The line had gone dead, but Adrian still held the phone like it had something left to say.
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
Just stood there in the dark of the penthouse, surrounded by silence that no amount of city noise could penetrate.
Lumina.
The name rang through him like a memory with a new face.
His hands moved before his thoughts caught up. He unlocked his tablet, pulled up archived security reports from thirteen years ago — back when the Blackwoods still owned the industrial site that caught fire.
The place where his life had almost ended.
And where, according to that voice, someone else's life had changed forever.
The official report listed the cause as "structural negligence." He skimmed past that. Buried deeper was the emergency response log:
> Victim found unconscious in sub-level boiler corridor. Rescued by minor female. Minor did not provide name, fled the scene before medics arrived.
No mention of Seraphina.
He checked the timestamp.
The call to emergency services came in at 9:07 p.m.
Seraphina's own account — the one she'd given his father, the board, and half the social elite — claimed she'd been there by 8:30.
But the security footage from the front gate told a different story.
Access log: Seraphina Albrecht – Entry at 9:12 p.m.
Five minutes after the call.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, heart hammering like the night itself was accusing him.
She lied.
For over a decade, Seraphina had stood in the shadow of a hero's story that wasn't hers. And he—he had believed it.
Worse than believed it. He had let it shape everything.
His thoughts spun faster. One memory clawed its way out of the haze: the moment he'd woken up in the hospital. Groggy. Disoriented. His father was there. So was Seraphina.
He remembered the way she had looked at him — not with relief, but with expectation.
And now he knew why.
His father had said, "She saved your life, son. That girl deserves your loyalty."
But that had been orchestrated. Scripted.
By someone with the power to rewrite the story.
Adrian pulled up a second report — this one private. Family files. His father kept everything, and Adrian had access now.
Under a folder labeled "Contingencies: Media and Public Incidents", he found it.
> Name: Lumina Harrison
Involvement: Witness. Unknown direct contact. Suppressed from public records by request of Harrison patriarch.
"Potential PR complications. Do not associate Harrison name with Blackwood scandal. Child reportedly sustained second-degree burns. Compensation paid in silent trust via legal intermediaries."
There was even a photo. Blurry. Nighttime. A figure leading a boy out through a side alley, both of them covered in soot and ash. A smaller body — feminine, unmistakably young.
He zoomed in.
The image wasn't clear.
But the bracelet on her wrist was.
He remembered that bracelet.
A delicate silver band with a crescent moon charm.
Lumina used to wear it when she was nervous.
He'd asked about it once, years into their marriage. She'd said it was "an old thing. From a long time ago."
Now he knew exactly how old.
And exactly how important.
Adrian stared at the screen, the evidence undeniable, the betrayal deepening.
She had saved him.
Carried him out of the fire. Risked her life. Burned her arm.
And said nothing.
No reward. No attention. No manipulation.
Just… silence.
Seraphina had built a kingdom on that lie.
And Lumina had disappeared into the shadows of it.
He leaned back, eyes burning, the guilt starting to rise like smoke in his lungs.
He remembered the way he had treated Lumina in those final months — cold, distant, distracted.
And now it hit him like a second blow to the chest:
He'd turned away from the only person who had ever truly saved him.
And he had married her under a lie — not hers, but his.
Because he had never known the truth about her.
Until now.
A knock came at the door.
His assistant, William, peeked in. "Sir? It's nearly 3 a.m. I thought you might've—"
"Clear my schedule tomorrow," Adrian said, not turning away from the screen.
William hesitated. "Even the board review?"
"Especially the board review."
"…Of course."
The door clicked shut again.
Adrian sat alone, surrounded by the weight of too many years and too many lies.
He opened a new file.
Created a folder.
PROJECT: LUMINA
And under it, a single directive:
> Find out everything.
No more lies.