Widow's Cause

The storm hadn't let up.

I pulled my coat tighter around me as Adrian led me through the darkened streets. The city felt different now—colder, more dangerous.

I had spent years believing I was just unlucky. That losing four husbands in tragic accidents was the price I had to pay for loving too deeply.

Now, I knew better.

Their deaths weren't random.

And somehow, I was at the center of it.

Adrian walked ahead, his posture relaxed but purposeful. He knew exactly where he was going.

I didn't.

"Where are we going?" I asked, quickening my pace to match his.

"Somewhere safe," he replied without looking back. "You're not going home tonight."

A flicker of unease curled in my stomach.

"Why not?"

Adrian stopped at the curb and turned to face me. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp.

"Because they know where you live," he said. "And after tonight, they'll know you've started asking questions."

I swallowed hard.

"They?"

Adrian studied me for a moment before answering.

"The people who killed your husbands. The people who have been watching you."

The weight of his words settled deep in my chest.

"So, what? You expect me to just disappear?"

"For tonight, yes," Adrian said. "Until I figure out how deep this goes."

I let out a shaky breath, glancing over my shoulder. The bookstore was behind us, but the darkness beyond it suddenly felt full of eyes.

A part of me wanted to argue. To demand answers.

But another part—the part that had sensed something was wrong for years—believed him.

We walked in silence for a while, weaving through unfamiliar streets. Finally, Adrian led me to an old apartment building.

The hallway smelled like dust and faded memories. The elevator creaked as we rode up to the fifth floor.

Adrian unlocked a door at the end of the hall and stepped aside. "Go in."

I hesitated.

"How do I know I can trust you?" I asked.

He smirked. "You don't. But right now, I'm your best chance at staying alive."

Not exactly comforting.

Still, I stepped inside.

The apartment was small but clean. A couch, a desk, a tiny kitchen in the corner. No personal touches.

Like a place made for someone who never planned to stay.

Adrian shut the door behind us and locked it. Then, he pulled the curtains shut.

"You can sleep here," he said. "There's food in the kitchen. The shower works."

I crossed my arms. "And where will you be?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'll be watching the door."

My stomach tightened. "You think someone's coming for me tonight?"

"I don't take chances."

Neither did killers.

I sat on the couch, rubbing my hands together to shake off the lingering chill.

Adrian leaned against the counter, watching me.

"You're handling this well," he said. "Most people would be in shock."

I let out a hollow laugh. "You think I'm not?"

"You're not falling apart."

I met his gaze. "I did that after the first funeral. And the second. And the third. And the fourth."

Adrian's expression flickered with something unreadable. "Then why didn't you question it sooner?"

I swallowed.

Because I had been too afraid of what I might find.

Because I had wanted to believe that life had been cruel, not deliberate.

I glanced at the folder still in my hands. The pages felt heavier now.

"Tell me the truth," I said. "You said my husbands were murdered. But you also said the real question is why they married me."

Adrian nodded.

"Then tell me." My voice was barely a whisper. "Why me?"

His jaw tightened. "I don't know yet."

A rush of frustration flared in my chest. "Then why act like you do?"

"Because I know it wasn't random." Adrian's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "There's a connection between them. And it leads back to you."

I hated the way my heart clenched at his words.

"But I'm just—"

"Don't say 'just a widow,'" Adrian cut in. "You're more than that. And so were they."

I exhaled sharply. "Then help me figure out why."

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "That's the plan."

A sudden noise outside made me freeze.

Adrian's head snapped toward the door.

A car engine.

Then footsteps.

Slow, deliberate.

Someone was out there.

Adrian moved quickly, stepping toward the peephole. His expression darkened.

He turned to me and whispered, "Get down."

My pulse spiked. I ducked behind the couch, my breathing shallow.

Adrian pulled a gun from inside his coat and held it steady.

I clenched my fists, trying to stay calm.

The footsteps stopped.

A long silence.

Then—

A piece of paper slid under the door.

I stared at it, my body rigid.

Adrian waited a few seconds before stepping forward and picking it up.

He turned it over, his eyes scanning the words. His jaw clenched.

Then he handed it to me.

The note was short.

"Walk away, Everly. Or you'll join them."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Adrian's voice was low, controlled.

"They know you're asking questions."

I gripped the note tighter. My body trembled—not just from fear, but from something else.

Anger.

For years, I had been grieving. Questioning. Doubting myself.

Now, someone wanted to scare me into silence.

I raised my eyes to Adrian's.

"I'm not walking away."

His lips twitched in something almost like approval.

"Then we find out who's behind this," he said.

I nodded, my fear hardening into resolve.

Because I finally understood something.

I wasn't just a widow.

I was a target.

And whoever had done this…

They weren't finished yet.