Page 53 of False Heir

The late morning sun spilled through the windows, casting a warm glow that did nothing to soften the cold reality of our situation. But as I kept my eyes on her, something like relief washed over me. She wasn’t pushing me away or bolting for the door, at least actively during this moment, which was a good sign in my book.

“Find anything yet?” My voice broke the silence, rougher than I intended.

“Still looking,” she replied without looking up, her voice calm but edged with determination that told me she wasn’t going to give up easily.

“Need a hand?”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking her head. “I’ve got it.”

I knew I needed to give her space. I just didn’t like it.

Adriana tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If you’re right, Kieran, there might be something we’re missing.”

I glanced at the box, its contents spilled out like a silent enigma. “Adriana, I’ve been all over it,” I said, frustration lacing my words. “I can’t find shit.”

Before she could respond, Kieran stood up, his lean frame moving with an effortless grace that somehow seemed out of place in the tension-filled air.

“So as much as I want you guys to keep looking, I wanted you to know that I’m grabbing lunch with Liam. You should come.” His tone was casual, but the undercurrent of urgency wasn’t lost on me. It was weird–this strange push and pull with the box, like he wanted to guide us both to and away from it.

“Thanks, Kieran,” I said, shooting him a grateful look for the distraction, even if neither Adriana nor I could afford to take up his offer. “But we’re kinda in the middle of something here.”

Kieran shrugged, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he backed towards the door. “Offer stands. Just thought you could use a break.”

“Appreciate it,” I replied, then turned back to Adriana, who was already refocusing on the task at hand.

“Kieran, wait.” The words tumbled out of me with more urgency than I intended. “Have you seen Liam today? Before, uh, lunch?”

I was worried about him after what had happened with Killian.

Kieran paused at the door, his hand resting on the handle. “Liam?” He turned to face me again, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his expression before he masked it with his usual nonchalance. “Yeah, he took off after last night. Said something about meeting that fiery redhead from the pub.”

“Ali, right?” I asked.

“Who’s Ali?” Adriana spoke up.

“Liam’s new girlfriend, I guess,” I told her. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

“Didn’t sound like he had any plans to rush,” Kieran replied, shrugging as if the conversation bore little significance. “You know how Liam is—probably lost track of time.”

“Right.” I swallowed hard, trying to push down the uneasy feeling in my gut. It wasn’t like Liam to be careless, not with everything that was at stake.

“Anyway, lunch,” Kieran tossed over his shoulder as he stepped out into the late morning sun. “Let me know if you change your minds.”

I watched him go, the door closing with a soft click behind him. The fleeting peace of our hideaway townhouse seemed even more fragile now, and as I looked into Adriana’s eyes, I knew she felt it too.

“Tristan,” Adriana’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, “you need to eat.”

I almost smiled at her maternal tone, laced with concern for the life we’d created together. “In a bit,” I said, my fingers grazing a cryptic note, its edges worn. I could feel the weight of history in my palm, the silent stories begging to be told.

“I don’t know what happened last night, but I can tell when you’re worried. Did it have anything to do with Liam?”

I shook my head. “No, but he was there.”

“So go have lunch with him,” Adriana replied softly. “We can sort all of this out later, okay?”

“Stay safe, Adriana,” I finally whispered, the gravity of our situation settling over us like an invisible shroud.

“Always,” she replied, her voice steady but her eyes revealing the depth of vulnerability we both tried to shield. She reached out, her touch light on my arm—a fleeting connection that grounded us amidst the chaos.

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