Beneath the Billionaire Mask - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Adrian had always known it would burn.
Not if. When.
Secrets didn’t sleep forever. They simmered, coiled in silence like something feral, waiting for the smallest fracture to escape.
And fractures had a way of following Elena Cruz.
He stared at the black-and-white footage playing across his office wall—the news anchor’s lips moving in slow, silent sync. “Anonymous source… Blackwood Foundation… retribution fund… Marcus Vale…”
They’d only said part of it. But it was enough.
Enough to draw blood.
Enough to feed the wolves.
He muted the video and turned away, jaw locked.
Elena hadn’t leaked it.
He knew that.
It wasn’t in her eyes when she said his name. It wasn’t in the fire she’d carried into his office, raw with accusation and something deeper—concern. She wanted truth. But not this way.
No… this was Marcus.
A move too perfect. Too cruel.
He’s baiting me.
And worse—he was using Elena to do it.
Adrian paced to the edge of the glass wall and looked down at Manhattan. The city blinked back at him, indifferent. Hungry. Exactly like Marcus had warned it would be.
“You can’t hide forever, Blackwood. Eventually, even the masks we wear start to bleed.”
He poured a drink he didn’t taste and stood in the quiet for a long time. Long enough to remember how it felt to hold Evelyn’s hand in the ambulance. Long enough to remember the blood.
Long enough to remember Marcus’s voice as it broke that night—“You sent her in there alone.”
The truth was never clean.
And no amount of money, silence, or justice by donation could change that.
A soft knock interrupted the spiral.
“Come in,” he said, not turning.
Julia King stepped inside. Wary. Controlled. The only person he tolerated from Elena’s world.
“She doesn’t know who leaked it,” she said. “And she’s furious.”
“She should be,” Adrian replied. “It’s her credibility on the line too.”
Julia walked closer. “You think Marcus set her up.”
“I know he did.”
“Then tell her that.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Why?”
“Because she’s scared,” Julia said simply. “And she still wants to believe you’re not the villain.”
Adrian didn’t answer.
Because he wasn’t sure what she’d see if she looked any closer.
Elena — Lower Manhattan
Elena paced Julia’s apartment like a caged animal.
The leak had gone live an hour ago. Already, her inbox was full of emails—from editors, old contacts, new ones, opportunists, and snakes. Everyone wanted to know: Was it hers? Was it true? Had she finally uncovered Blackwood?
But all she could hear was Adrian’s voice—
“Get out, Elena.”
And the look in his eyes.
Not anger. Not betrayal.
Resignation.
Like he’d always known she’d leave him in ashes, too.
She turned to Julia. “I didn’t leak it. You believe me, right?”
Julia’s reply was instant. “Of course I do. But Elena—you’re in deeper than you think.”
Elena rubbed her temples. “If I don’t publish now, someone else will twist the story.”
“But if you publish half a truth,” Julia said, “you might destroy the man before the truth ever finishes coming out.”
Elena hesitated. “So what do I do?”
Julia leaned in, voice low. “You go to Marcus. You look him in the eye. And you find out exactly what he wants.”
Marcus Vale — Downtown Penthouse
He was waiting when she arrived.
Perfect suit. Crystal glass in hand. News broadcast replaying in the background like a silent victory anthem.
“Well, well,” Marcus said. “Did Adrian send you to threaten me?”
“I came on my own,” Elena replied coldly. “You leaked it.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t need to. I know it.”
He stepped closer. “Then why are you here?”
She held his gaze. “Because I want to know why. Why now? Why this way?”
Marcus tilted his head. “Because Adrian Blackwood built a house of cards on someone else’s grave. And it’s time the world watched it fall.”
Elena stared at him. “This isn’t about justice. It’s about revenge.”
His smile sharpened. “Sometimes, they’re the same thing.”
She turned to leave, but his voice followed her like smoke.
“You think you can save him, Elena. But you don’t know what he’s done. Not really.”
She didn’t answer.
Because a small, shaking part of her already knew…
She didn’t want to.
Blackwood Global — 11:48 PM
Adrian didn’t expect the knock.
Not this late. Not after the firestorm. Not from her.
But when he opened the door, there she was—soaked in rain, eyes defiant, heart thrumming beneath skin she hadn’t had time to armor.
“Elena,” he said, low and quiet.
“I need answers,” she said, stepping inside without permission. “Real ones.”
He didn’t stop her.
Because something in her face told him she wasn’t there for a quote.
She was there for the part of him no one else had ever dared to touch.
The office felt cavernous in the dark, lit only by the flicker of the city behind glass. Adrian moved toward the bar, poured her a drink she didn’t ask for.
“I know it wasn’t you,” she said, voice sharp. “The leak. But Marcus… he’s orchestrating something. And I don’t know where I stand anymore.”
Adrian handed her the glass.
“You stand exactly where he wants you,” he said. “Halfway between the truth and the fire.”
She took a shaky breath. “Then pull me out of it.”
He stared at her. “I’ve pulled people out before, Elena. They always go back.”
“I’m not them.”
“That’s what Evelyn said.”
The name hit the air like a warning.
Elena sat down slowly, glass untouched. “Tell me. All of it.”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak for a long time.
Then:
“There was a girl. Seventeen. Sex trafficking survivor. The system failed her—twice. Marcus found her first. Brought her to Evelyn. We got her a new ID. New home. Evelyn insisted we take her ourselves, deliver her directly.”
He turned to the window. “Marcus said it was reckless. I agreed. But Evelyn? She wouldn’t listen. She said people needed to see that we were willing to show up—not just write checks.”
His jaw tensed. “The man she was running from followed us. Cornered her outside the shelter. Evelyn stepped in. The girl got away.”
A breath. Shallow. Broken.
“She didn’t.”
Elena’s throat tightened. “Adrian…”
“I told her I’d meet her five minutes earlier. But I was late. Caught in a meeting about a merger I didn’t even sign.”
Silence.
Then: “I didn’t just lose her that night. I lost Marcus too. He said I put business over blood. That Evelyn died trying to clean up a mess I made.”
Elena stood slowly. Walked to him.
“You didn’t kill her.”
“No,” Adrian said. “But I gave her something to die for.”
And that—more than anything—was what he hadn’t forgiven himself for.
Elena touched his hand, tentative, barely a brush of skin against skin.
He didn’t pull away.
“Is that why you started the retribution fund?” she asked. “To hunt the ones the law couldn’t catch?”
He didn’t deny it.
“I pay off informants. Tip off victims. Fund legal teams under the table. Sometimes…” His voice went rough. “Sometimes, I make people disappear.”
Elena’s heart twisted. “And Marcus?”
“He wanted chaos. Headlines. Revolution. I wanted reform.” He looked at her. “Now, he just wants revenge.”
They stood in that breathless space—where truths were knives, and proximity was a fuse.
“You should run,” he said softly.
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t know what I am.”
She held his gaze. “I don’t care.”
A beat.
Then he reached for her, not with hunger, but with need—like a man drowning who had stopped pretending he could swim.
And she let him.
Their lips met, slow and searing, not born of seduction but surrender. A kiss that tasted of guilt and truth and every word they hadn’t said.
When they finally broke apart, Elena rested her forehead against his.
“We’re both in this now,” she whispered.
Adrian’s voice was raw. “Then God help us both.”
Adrian’s fingers still lingered against Elena’s skin.
Soft. Hesitant. As if afraid that if he held on too tightly, she’d vanish—and if he let go, the guilt would rush back in and swallow him whole.
Elena pulled back slightly, eyes searching his. “Why do you keep warning me away, Adrian?”
“Because I’ve lost enough people,” he murmured. “And I know how this ends.”
She swallowed hard. “How?”
“You see the worst parts of me,” he said, “and walk away. Or worse—you stay, and they swallow you too.”
His words weren’t sharp. They were soft. Broken.
Which somehow made them more dangerous.
Elena touched his jaw. “I’ve seen worse. And I’m still here.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
But then—his phone lit up again. A soft vibration on the desk.
His gaze flicked to the screen.
Then froze.
Elena caught the change in his expression. “What is it?”
Adrian didn’t answer. He grabbed the phone, jaw locked tight.
“Elena,” he said, voice clipped. “You need to leave.”
“What?”
But he was already moving—toward a locked drawer in his desk. He pulled out a tablet, thumbed through encrypted files, each swipe harder than the last.
Elena crossed the room to see.
And froze.
There—on the screen—was a still frame from a video. Grainy. Low light.
But unmistakable.
It was her.
Standing outside Marcus Vale’s building.
Looking angry. Determined. Recorded less than two hours ago.
The file was labeled: “The Journalist and the Billionaire – Complicity?”
Her stomach dropped. “Is that—?”
“Surveillance footage,” Adrian said. “But not from my system. This was planted.”
“Planted where?”
“Public darknet forum,” he muttered. “Moments ago. Already picked up by three freelance investigators and one major alt-news syndicate.”
Elena’s chest tightened. “He’s setting me up.”
“No,” Adrian said, voice darkening. “He’s trying to drag you down with me.”
The implication hit her like ice.
“Marcus doesn’t want to just destroy you,” she whispered. “He wants to ruin both of us.”
Adrian nodded. “And he knows you’re the only piece I can’t control.”
Elena backed away, heart racing. “What do we do?”
He met her gaze. “We disappear.”
“What?”
“Just for a few days. Until I can trace the source, kill the spread, and redirect the narrative. I have places—safe ones. You’ll be protected.”
She hesitated. “And what happens after that?”
Adrian’s eyes were deadly calm. “Then I stop running.”
Her pulse thundered. “And me?”
“You decide,” he said. “Whether you stay and help me burn it all down…”
His voice dipped lower.
“…or walk away before the fire touches you.”
The weight of his words settled deep in her bones.
And as sirens echoed faintly in the distance—sirens neither of them had called—they both knew:
The game had changed.
They weren’t hunter and hunted anymore.
They were targets.