By the time I got to my car, I was half-convinced Grace would follow me into the parking lot. She had this uncanny ability to appear whenever I least expected it, usually with a cup of coffee and an opinion about my life choices, especially about Adrian. Especially about how I shouldn’t leave my own exhibit to celebrate an anniversary.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I glanced at the check again, tucked safely in my bag. My thoughts wandered as I started the engine.
Was Grace right, and some mysterious benefactor had decided to fund me?
Years in art school hadn’t been wasted after all. Maybe it was time to set up my own studio. I couldn’t keep leaning on Grace and Adrian forever.
A strained sigh left my lips.
Maybe I should talk to him tonight. He’d definitely… have opinions. Adrian always had opinions, unhurried and practical. But I didn’t mind. He had a way of making sense of my chaos, even if it sometimes felt like he was trying to fix me.
He had carried me through darker days without ever mentioning it. Paid my loans and supported our family when we almost became bankrupt.
The parking lot of our familiar building was half-full when I parked and turned off the engine. I smiled faintly, imagining him in the kitchen, engrossed in dinner prep. Adrian liked to cook, especially on nights like this. And tonight was special.
Four years. Four years of support, of quiet smiles and steady hands. I’d planned to surprise him with something small, maybe a new watch or a book he’d been mentioning, but now, with the check burning a hole in my bag, I wanted to do more.
The familiar scent of lavender and faint cooking spices greeted me.
“Adrian?”
No response.
I slipped off my shoes and wandered toward the kitchen, and the faint sound of steak being roasted in a pan filtered through my ears. The stove lights were on, but he wasn’t there.
I turned off the stove and turned to the dining room, grinning like an idiot at the sight of a neatly set table. Candles lit, wine glasses waiting.
“Adrian!” I called out louder this time. A faint shuffle of movement from the bedroom. “You’re going all out tonight, aren’t you?” I started, stepping toward the sound.
A strange scent hung in the air, and I told myself it was nothing.
The door slid open silently showing me what was now in our bedroom… and I froze.
He stood with his back to me. His silhouette broad and disturbingly still. The faint light from the bedside lamp cast long shadows, but it was his hand that drew my eyes.
Time slowed as my breath caught in my throat and the room narrowed to that single detail: the gun held loosely at his side. My stomach churned, bile rising as my gaze shifted, drawn unwillingly to the floor.
The metallic tang of blood hit me first, and then my eyes wandered to the dark pool seeping into the fibres of the grey carpet. My knees buckled.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
Move. Run.Do something!
Adrian lay crumpled on the floor, his limbs twisted unnaturally. His shirt was soaked, the pristine white now a horrifying crimson. His eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—were open, but there was nothing in them.
“No.” The sound didn’t come out of my mouth.
I should’ve run. Every instinct screamed at me to bolt for the doors, but love was the cruelest liar, a rope that bound even as it strangled.
My gaze locked on the figure standing over Adrian’s body.
A man. Broad-shouldered, his back to me.
As I took a step back, the floor creaked beneath me, and I stiffened.
He turned.
The light danced across his features. I’d never forget that face. A scar carved down his cheek, pulling his lip into a permanent frown that twisted with something unspeakable. His eyes—wild, unhinged—glistened with evil.
