The Hale mansion was alive that night. The halls smelled of roasted lamb, saffron rice, and Miranda's favorite custard-dishes carefully prepared by the chefs at Camelia's order. She had insisted: tonight, Adrian would eat everything he loved, just like when he was a boy.
Adrian entered the dining room, shedding his business jacket, shoulders tense from a long day. But the moment he saw his grandmother, Camelia Verno, her frailo figure lighting up with joy, something softened inside him.
Adrian entered the dining room, shedding his business jacket, shoulders tense from a long day. But the moment he saw his grandmother, Camelia Verno, her frail figure lighting up with joy, something softened inside him.
"My boy," she whispered, rising shakily, "you finally managed time for me."
He bent to embrace her, careful not to hurt her delicate frame.
"I've missed you, Grandma."
Camelia dabbed her eyes, a small laugh escaping her. "Sit, eat! Tonight, you are not the great Adrian Hale, but my grandson again."
One dish after another appeared, nostalgic aromas filling the room. Adrian ate slowly, savoring both the food and the rare warmth of family. Finally, Camelia set down her fork, leaning forward, voice low but firm.
"And the business, Adrian? How is it going? More importantly..." Her eyes sharpened. "Have you dealt with Peter Smith yet?"
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Patience, Grandma. His turn will come."
Camelia's gaze drifted to the portrait of Miranda Hale above the mantelpiece. Candlelight flickered across her mother's painted smile.
"Your mother..." Camelia began softly. "She was stronger than any woman I've ever known. Do you know how she lost her father?"
Adrian's expression darkened. "I've heard fragments. Tell me again."
Camelia's voice grew distant, as though she were seeing the past unfold before her.
(Flashback – The Rebel Camp)
The jungle night was suffocating. Miranda crouched on the ground, wrists bound, her father bleeding from a deep wound on his chest. He held her shoulders protectively, shielding her from the rebels.
The rebel leader prowled toward her, eyes full of malice. "Alive, yes... but mine first."
Her father lunged, throwing himself in front of her. A knife gleamed. In the struggle, he was struck fatally.
"Papa!" Miranda screamed, clutching him, tears blinding her.
Suddenly, gunfire erupted outside. Shadows flashed through the hut as commandos stormed in, led by a young, calm, and authoritative officer.
"Move! Get her out!" he barked. Soldiers rushed forward, slicing her restraints.
Miranda tried to stay with her father. "I can't leave him!"
The officer's voice softened but was firm. "He was brave. He saved you with his last strength. Now you must live... for him."
They dragged her outside as the hut collapsed in flames. She pressed her face to her knees, her father's last words echoing in her mind:
"Live, my daughter... live."
Back to Present – Dinner with Camelia
Adrian sat in silence, fists clenched. Camelia continued:
"When she returned, she was never the same. Sleep evaded her, shadows haunted her every step, and the memory of that night never left her. She threw herself into work, building the empire she inherited... and you, Adrian, were her light."
"But Richard?" Adrian's voice was sharp.
Camelia shook her head. "A worthless man. Infidelity, parties, flings... he destroyed every chance your mother had for happiness. I regret ever convincing her to marry him. She deserved so much better."
Her eyes darkened. "And then came Peter Smith."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
Camelia leaned forward, voice bitter. "He manipulated her. Maybe he blackmailed her... maybe he trapped her in false love. But for Peter, Miranda lost herself. For him... she took her own life."
She reached into her shawl, producing a worn leather envelope. "These..." she whispered, sliding it toward him. "Were taken some days ago .Miranda died. Look at them."
Adrian's hands shook as he opened it. Inside were photographs-Miranda and Peter, laughing, talking, leaning close. To some, innocent. To Camelia and Adrian, damning.
Camelia's voice broke. "I showed you these when you were fifteen. Do you remember?"
Adrian's chest tightened. The room blurred, firelight flickering across the portrait of his mother. He wasn't thirty anymore, running businesses and commanding respect-he was fifteen again, staring at these photos for the first time, grief raw and sharp.
(Flashback – Adrian at 15)
The study smelled faintly of camphor and old books. Adrian sat rigid in the armchair, fists clenched on his knees, his jaw tight. His mother's portrait hung above the fireplace-Miranda Hale, eyes calm, lips curved in a soft smile that no one had seen in years.
Camelia entered quietly, her steps slower than usual, a worn leather envelope clutched in her hands. Her eyes lingered on the portrait before she turned to Adrian.
"Adrian," she said softly, "you're old enough now. You deserve to know what I've found."
Adrian looked up, his voice low and sharp.
"What is it, Grandma?"
She sat across from him, opening the envelope with trembling fingers. A handful of photographs slipped onto the table-Miranda and Peter Smith, sitting at a café, walking in the garden of the old Hale estate, sharing a quiet laugh. In one, Miranda leaned toward him, her face lighter than Adrian remembered in years.
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
"What is this?"
Camelia's voice broke, hushed with sorrow.
"Your mother... she was lonely. And Peter... he knew that. He had just lost his wife, Katherine. People thought they comforted each other. But I don't believe it was so innocent."
Adrian picked up one photo, his hands shaking. His mother's smile cut into him like a blade-it wasn't for him, it wasn't for his father, it was for Peter.
"Are you saying-" he began, his throat tight.
Camelia leaned forward, her voice suddenly fierce.
"I'm saying Peter Smith was the last person your mother trusted. And look what happened! Days after these pictures were taken, she was gone. You know what people whispered, Adrian. That he blackmailed her. That he cornered her until she couldn't breathe."
Adrian's chest rose and fell in uneven waves.
"He killed her," he whispered. "Not with a knife, not with poison. But he killed her all the same."
Camelia reached out, covering his trembling hand with hers.
"Promise me, Adrian. Don't let him walk free of this shadow. Remember who he is. Remember what he took from us."
Adrian's eyes burned, but he didn't cry. His voice was steady, almost cold.
"I swear, Grandma. Peter Smith will pay for my mother's death. One way or another."
(Present – After the Flashback)
The fire crackled between them. Adrian's hands rested on the envelope, knuckles white. His eyes burned with the memory of both loss and betrayal.
Camelia reached out, covering his hand. "Peter Smith still walks the city, Adrian. Living as if nothing happened."
Adrian's voice was low, cold steel.
"Not for long, Grandma. Not for long. He will take his own life like my mom did."
The portrait of Miranda Hale seemed to watch them both, caught forever between strength, tragedy, and the shadows that linger after death.