Chapter 6: Suspicion
1007words
I paused in the doorway of his home office, two cups of coffee in hand. It had been another three months since I'd escalated my campaign against Frost Group. The effects were becoming impossible to ignore—stock prices fluctuating, suppliers demanding renegotiated contracts, unexpected competition in previously secure markets.
"Still chasing your mystery saboteur?" I asked, setting a cup beside him.
He looked up, shadows under his eyes betraying another night of minimal sleep. "Thanks," he said, taking a sip. "And yes. The pattern is becoming clearer. Someone operating under the name 'Lady Crain' has been systematically targeting our supply chain."
My pulse quickened, but I kept my expression neutral. "Lady Crain? Sounds like a character from a Victorian novel."
"Whoever she is, she's brilliant." There was grudging admiration in his voice. "The acquisitions themselves aren't alarming individually—small companies, seemingly unrelated. But together, they form a noose that's slowly tightening around us."
I settled into the chair across from him. "How bad is it?"
"We've lost eight percent in quarterly profits. Nothing catastrophic yet, but the trajectory is concerning." He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "The timing is what bothers me most."
"The timing?"
His eyes met mine, searching. "These acquisitions began accelerating around the time you and I got married."
The room suddenly felt too warm. I took a careful sip of coffee before responding. "That's quite a coincidence."
"Is it?" Chris leaned forward. "Lara, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."
My heart hammered against my ribs. Had he figured it out? Was this the moment my cover would be blown?
"Of course," I said, proud of how steady my voice sounded.
"Before our arrangement, did I—or the Frost Group—do something to harm you or your family? Something I might not be aware of?"
The question caught me off guard. Not 'Are you Lady Crain?' but a genuine inquiry about past wrongs.
"What makes you ask that?" I countered.
"Because this feels personal." He gestured to the reports. "Lady Crain isn't just attacking our business—she's attacking it in ways that suggest intimate knowledge of our operations. Knowledge that very few people have."
I set my cup down carefully. "And you think I might be involved?"
"I think," he said slowly, "that the timing is suspicious. That you have the intelligence and capability to orchestrate something like this. And that you agreed to our marriage arrangement with surprising ease for someone who'd never met me."
A tense silence stretched between us. I could feel the weight of his gaze, searching for any sign of deception.
"Chris," I began, not entirely sure what I was going to say.
His phone rang, shattering the moment. He glanced at the screen, then back at me. "I need to take this. It's about Lady Crain."
I nodded, grateful for the interruption.
"Frost," he answered, putting the call on speaker. "What have you found, Marcus?"
"Sir, we've confirmed Lady Crain's location," his head of security reported. "She was spotted at a financial conference in Geneva yesterday. Our team has reliable confirmation she's there now."
"Are you certain?" Chris asked, his eyes still on me.
"Yes, sir. She's registered under a different name, of course, but our source is confident. She's scheduled to meet with several European investment firms tomorrow."
"Keep tracking her," Chris instructed. "I want to know everyone she meets with."
"Yes, sir."
After ending the call, Chris turned to me, regret evident in his expression. "Lara, I owe you an apology."
"For what?"
"For suspecting you." He gestured to the phone. "Clearly, you're not in Geneva attending financial conferences."
"It's alright," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The situation has everyone on edge."
He covered my hand with his, the simple touch sending warmth through me. "Still, I shouldn't have doubted you. We're partners in this, whatever else our arrangement entails."
Partners. The word hung between us, laden with meaning neither of us had fully defined.
"Why would someone target Frost Group this way?" I asked, genuinely curious about his perspective.
"Competitors, maybe. Or someone with a grudge." He closed his laptop. "But I'll find out. And when I do..."
The unfinished threat lingered in the air. For the first time, I glimpsed something of the hardness I remembered from my previous life—a reminder that beneath the considerate husband I'd come to know, Chris Frost was still a powerful man accustomed to eliminating threats.
That night, I found myself unable to sleep. My phone lit up with a text message: "Still awake?"
Chris. Somehow he always seemed to sense when I was restless.
"Yes," I replied simply.
"I can't sleep either. Too many thoughts."
I hesitated before typing: "Want company?"
The response came immediately: "Please."
I slipped on a robe and padded down the hallway to his room. The door was ajar, a soft light spilling into the corridor. I knocked gently before pushing it open.
Chris was sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, a book abandoned beside him. He looked tired but smiled when he saw me.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hey yourself." I hovered in the doorway, suddenly uncertain.
He patted the space beside him. "Come in. I was just thinking about the Singapore expansion."
"At one in the morning?" I raised an eyebrow, but moved to sit on the edge of his bed.
Chris studied me for a long moment, then lifted the covers beside him. "Stay? Just to sleep," he added quickly. "I think we both could use the rest."
It was a line we hadn't crossed before—a boundary of our carefully negotiated arrangement. Sharing a bed, even innocently, felt like a significant shift.
Without a word, I slipped under the covers beside him. He reached over to turn off the lamp, and in the darkness, his hand found mine.
"Goodnight, Lara," he whispered.
"Goodnight, Chris," I replied, feeling the weight of unspoken truths between us.
