Chapter 6

Ashleigh's defiance burned in her eyes as she met his gaze. "Whatever I want to know about my parents, I can find out myself."

He chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "My dear…" He reached out, running his fingers through her hair, toying with a lock before letting it slip through his fingers.

"Be my guest. Try all you want. But understand this—your search will be over before it even begins. Your Aunt Smith knows this well. Your case is far from simple."

His amusement contrasted starkly with the warning laced in his voice. Her fiery gaze tugged at something deep within him, he liked this little act of defiance, even as he saw the fear beneath her bravado.

"I am the only one who can guarantee your safety. You can only walk naively through this world for so long, Ashleigh, but they are out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting. The moment you step out of your shell, your head will be in your hands. But don’t take my word for it—find out for yourself how long you can survive." He waved dismissively, signaling for her to leave.

A chill ran down Ashleigh’s spine as she looked from him to the lawyer gathering the documents. Her aunt sat slumped in the chair, her silence an admission of defeat.

The lawyer reached for the final paper, but before he could take it, Ashleigh grasped his hand. Her other hand clutched the fabric of her uniform, her knuckles white with desperation.

"Where do I need to sign?"

*******************

TWO WEEKS AGO

Turner stood at attention, his voice steady as he delivered his report. "Boss, I have news about Ashleigh Hartman."

Adrian turned from his desk, setting down the document he had been reading. Turner rarely disturbed him at night, which meant this was important.

"Sir, we contacted the orphanage where she was raised. The only information they had came from the man who dropped her off. The current staff knew little—they’ve only been there for seven years. The older caretakers, the ones who might have known more, were moved into a secluded retirement home funded by the orphanage’s benefactors."

Adrian frowned. "No records?"

"Not at first. But we convinced them to dig through the archives. They found a DNA test result buried in their files. Her ancestry is 95% Italian."

Adrian stilled. The word "Italian" stood out in bold letters on the report he was handed.

Turner continued, "Her blood type is one of the rarest. The records of it were hidden away by a senior caretaker. We tracked her down, and she revealed the full story."

Adrian listened intently as Turner recounted the tale. A man, gravely injured, had arrived at the orphanage carrying a newborn wrapped in a shawl. He refused to let anyone take her from his arms. He stayed just long enough to ensure her safety, leaving behind only a date of birth before vanishing. Days later, the orphanage received word of his death.

"His name?" Adrian asked after a moment of silence.

Turner’s expression darkened. "Lumiere."

The name rang faint bells in Adrian’s memory. He reached for his phone, dialing his uncle.

"Adrian? Calling at this hour, what’s on your mind?"

"Uncle, have you heard of a man named Lumiere?"

There was a long pause. Then, his uncle spoke, his voice cautious. "Why do you ask?"

Adrian’s grip on the phone tightened. "Just tell me."

His uncle exhaled heavily. "Lumiere was the head steward of the Rossi family."

The memory hit Adrian like a tidal wave. He was five years old, visiting his grandfather when news of Lumiere’s murder reached them. His grandfather had shooed him out of the study to receive urgent guests. Adrian had, of course, eavesdropped through the peephole.

"The Rossi family had one of the most tragic downfalls in Italy. They were one of the most powerful families—until their only daughter fell in love with the son of a mafia boss. That love affair started a cold war between the two families. The Rossis were wiped out, leaving only Lumiere and the newborn girl with the mafia on their heels. It was believed that both were eventually found and killed abroad. You were too young to remember, but it was a major scandal."

Adrian ran a hand over his face. "What happened to their estate?"

"The family’s businesses and assets were transferred to a management firm. Her mafia father tried to claim them under marriage rights, but he was unsuccessful."

Adrian hung up and immediately contacted his private lawyer.

*******************

Ashleigh sat stiffly as the lawyer read the terms of the marriage contract aloud.

"This Marriage Contract (the 'Agreement') is made and entered into as of [Date] by and between Mr. Adrian Cagliari, the first party, and Miss Ashleigh Hartman, the second party..."

Her grip tightened on the pen as she listened. Every word felt like another layer of chains locking around her.

"You promise to tell me about my birth parents?" she asked one final time, her voice barely above a whisper.

Adrian nodded, his expression unreadable.

Swallowing hard, she signed her name. Her aunt followed suit, and then Adrian signed, sealing their fates.

The lawyer stood. "In the presence of these witnesses, I declare Ashleigh and Adrian Cagliari husband and wife. Congratulations."

As hands were shaken and congratulations exchanged, Ashleigh felt a hollow pit in her stomach. Her aunt beamed at Adrian as if he were a savior, not the man who had just bought her future.

"Mrs. Cagliari," Adrian drawled, stepping to her side. He tilted her chin up, his intense gaze locking onto hers. "Call me Adrian."

The proximity, the weight of his presence, sent a shiver down her spine. She pushed him away and took a step back.

"If we’re done here, I’ll be leaving now." Without waiting for permission, she turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Her aunt apologized, but Adrian merely laughed. "No need to worry. Inform Ashleigh that we’ll be registering the marriage tomorrow morning. After that, we’ll discuss living arrangements."

He turned back to his work, but his mind lingered on the girl who had just walked out.

******************

Ashleigh returned to her assigned cleaning duties, gripping the mop handle like a lifeline. She was angry, confused, lost. She focused on scrubbing the floors with furious intensity, channeling her emotions into something............. anything tangible.

She didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until it was too late.