Lena was working late—again. Ethan sat in their living room with the TV flickering soundlessly, turning the mystery over and over in his mind. Lena had always been private about her childhood. Adopted at seventeen after years in foster care, orphaned when her adoptive parents died in a crash. She’d told him the early years were too painful to revisit. He’d respected that. Until today, that silence had felt like trust. Now it felt like a locked door.
When she finally came in around ten, hair damp from the rain, she kissed his cheek and headed for the fridge. “Rough day?” she asked lightly.
“You could say that.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Lena, do you know a man named Julian Hawthorne?”
She paused, water glass halfway to her lips. “The Hawthorne? The billionaire? Everyone knows who he is. Why?”
“I delivered to his estate today. He has your picture on his desk. You at maybe sixteen, seventeen. Silver frame. Scar above the eyebrow. It’s definitely you.”
The glass stopped moving. “That’s not possible.”
“It’s you, Lena. I’d know you blindfolded.”