I couldn’t stop thinking about that photograph.
The young man.
The charity gala.
His eyes.
His voice.
I remembered standing outside on a balcony.
I remembered being angry with my parents.
I remembered someone handing me a glass of water.
Then I remembered a sentence.
“You shouldn’t be here alone.”
I had laughed.
“Neither should you.”
The young man had smiled.
Then he had said:
“What’s your name?”
I had told him.
Elena.
Just Elena.
He had introduced himself.
Adrian.
My heart stopped.
I knew him.
Ten years ago.
I knew him.
I called him.
He answered almost immediately.
“Elena.”
“Where are you?”
“At the office.”
“I need to see you.”
A pause.
“Is something wrong?”
“Yes.”
His voice changed.
“What happened?”
“I found a photograph.”
Silence.
He knew.
I could feel it.
“You found it.”
My stomach dropped.
“You know which photograph I’m talking about.” This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
He didn’t answer.
“Adrian.”
“I’ll come home.”
“No.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“You come to the studio.”
Another pause.
“Fine.”
He arrived twenty minutes later.
He walked through the door.
I held the photograph up.
His face changed.
Not shock.
Recognition.
I stepped closer.
“You knew.”
He said nothing.
“You knew this existed.”
“Yes.”
“You knew me ten years ago.”
“Yes.”
The word hit harder than I expected.
“Why did you lie?”
“I didn’t.”
I stared at him.
“You told me we had never met.”
“I said I had never met you like this.”
“What does that even mean?”
His jaw tightened.
“You were seventeen.”
“So?”
“You were a child.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were young.”
“And you remembered me.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
He looked away.
“Because it didn’t matter.”
I laughed bitterly.
He looked back at me.
“You were part of a world I was trying to leave.”
“What world?”
“My parents.”
“My family.”
“The companies.”
“The war between them.”
I froze.
“War?”
He stepped closer.
“Elena, your family and mine were already falling apart.”
“And you knew?”
“Yes.”
“Did my mother know you?”
“Yes.”
“Did my father?”
“Yes.”
My voice dropped.
“Then why did nobody tell me?”
He didn’t answer.
I held up the photograph.
“Who took this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who wrote on the back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then tell me one thing.”
He looked at me.
“Why were you looking at me?”
Silence.
His eyes softened.
“Because I remembered you.”
That wasn’t enough.
Not even close.
I stepped back.
“You’ve known me for ten years.”
“I knew of you.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You knew me.”
He didn’t deny it.
And that frightened me more than anything.