Chapter 3 - THE BRIDE WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
Rowan Fiero returned to his estate at four sixteen in the morning and found Celeste Marsh drinking tea in his library.
She wore cream silk pajamas beneath a cashmere robe, as though she belonged there.
That irritated him more than it should have.
“I heard about the storm,” she said.
“Clearly.”
Her gaze moved to his mud-stained trousers.
“You look terrible.”
“I’ve looked worse.”
“Where were you?”
Rowan removed his cuff links.
“Walking.”
“At three in the morning?”
“Bobby ran off.”
Celeste’s hand paused around her teacup.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But Rowan saw it.
“Did you find him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He found nothing.”
The lie entered the room smoothly.
Celeste relaxed.
“Your dog has terrible timing.”
Rowan studied her.
They had known each other socially for six years.
Their families had known one another for decades.
Celeste was thirty-two, educated in Geneva and Boston, elegant without effort, and intelligent enough to understand that marrying Rowan would create one of the largest private shipping networks on the East Coast.
He had respected her.
Maybe even liked her.
But love had never been part of the arrangement.
The proposed marriage had been introduced as strategy.
His uncle Dominic believed Fiero Maritime needed stability after several difficult acquisitions.
Celeste’s father controlled ports, warehouses, customs brokerage companies, and political relationships the Fieros had spent years trying to secure.
The marriage made business sense.
Rowan had told himself that was enough.
Now he wondered whether it had been designed to make surrender look respectable.
“Celeste.”
“Yes?”
“When did Daniel start using your family companies?”
Her teacup stopped halfway to her mouth.
Interesting.
“My brother?”
“You have another Daniel?”
“I’m surprised you’re asking about him.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve always considered him irrelevant.”
Rowan had.
Daniel Marsh rarely attended family events. He had no formal role in Marsh Logistics. He claimed to work in private investment.
Apparently, he had been investing in Rowan.
“I reconsidered.”
Celeste set the cup down.
“Daniel and my father don’t get along.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He uses some office space.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know much about your brother.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Neither do you.”
“True.”
Rowan turned toward the window.
Lightning flashed above the trees.
“Go back to bed.”
“You’re throwing me out of your library?”
“I’m suggesting sleep.”
“Rowan.”
He looked at her.
“Are we still announcing the engagement next Friday?”
The question mattered.
Not because she sounded hopeful.
Because she sounded worried.
“I haven’t changed the schedule.”
Relief.
Tiny.
Immediate.
There it was again.
Celeste needed the announcement to happen.
Rowan intended to learn why.
After she left, Dominic Fiero entered through the side door.
At sixty-one, Rowan’s uncle had the broad face and heavy shoulders of a man who believed age should make other people more obedient.
He had helped raise Rowan after Rowan’s father died twelve years earlier.
He had taught him how to read balance sheets and enemies.
How to tell when a man was afraid.
How to make decisions quickly and regret them privately.
Rowan loved him.
Which now made him dangerous.
“You disappeared,” Dominic said.
“So did the dog.”
“Don’t insult me.”
Rowan poured two fingers of bourbon.
“Then don’t ask questions you already answered through security.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“You shut down internal cameras.”
“The storm did.”
“Not all of them.”
“You checking?”
“I always check.”
Of course he did.
Rowan handed him a drink.
Dominic took it.
“Celeste said you were acting strangely.”
“That was fast.”
“She’s worried.”
“About?”
“The engagement.”
Rowan looked toward him.
“You want it badly.”
“For the company.”
“Everything you want is always for the company.”
“That’s why we still have one.”
Rowan leaned against the desk.
“What if I don’t marry her?”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“Then you humiliate the Marsh family, jeopardize the port consolidation, and create instability for no reason.”
“No reason?”
“Do you have one?”
Rowan watched him carefully.
“Suppose I discovered Daniel Marsh had been interfering with Fiero assets.”
Dominic did not blink.
“Then deal with Daniel.”
“What if Celeste knew?”
A pause.
“Does she?”
“I asked hypothetically.”
Dominic drank.
“You sound like your father.”
Rowan smiled without humor.
“He usually asked the wrong question?”
“He became suspicious of everyone.”
“He died young.”
“That wasn’t because he was suspicious.”
“No?”
Dominic’s eyes cooled.
“Be careful.”
There it was.
A warning hidden inside concern.
Rowan set down his glass.
“You should sleep.”
Dominic stared at him for another moment, then left.
When the door closed, Marcus emerged from the adjoining office.
“You were right,” he said.
Rowan looked toward him.
“About?”
“Your uncle’s pulse increased when you said Daniel’s name.”
“You measured his pulse?”
“Neck.”
Rowan exhaled.
“Anything from the badge?”
“Lab is working on it.”
“House staff?”
“No one has reported Dalia missing.”
That was strange.
“She hasn’t shown up for work.”
“Mrs. Hargrove told them Dalia left because of a family emergency.”
“And they accepted that?”
“They work here.”
Fair.
Marcus handed Rowan a small envelope.
“This was found beneath Dalia’s mattress.”
Inside was a photograph.
Dalia standing beside Daniel Marsh.
She looked different.
Happy.
Her hair loose.
Daniel had one arm around her waist.
Behind them stood a restaurant Rowan recognized in Manhattan.
On the back, written in Dalia’s handwriting:
March 18. The night he promised we would leave New York someday.
Rowan stared.
He disliked Daniel more than was reasonable.
Then he corrected himself.
No.
It was perfectly reasonable.
The man had used Dalia.
Had possibly tried to frame her.
And someone connected to him had almost murdered her and their unborn child.
“Find everything Daniel touched for the last five years.”
“Already started.”
“His accounts?”
“Hidden well.”
“Not well enough.”
Marcus hesitated.
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“The hospital.”
Rowan’s body immediately tensed.
“What happened?”
“Someone called asking if an unidentified pregnant woman had been admitted after a storm-related accident.”
Rowan straightened.
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Who?”
“Blocked number.”
“Did they confirm anything?”
“No.”
“Move her.”
Marcus nodded.
“I arranged a private clinic owned by Dr. Sullivan.”
“No digital admissions.”
“Good.”
Rowan reached for his coat.
Marcus stopped him.
“Sir, if you leave again, Dominic will notice.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
Rowan looked at him.
Marcus rarely contradicted him.
“Whoever did this knows the estate. If they discover you’re repeatedly disappearing, they’ll assume she survived.”
Rowan hated that he was right.
“So what do you suggest?”
“Stay visible.”
“And leave Dalia alone?”
“She won’t be alone.”
“No.”
“Sir—”
“No.”
The refusal came too quickly.
Marcus noticed.
Rowan did too.
He stepped back.
This woman had worked in his home for three months.
They had exchanged perhaps twenty sentences.
Why did imagining her alone behind a locked clinic door feel intolerable?
Bobby appeared at the library entrance.
The dog had been bathed, though wet fur still darkened his back.
He walked directly to Rowan.
Then sat.
Rowan looked at him.
“You’re supposed to be guarding her.”
Bobby stared.
Marcus cleared his throat.
“I believe he lacks transportation.”
Despite the night, Rowan almost smiled.
Then the library phone rang.
A line no outsider possessed.
Rowan answered.
“Fiero.”
Silence.
Then a man’s voice.
“Did you find what the dog was looking for?”
Rowan’s blood went cold.
“Who is this?”
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
The caller laughed softly.
“You should ask why a pregnant maid matters enough to make your uncle nervous.”
The line disconnected.
Marcus was already tracing.
“No good. Routed.”
Rowan stared at the phone.
Then toward the hall where Dominic had disappeared.
His uncle knew.
Maybe not everything.
But something.
And for the first time in twelve years, Rowan wondered whether the man who had raised him had also been waiting for the right moment to destroy him.
Across town, Dalia woke in a private clinic room.
A nurse adjusted her IV.
“You’re lucky.”
Dalia looked toward the dark window.
“I know.”
The nurse smiled.
“Your husband has called four times.”
Dalia frowned.
“My husband?”
Before she could correct her, the door opened.
Daniel Marsh walked in.
He closed it gently behind him.
The nurse froze.
Dalia stopped breathing.
Daniel smiled exactly as he had on the night she fell in love with him.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
May you like
Then he looked at her stomach.
“You’ve been keeping something from me.”
