Julian froze. Something cold and calculating flickered across his face. “That’s… personal. Why do you ask?”
“Because she’s my wife.”
A long silence stretched between them. Julian finally set his phone down, walked to the desk, and lifted the frame as if seeing it for the first time in years. “Your wife,” he repeated, voice low. “Her name?”
“Lena Caldwell. Lena Moreau before we married.”
Julian placed the frame back exactly where it had been. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“Not until you tell me why you have a photograph of my wife on your desk.”
“You delivered a package. That’s all. I don’t owe you answers.” Julian reached for his phone again. “Security is one call away.”
Ethan knew when he was outmatched. He got the electronic signature, walked back to his van on legs that didn’t feel entirely his, and drove away. But the image of that photograph burned behind his eyes the whole way home.
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.”
She set the glass down hard enough to slosh water onto the counter, pulled out her phone, and searched for a recent photo of Julian Hawthorne. “This man?” she asked, turning the screen.
Ethan nodded.
“I’ve never met him. I swear, Ethan, I have no idea why he would have my picture.”