Page 69 of False Heir

“Give me a minute, Ade,” I muttered, barely glancing her way. My eyes were too busy scanning the room, searching for something, anything, that might give me an edge or clue.

My hands had a life of their own, clenching and unclenching into fists as if they were trying to grasp the answers out of thin air. I thought about Kieran, my brother by blood but not by recent actions. That damned box—what secrets did it hold? And why keep it from me?

“Damn it, Kieran,” I hissed under my breath, the taste of betrayal turning my stomach sour. It gnawed at me, relentless like a rat to a wire. Could he really be the leak we’d been trying to plug for weeks now? The thought alone was enough to splinter whatever trust remained.

Adriana shook her head. “Look, let’s not–let’s not spiral,” she said. “You don’t know anything yet.”

“I know my fucking brother planted the box,” I said, a little more harshly than I intended. “I do know that for sure.”

“Right, but you don’t know anything beyond that,” Adriana said.

“Yeah, but—“

“Tristan. I…Is there anything I can do?” Adriana’s voice softened, reaching out to me in the cramped space.

I stopped pacing and looked at her. She was all sharp edges and soft curves wrapped in a black top that clung to her like a second skin and leggings that suggested she was ready for a fight or flight at a moment’s notice. But it was those dark eyes, full of something like pain and understanding, that made me almost want to spill my guts to her.

“Ade,” I started, shaking my head as I tried to find the right words. “You told me I can’t just... distract myself with sex.” The memory of her saying that hit a nerve, especially now when every part of me screamed for some kind of release from the tension knotting up inside.

She tilted her head slightly, watching me, always watching. Her concern was a warm touch in the coldness that had settled in my chest. But I couldn’t lean on her, not now. Not when everything felt like a house of cards waiting to tumble down.

“You don’t have to do anything. I’m just glad you’re here at all,” I managed to say, the words rough in my throat. A laugh, bitter and humorless, escaped me as I forced a smile that felt like dragging a blade across my skin.

“Yeah, I know I don’t have to,“ Adriana spoke up, her voice cutting through the cacophony of doubts in my head. “But I want to.” Her gaze locked onto mine with unwavering intensity, brimming with a mix of understanding and affection that felt wholly undeserved.

“Even though we’re in the middle of an argument?” I asked incredulously, my brows knitted together as I searched her face for any sign of insincerity.

“We are,” she said simply, her lips curving into a smile that was neither forced nor empty. “But this is bigger than that.”

I hesitated. I wanted her—more than I wanted to admit—but not like this, not when it felt like taking advantage of her compassion. I needed something else, a way to escape these churning thoughts that threatened to consume me.

Fishing into my pocket, I found what I hoped would be salvation—a brief reprieve from the chaos in the form of my phone. My thumb hovered over the screen, ready to dive into the digital world where emotions could be filtered and controlled.

“Tristan…”

“It’s okay, Ade,” I said. “Just give me a second.”

I let out a sigh that felt heavy with the weight of unspoken confessions, and I fired off a quick text to Ronan. The words on the screen seemed like a betrayal, just asking for a report on Kieran. It was necessary, though, a part of the life I was born into—a life where trust was as fragile as glass and just as easily shattered.

“Is everything…I mean, are you…fuck, I don’t know. You okay?” Adriana’s voice cut through my thoughts, her concern evident even without the use of many words.

“Fine,” I lied, the single word tasting like ash in my mouth. I pocketed my phone, pushing back the guilt that threatened to claw its way up my throat.

The tension in the room shifted, thickened like fog rolling over the harbor outside. I turned to face her, and the air between us crackled with a different kind of energy—charged, vibrant, dangerous. It was the kind of energy that could start wars or end them, the kind that had no place in the heart of a man whose name carried the weight of blood and secrets.

“We can talk,” she said. “If you want to.”

“Never been good at talking.”

“Oh, yeah?” Adriana said. “I’ve never noticed that about you.”

I smiled. I reached out, my fingers brushing against hers. The warmth of her skin was a jolt, a flash of something pure in the murky waters of my life. For a moment, it scattered the worry lines that had taken residence on my forehead.

“Tristan?” Her voice was a soft melody against the harsh backdrop of my reality.

“Ade,” I murmured, pulling her closer with a grip born of desperation and desire. My heart thundered like the engines of the boats docked at the marina outside, each beat echoing with longing and fear.

Her gaze met mine and smiled.

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