CHAPTER SIX--HER DOUBTS

The next few hours passed in a blur of police statements and media chaos. Zara found herself sequestered in Adrian's private office on the top floor, watching the city lights flicker through bulletproof glass while security teams swept the building. Her Valentino dress felt like armor now, too tight and too expensive for the nightmare she'd stumbled into. The fabric that had made her feel powerful during the gala now seemed to mock her with its opulence, each crystal catching the light like a silent accusation.

The events of the evening played on endless loop in her mind: the flash of cameras, the horrified gasps of the crowd, Nathaniel's triumphant smile as he projected those damning photos onto the wall. She could still see the images burned into her retinas – Adrian, his expensive suit stained with blood, crouching over Rachel's lifeless body. The timeline she'd constructed as a journalist was crumbling, and she wasn't sure what the truth was and if reclaiming her spot as a journalist was worth getting involved in this mess. 

Detective Emily Grayson sat across from her, dark eyes sharp as she reviewed her notes. Her charcoal pantsuit was wrinkled, suggesting she'd been called away from something else to handle this high-profile case. A half-empty cup of precinct coffee sat cooling on Adrian's imported mahogany desk, leaving a faint ring that would have irritated him on any other night.

"So you had no knowledge of Rachel Cross's death before today?" Grayson's voice was steady, professional, but Zara could detect the underlying skepticism.

"Only what was public record," Zara replied, her journalist's instincts kicking in despite her exhaustion. Her fingers itched for her recorder, her notebook – anything to help her maintain the illusion of control. "She was found dead in her home last year. The case was never solved. I covered it briefly for the paper, but it wasn't my beat."

"And your engagement to Adrian Cross?" Grayson's pen tapped against her notepad in a rhythm that set Zara's teeth on edge. "Three months seems rather quick. Especially given his connection to such a high-profile unsolved murder."

The detective's words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Zara opened her mouth to respond, but the words died in her throat as the office door opened with enough force to make the art on the walls tremble slightly.

Adrian strode in like a force of nature, his usual polished appearance showing signs of strain. His suit jacket was discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms marked with scars Zara had never noticed before. His Italian silk tie hung loose around his neck, and his usually immaculate hair was mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. Despite his disheveled appearance—or perhaps because of it—he radiated raw power that seemed to electrify the air in the room.

"This interview is over," he announced, moving to stand behind Zara's chair with the fluid grace of a predator. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, the touch possessive enough to make Detective Grayson's eyebrows rise. His fingers were warm through the thin fabric of her dress, and Zara fought the urge to lean back into his touch. "My fiancée has been through enough today. Or don't you think so, detective?"

The scent of his cologne – something expensive and subtle that she'd come to associate with danger and desire – wrapped around her, making it hard to focus. She could feel the tension in his hands, the barely contained violence in his grip.

"Mr. Cross." Grayson stood, unfazed by his intimidating presence. Her stance shifted subtly, and Zara recognized the move from her years of reporting – the detective was preparing for potential confrontation. "Those photos your brother displayed—"

"Were altered." Adrian's fingers tightened slightly on Zara's shoulders, sending sparks of something that wasn't quite pain down her spine. "My legal team is already tracing their origin. Now, unless you're arresting someone, we're done here."

The detective gathered her things slowly, her expression thoughtful as she studied them both. Zara felt exposed under that sharp gaze, wondering if Grayson could see the truth written across her face – that her engagement was a sham, that she was stuck with a man who might be a murderer, that her whole world had tilted on its axis in the space of a single evening.

At the door, Grayson paused, her hand resting on the polished handle. "Ms. James? When you're ready to tell the truth, you know where to find me." She pulled out a business card, placing it on Adrian's desk with deliberate precision. "And Mr. Cross? Don't leave town."

The door clicked shut behind her with the finality of a jail cell, leaving them alone in the vast office. Adrian's hands hadn't left Zara's shoulders, his thumbs now moving in small circles that sent shivers down her spine despite her better judgment. The city sprawled below them, a tapestry of lights and shadows that seemed to mirror the complexity of their situation.

"The photos weren't altered, were they?" Zara asked quietly, proud that her voice remained steady despite the storm of emotions in her chest.

Adrian was silent for a long moment, his hands stilling on her shoulders before sliding away, leaving her skin cold in their absence. He moved to the window, staring out at the city spread below them like a glittering carpet. The setting sun painted him in shades of gold and shadow, making him look almost unreal, almost like a modern-day Midas touched by tragedy instead of gold.

"No," he finally said, his voice rough with emotions she couldn't quite identify. "But they don't tell the whole story."

"Then tell me." Zara stood, her dress rustling like whispered secrets as she approached him. Her reflection in the window looked like a stranger – too elegant, too poised for the chaos she felt inside. "If I'm going to be your fiancée, even just for show, I need to know what I'm defending you against."

He turned to face her, and the raw pain in his eyes made her breath catch. Without thinking, she reached up to touch his face, drawn to him despite every rational thought screaming for her to run. His stubble rasped against her palm as he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly as if her touch offered relief he didn't believe he deserved.

"Rachel was bleeding out when I found her," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to cost him something vital, each one dragged from some dark place he'd rather forget. "I tried to save her, but—" He broke off, his hand coming up to cover hers where it rested against his cheek. His skin was fever-hot, his pulse racing beneath her fingers. "Nathaniel took the photos before I could call the police. He's been using them to control me ever since."

"Why didn't you tell the police the truth?"

Adrian's laugh was bitter as he pulled away from her touch, leaving her hand cold and empty in the space between them. "Because Rachel was pregnant." His eyes met hers, dark with something that looked like regret but might have been desire. "And the baby wasn't Nathaniel's."

The weight of his confession hung in the air between them, heavy as storm clouds before lightning strikes. Zara felt dizzy with the implications, with the heat of his body so close to hers, with the way his eyes seemed to draw her in despite every warning bell going off in her head. The piece of the puzzle she'd been missing clicked into place, but instead of clarity, it only brought more questions.

"It's late," Adrian said finally, his voice rough with exhaustion and something darker. "You should get some rest. Tomorrow won't be any easier."

His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her bottom lip in a gesture that was becoming frighteningly familiar. The calluses on his fingers caught slightly on her skin, sending shivers of awareness through her body. For a moment, Zara thought he might kiss her—wanted him to kiss her, despite everything she'd learned. But instead, he stepped back, the mask of the controlled CEO sliding back into place like armor.

"A car will take you home," he said, already turning away, his shoulders set in lines of tension she longed to smooth away. "I'll handle the press."

Zara walked to the door on shaky legs, her mind reeling with revelations and possibilities she didn't dare examine too closely. At the threshold, she paused, her hand resting on the cool metal of the door handle. "Adrian?"

He looked up from the papers he was pretending to study, and for a split second, she saw beneath the mask again—saw the pain, the danger that made him who he was. At that moment, he looked almost vulnerable, almost human.

"Sweet dreams," she said softly, and fled before she could do something foolish like kiss him herself, like believe in his innocence, like fall in love with a man who might be a murderer.