.”
“What kind of loan?”
“Two hundred and seventy thousand dollars.”
Elena stared at him.
“I never signed anything.”
“I know.”
“Then it’s fraud.”
“Yes.”
“Why hasn’t anyone contacted me?”
“They may.”
Fear crawled up her spine.
“When?”
Cassian’s phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
He did not answer.
“Cassian.”
He turned the phone toward her.
A photograph filled the screen.
Julian was sitting inside a car.
Blood on his shirt.
Someone held that day’s newspaper beside his face.
Below it was one message.
THE WOMAN OWES WHAT HE PROMISED.
Elena’s knees almost gave way.
Cassian caught her arm.
She stared at the photograph.
“What does that mean?”
Cassian’s voice changed.
The warmth disappeared from it.
The feared man from the ballroom returned.
“It means Marcus Vale knows who you are.”
Elena looked at him.
“And he thinks Julian’s debt belongs to you.”
Cassian corrected himself.
“No.”
His gaze turned cold.
“He wants you to think it does.”
And somewhere in Bellgrave, Julian Hale had finally discovered that some debts could not be buried forever.
Chapter 4 – The Night the Music Stopped
Elena did not sleep that night.
Cassian insisted she remain somewhere secure until he understood what Marcus Vale intended.
Elena refused the first three places he suggested because all of them sounded like luxury prisons.
Eventually they compromised.
She stayed in a guest suite above the Bellgrave Conservatory, where Adrian Falk maintained a private teaching residence.
There were cameras at the entrances.
Security in the lobby.
And, more importantly to Elena, a piano in the room.
At 4:17 in the morning, she sat before it without playing.
Julian’s photograph remained in her mind.
Blood.
Fear.
A newspaper.
The woman owes what he promised.
She should have hated Julian enough not to care.
Part of her did hate him.
But hatred was not clean.
Four years of loving someone could not be erased because he later became a coward.
She remembered Julian at nineteen, bringing soup when Arthur was sick.
Julian repairing a broken window because Elena could not afford a handyman.
Julian sitting beside her while she practiced, telling her she sounded beautiful even when she knew she had missed half the notes.
That man had existed once.
Then ambition found him.
And slowly, Elena lost him.
At eight, Adrian knocked on the door.
He carried coffee and a paper bag.
“You haven’t slept.”
“How can you tell?”
“You are staring at a piano without touching it. Musicians only do that when they are exhausted or terrified.”
“I’m both.”
He handed her coffee.
“Cassian called me.”
Elena looked up sharply.
“What did he tell you?”
“That you may need discretion for a few days.”
“He didn’t mention Julian?”
“Only that an old acquaintance has created a security problem.”
Elena exhaled.
Adrian sat.
“You don’t trust him.”
“Cassian?”
“Yes.”
“I met him two days ago.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Elena wrapped both hands around the coffee cup.
“I don’t know.”
Adrian smiled faintly.
“That means you trust him more than you expected.”
She looked at him.
“Do you?”
“Cassian?”
“Yes.”
Adrian considered it.
“I trust him to be exactly what he is.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Dangerous men who pretend to be harmless are the ones I avoid.”
Elena glanced toward the window.
“What is he exactly?”
Adrian leaned back.
“Cassian inherited a criminal empire at twenty-six.”
Elena went still.
“So the stories are true.”
“Some.”
“He kills people?”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“I do not know what he has done, Elena. I know what people say. I also know that in the last eight years he has moved large portions of his family businesses into legitimate industries.”
“That sounds like a polite way of saying yes.”
“It is a polite way of saying I do not know.”
Elena absorbed that.
Adrian changed the subject.
“Have you considered my offer?”
“You offered me a lesson.”
“I offered you twelve.”
Elena stared.
“Twelve?”
“I teach in twelve-week residencies.”
“I can’t afford one lesson from you.”
“I did not mention payment.”
“I’m not taking charity.”
Adrian sighed.
“Why does every talented person insist on making generosity an insult?”
