Chapter 8 - THE SHADOW AT THE DOOR
The frantic footsteps reached the threshold.
A shadow fell across the polished dark mahogany floorboards just outside the bedroom, framing a figure standing in the doorway of the wing nobody was ever allowed to enter.
Emma Foster stood in the open doorway, her breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps.
She was twenty-seven years old, dressed in her simple, high-collared black-and-white staff uniform. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight, neat bun, but several loose strands hung wild around her face, wet with sweat and tears. Her face was as white as a sheet, her hands trembling violently against her waist as her eyes darted frantically around the vast, dark bedroom.
Then her eyes landed on the bed.
She saw Adrian Kane—the feared, billionaire industrialist, shirtless, his tattooed chest glistening with a single tear, his powerful frame coiled like a spring.
And held tightly against his chest, fast asleep with her small head resting over his heart, was her daughter, Nora.
Emma’s breath hitched in her throat—a sound of absolute, devastating horror. She took one small, trembling step backward, her hand reaching out to grab the heavy edge of the carved oak door to keep herself from collapsing onto the floor.
"Nora..." Emma whispered, her voice choked with a fear so deep it transcended job loss, security threats, or legal prosecution. It was the fear of a woman whose deepest, most dangerous secret had just been ripped open to the light.
Adrian did not jump up. He did not yell.
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He slowly raised his head, turning his sharp, terrifying gaze away from the sleeping girl on his lap to look directly at the woman standing in his doorway.
The coldness in his eyes was gone. In its place was something infinitely more dangerous: an intense, burning, desperate hunger for the truth.
