Page 6 of Cruel Hero

I’ve tried to move on from her, but she is the one thing I can’t let go of, no matter how much I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise.

I pick up my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find the number I’m looking for. It rings twice before my late father’s personal bodyguard answers.

“Adrien,” he drawls, his tone equal parts amusement and curiosity. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need a favor. Something discreet.”

There’s a pause on the other end, followed by a soft chuckle. “Discreet is my specialty. What’s the job?”

I glance at the photograph still lying on my desk, Tiffany’s fragile figure and Lucas’s confident stance mocking me. “I need you to keep an eye on someone for me. An artist—Lucas Bowler. I want to know where he goes, who he talks to, and if he so much as breathes in Tiffany Carter’s direction. And make sure she is protected.”

Luis hums thoughtfully. “The Carter girl? I thought you were done with that mess.”

“I was, but it seems the mess isn’t done with me.”

Another chuckle, darker this time. “Fair enough. Consider it done.”

The line goes dead, and I exhale sharply, my grip on the phone loosening.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I should walk away, and let Tiffany find her own path, even if it leads her to someone like Lucas Bowler. But before I do that, I need to see for myself. I need to know if she’s truly moved on—if she’s found something real with him or if she’s just clinging to the first lifeline thrown her way after everything that’s happened. Tiffany has always been a dreamer, and Lucas Bowler seems like the kind of man who would feed into that, painting her a world of colors and light while ignoring the shadows that still linger around her.

One last meeting with Tiffany will help me decide. I need to see her, to look into those blue eyes and see if there’s still a flicker of what we had. If there’s even the slightest chance that she hasn’t completely let go of me, of us, then I can’t walk away. Not yet. Not ever.

Chapter 4

Tiffany

Dean Carter’s funeral is a grand affair, with mourners filling the church pews and spilling out into the courtyard. I sit in the front row next to Olivia, clutching her hand like a lifeline.

I try to focus on the eulogies, which praise him as a visionary, a man who built an empire from the ground up. They speak of his generosity, unwavering commitment to family, and ability to inspire those around him. They don’t know the truth—the secrets he buried, the lives he destroyed. They don’t know the man who lurked beneath the polished veneer of success.

As the service comes to an end, people begin to file out of the church, and we follow suit. Olivia keeps a firm grip on my hand as we step into the sunlight, the cool breeze brushing against my skin.

“How are you holding up?” Olivia asks softly, her hazel eyes filled with concern as she studies my face. I try to muster a smile, but it feels brittle like it might shatter at any moment.

“I’m okay. It’s just a lot.” I scan the solemn faces of those paying their respects—some curious, others calculating. I wonder how many of them are here out of genuine respect and how many are simply here waiting to pounce on any perceived weakness.

“Let’s get through this,” Olivia murmurs. “One step at a time.”

Generations of Carters have been laid to rest in this peaceful cemetery, situated on the outskirts of town with rolling green hills and majestic oak trees providing shade for the elaborate mausoleums and towering monuments that dot the landscape.

The casket, heavy and polished, is slowly lowered into the ground with a thud. I clutch a single white rose in my hand, its petals soft against my fingertips. This is it—the end of an era, the closing of a chapter that was as much about survival as it was about loss.

I step forward and drop the rose onto the casket, my breath catching in my throat as I whisper, “Goodbye, Uncle.”

The words feel inadequate, but they’re all I have left to give. As I step back to rejoin Olivia, I notice a man standing at the edge of the crowd—tall, dark-haired, and unmistakable. In the blink of an eye, the figure disappears into the shadows of the surrounding oak trees, leaving me to wonder if my heart is playing tricks on me.

It was nothim.

It couldn’t have been him.

The ride back is silent and somber. Alexander and Lucas exchange quiet words, occasionally glancing at Olivia and me through the rearview mirror. Olivia leans her head against my shoulder as the limousine makes its way back to the estate.

Our PR team has decided that we should stay at Carter Manor for the rest of the week, away from the relentless scrutiny of the media. The estate, with its sprawling grounds and towering iron gates, offers a semblance of sanctuary from the prying eyes of the world. But it’s also the place my nightmares call home. The place where my memories of lurking monsters and bloodcurdling screams live.

That first night, I slip on a robe and make my way down the silent hallways of the estate towards the kitchen, knowing that sleep won’t come until I decide on my game plan for tomorrow’s emergency meeting regarding Carter Corporation’s future. The polished wooden floors creak beneath my bare feet, the sound echoing through the vast emptiness of the house. The shadows stretch long and dark, their shapes shifting with every flicker of the dim sconces lining the walls. It’s strange how a place so grand can feel so suffocating, like the walls themselves are closing in, pressing down with the weight of secrets they’ve been forced to hold.

To my surprise, the kitchen is already occupied. Alexander sits at the table, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand as he looks at his laptop screen with furrowed brows.

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