Chapter 4 - The Woman in the Portrait
The revelation in the study shattered the delicate peace within the penthouse.
Rebecca spent the next three days in near total seclusion inside her suite. The luxury surrounding her felt suffocating, a gilded reminder that her life had been steered by hands she couldn't see. Her father hadn't died from exhaustion; he had died defending his honor against the Rowan family. And Adrian Vale, the cold titan of Chicago, had been stalking her family's shadow for over a decade.
Yet, as much as she wanted to hate Adrian for manipulating her into the contract, she couldn't ignore the protection he had provided. Her mother was thriving, surrounded by top-tier medical care that no catering salary could ever have funded. More than that, the memory of Adrian’s voice in the darkened study—the genuine anguish that had broken through his icy veneer—refused to leave her mind.
On Friday afternoon, unable to bear the quiet of her room any longer, Rebecca ventured into the north wing of the penthouse, an area she had previously avoided.
The north gallery was older than the rest of the renovated apartment, decorated with classical oil paintings and antique furniture from the previous generation of the Vale family. At the end of the long corridor hung a large, gilded frame shrouded beneath a heavy black velvet cloth.
Rebecca hesitated, her pulse quickening. She reached out and pulled the velvet fabric aside.
Beneath it was a magnificent portrait of a woman in her late twenties, painted against a backdrop of autumn gardens. She had dark auburn hair that fell in soft waves over her shoulders, striking hazel-green eyes, and an unmistakable elegance.
Rebecca stared at the portrait, her breath catching. The woman’s features were strikingly familiar. In fact, if Rebecca looked in a mirror and smoothed away the exhaustion of the past five years, the resemblance was almost uncanny.
"Her name was Clara," a quiet voice spoke from behind her.
Rebecca jumped, quickly releasing the velvet cloth. Nicholas Vale was standing in the corridor, leaning against an arched doorway with a subdued expression, a far cry from his usual playful smirk.
"Clara?" Rebecca asked, her voice hushed.
"Clara Vance," Nicholas said, walking toward the painting and looking up at the canvas. "She was Adrian's first love. They were engaged sixteen years ago, right around the time our father was building Vale Tower."
Rebecca felt a strange, cold constriction in her chest. "What happened to her?"
"She disappeared," Nicholas replied flatly. "Two days before your father died on Lake Shore Drive. Clara went out for an evening walk near the harbor and never returned. Her car was found abandoned near the pier, but there was no body, no note, no ransom demand. The police called it an apparent suicide. Adrian never believed it for a second."
"Arthur Rowan?" Rebecca guessed, a chill running down her spine.
"Rowan wanted Vale Tower," Nicholas explained, his jaw tight. "Our father refused to sell his stake. So Rowan sent a message. First Clara vanished to break Adrian’s spirit. Then Thomas Holloway was murdered to stop the inspection report from going public. Our father died of a heart attack six months later, leaving Adrian alone at twenty-two to run an empire while carrying two unsolved murders on his shoulders."
Rebecca looked back at the covered portrait. Everything was beginning to align in a horrifying tapestry of greed and revenge. "Adrian looked at me that first night at the gala like he was seeing a ghost. It wasn't just because I was Thomas Holloway's daughter, was it?"
Nicholas looked directly into Rebecca's eyes. "Clara was your mother's younger half-sister, Rebecca. Did you really not know?"
The room seemed to tilt on its axis. Rebecca grabbed the wall to steady herself. "My mother... she never spoke about her family. She said she was an only child."
"Diane cut ties with the family after Clara disappeared," Nicholas said gently. "She was terrified. She changed her name, moved to the south side of the city, and tried to raise you in complete obscurity to keep you safe from the Rowan syndicate. But Adrian found you. He spent years tracking down the bloodline because he knew the safety deposit box required Clara’s or Thomas’s direct heir to unlock it."
Rebecca stood frozen, the magnitude of the secret crushing down upon her. She wasn't just a convenient pawn. Her very existence was tied to the darkest tragedy of Adrian Vale’s life.
"He doesn't view you as an enemy, Rebecca," Nicholas added, his voice unusually earnest. "In fact, that's what terrifies him the most. He’s starting to care about you for who you are, not whose blood runs in your veins. And in Adrian’s world, caring about someone is the fastest way to get them killed."
Before Rebecca could process his words, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was an unfamiliar number.
She stepped away from Nicholas and answered. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Vale," a smooth, venomous voice purred through the speaker. "Or should I say, Miss Holloway?"
May you like
Rebecca’s fingers tightened around the phone. "Who is this?"
"Arthur Rowan," the voice replied, chillingly calm. "I think it’s time you and I had a private conversation about your father's legacy, before Adrian Vale gets you buried in the same unmarked grave as your aunt."
