Widow's Cause

The rain had soaked through my coat by the time I reached the address.

It was an old bookstore—tucked between two taller buildings, almost as if the city had tried to swallow it whole. The sign above the entrance was faded, the letters barely legible in the dim streetlight. Westwood Rare Books.

A bookstore.

I hesitated.

Was this a trap? Or had I already walked into one the moment I read that note?

I glanced over my shoulder. The street was nearly deserted. A few cars rolled by in the distance, their headlights briefly illuminating the rain-slick pavement.

I had a choice—turn around, pretend none of this was happening, go back home and live with the fear gnawing at me.

Or step inside.

I gritted my teeth and pushed open the door.

A bell chimed softly as I entered. The smell of old paper and ink filled my nose.

Bookshelves stretched high, casting long, wavering shadows under the dim yellow lights.

And there—standing near the back, flipping through a book as if he had all the time in the world—was him.

The man from the funeral.

He didn't look surprised to see me.

If anything, he looked expectant.

"You came," he said without looking up from the book. "Good."

I shut the door behind me, my heartbeat unsteady. "You left me no choice."

He hummed, flipping another page. "You always had a choice. But I knew curiosity would win."

My hands curled into fists. "Who are you?"

At that, he finally looked up, those sharp, knowing eyes locking onto mine.

"My name is Adrian Black."

The name meant nothing to me.

"And why," I pressed, "have you been following me?"

Adrian closed the book with a quiet thud. "Because I know the truth about your husbands."

The room seemed to shrink.

A part of me had prepared for this. I had followed the address because I wanted answers. But hearing it out loud was different.

"You're lying," I said, but my voice wavered.

Adrian smirked. "Am I?"

I swallowed. "Then tell me. What truth do you think you know?"

He gestured toward a small table in the corner. "Sit."

I didn't move.

He sighed. "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have left a note inviting you to a public place."

That much was true.

Reluctantly, I sat.

Adrian reached into his coat and pulled out a folder. He slid it across the table.

I hesitated before opening it.

Inside were photographs. Police reports. Files I had never seen before.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

Because I recognized the faces.

Daniel. John. Adam. Victor.

My four husbands.

But it wasn't their deaths the papers detailed.

It was their lives.

My hands shook as I flipped through the pages.

Daniel had worked for a tech firm—a company involved in security software.

John had been a freelance journalist—one who had written about crime and corruption.

Adam had been an art dealer—but according to this, he had a second life as a forger.

And Victor…

My breath caught.

Victor had lied to me.

He hadn't just been a financial consultant. He had been digging into offshore accounts linked to criminal organizations.

"What is this?" I whispered.

Adrian leaned forward. "The real reason they died."

"No." I shook my head. "That doesn't make sense. They all died in accidents. The police—"

"—ruled them as accidents because that's what someone wanted them to believe."

Adrian's voice was quiet but firm.

I gripped the edges of the folder. "Are you saying they were murdered?"

Adrian met my gaze.

"I'm saying they were silenced."

A chill ran through me.

Four different men. Four different professions.

And yet…

I stared down at the files.

There was a connection.

One I had never seen before.

One I had never been meant to see.

Adrian exhaled. "The question isn't why they died, Everly."

I looked up at him, my pulse roaring in my ears.

"It's why they married you first."

The words sent a jolt of ice through my veins.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

Because deep inside me, where all my worst fears lived…

I knew this wasn't a coincidence.

I just didn't know why.

Adrian stood, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. "This goes deeper than you think."

I forced myself to breathe. "Then tell me everything."

He gave a slow, knowing smile.

"I will," he said. "But not here. Not now."

I clenched my fists. "Why not?"

"Because whoever is behind this isn't done yet," Adrian said. His voice was softer this time. "And you're still in danger."

My pulse stuttered.

Adrian took a step closer.

"If you want the full truth," he murmured, "you'll have to trust me."

Trust.

A word that felt foreign on my tongue.

But the alternative?

Living in the dark. Living in fear.

Living as the next potential target.

I looked down at the files once more.

Then I closed them.

I looked back up at Adrian Black and nodded once.

"Where do we start?"

A slow, satisfied smile crossed his face.

And just like that, I had taken my first step into the unknown.