My Husband Returned Every Gift, but That Evening His Right Hand Suddenly Turned Pale

“I returned all the dresses because standing beside him could have ended in Adrian’s death,” I said at last and looked at my own pale face in the mirror.

Such silence fell in the room that the raindrops on the window could be heard as separate sounds. It was midnight in the private fitting room of the Langham Hotel. The bronze clock hanging on the wall seemed to tick louder with every second.

Vanessa slowly put the phone down on the table.

“What do you mean, Emily?” she asked me.

I touched the dark-blue silk sleeves with my fingers. The fabric was warm and heavy, the kind Adrian always chose for me. He had sent me six dresses. Emerald, burgundy, champagne-colored, black, sapphire-colored, and now this one.

I returned all six.

“I mean that these dresses were not only dresses,” I answered. “The person sending them wanted people to believe that I was his wife. And I wanted everyone to forget that I was standing beside him.”

Vanessa’s brows drew together.

“People are talking anyway.”

“Exactly why.”

My old, worn black bag lay on the chair. A small round copper emblem sewn by my father hung from its handle. It was the only thing I had left from him. Every time I was nervous, I ran my finger over that rough edge.

I did the same now.

Adrian was standing beyond the door, and I still did not realize it.

Two months earlier, our marriage had begun as a contract. Adrian’s family company had a crisis on the board of directors. He needed a wife who would appear beside him in society and would not allow his opponents to gossip about his private life. And I needed money to pay off my father’s old debt and the right not to let anyone control my life.

I put three conditions into the contract: separate rooms, complete freedom in my work, and the right to return gifts.

Adrian signed as though he were reading a death sentence.

And then he began sending me dresses.

Once, when he had completely replaced my wardrobe, I waved an old green jacket in front of him.

“You can give me gifts,” I told him. “But you cannot remake me.”

He looked at me for a long time.

“I was not trying to.”

“Then why are you sending me everything I did not ask for?”

That night he returned everything. The next day only one small envelope came from the store. There was nothing inside, only a card: “If you ever want something yourself, tell me.”

From that day Adrian watched my gaze. Which color I stopped at in front of a shop window. Which fabric I touched. Which dress I looked at longer than necessary.

I noticed it.

And that was exactly why their return hurt me.

But I was more afraid of what came together with the dresses.

Vanessa picked up the phone again and turned the screen toward me. There were messages there from the wives of philanthropists, from board members, from unknown numbers. In one photograph, red lines had been drawn around my body.

“This woman looks ridiculous beside Adrian.”

“If she is Adrian’s wife, why are they hiding her?”

“Adrian will soon realize that he deserves better.”

I looked at the screen and felt a familiar coldness in my throat.

“They are only words,” Vanessa told me.

“No. They are warnings.”

“From whom?”

Fingers touched the door.

I froze.

Vanessa raised her head.

Adrian’s voice sounded on the other side of the door, calm and low:

“Emily, open the door.”

Vanessa leaned toward me.

“Do not tell him everything.”

“I have already told him too much.”

“No, he does not yet know the most dangerous part.”

The handle moved. I gripped the copper emblem so tightly that its edge cut my skin.

Adrian knocked once more.

“Emily, I know you are here.”

Vanessa opened the desk drawer and put her hand on the brownish folder hidden inside. At that moment I saw real fear on her face for the first time.

“If he sees this,” she whispered, “I will no longer be able to protect you.”

The door opened and Adrian stepped into the room. His gaze stopped first on me, then on the dress, and finally on Vanessa’s hand reaching toward the folder…

…Vanessa’s fingers touched the folder’s cover, but at that same moment Adrian locked the door from inside.

Marcus stood behind him. Water dripped from his wet coat onto the floor, and in his right hand he held a small black umbrella whose silver handle was engraved with the initials of the surname.

Adrian did not look at him.

“Who is threatening you?” he asked me.

There was no anger in his voice. That was exactly what frightened me most.

“No one.”

“Then why are you speaking to me as if you had planned my funeral?”

Vanessa stepped forward.

“Adrian, this is a family matter.”

“My wife is my family.”

The words fell heavily into the room. I lowered my head because tears came to my eyes. Our marriage was real only on paper, but Adrian said this phrase with such certainty that for a moment I forgot how everything had begun.

“Did your wife return the dresses because she did not want to appear beside you?” Vanessa asked.

Adrian turned toward me.

“Is that so?”

I looked at my shoulders in the mirror. I was wearing a simple black dress that did not attract attention. That was exactly what I wanted.

“I did not want your enemies to have a reason to set their eyes on me.”

Marcus tightened his hand around the umbrella handle.

“Adrian, there are two cars outside that do not belong to us.”

“How long?”

“Forty minutes.”

“The plates?”

Marcus opened a small notebook.

“One has a false license plate. The other is real. It looks like Whitmore’s people.”

Vanessa’s face changed.

“Do not involve my family in this.”

“It is already involved,” I said.

Adrian came to me. His jacket smelled of rain and cold smoke. He saw my hand, where blood had seeped from the copper emblem.

“Why did you not tell me about this?”

“Because I was trying to protect you.”

“From me?”

“From the people hidden in your name.”

That evening my small apartment, located on the thirty-first floor beneath Adrian’s skyscraper, no longer seemed like a safe place for the first time. At one in the morning we returned there. Rain ran down the window glass in long lines, while boxes of unopened dresses lay on the kitchen table.

Adrian picked up one of them.

“Did you like all the dresses?”

“Yes.”

“And you still returned them.”

“Because every dress made me more noticeable beside you.”

“I did not want to hide you.”

“And I was trying to hide you.”

He fell silent.

Marcus brought a small charger into the kitchen and put it on the table.

“Mrs. Haley, someone entered your old address several weeks ago.”

“What?”

“The camera captured only a shadow. But they took one thing from there.”

“What?”

I already knew the answer before he said it.

“Your father’s old records.”

My fingers reached the copper emblem.

My father worked at a customs warehouse. Until his death he said that Adrian’s father’s company was sending money to foreign accounts and covering up weapons shipments at the city port. I had never believed that this was only corporate crime.

“The records are not with me,” I said.

Adrian looked at me immediately.

“Where are they?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Emily.”

“If I tell you, you will call the first person you trust. That very person may be watching you now.”

Marcus picked up the phone. A message appeared on the screen. An unknown number. Only one sentence was written:

“Returning the dresses will not protect you. In the morning Adrian will make a choice—the wife or the empire.”

Adrian read the message and asked calmly:

“What choice?”

I went to the window. Across the street the headlights of a black car came on.

“I will not tell you that.”

“Then who will?”

The phone rang again.

Marcus answered it. Within a few seconds the color drained from his face.

“The hospital is calling,” he said. “They said they found an item connected to Mrs. Haley’s father and will hand it over only in Adrian Moretti’s presence.”

Adrian turned toward me.

“We are going to the hospital in the morning.”

I shook my head.

“No. You will go alone.”

“Why?”

The door of the black car by the window opened. Someone took out a camera.

“Because whoever is doing this is waiting to see us together.”

Adrian believed me for the first time. Then he looked at Marcus and said quietly:

“Find out who knows about this folder.”

Marcus picked up the folder, opened it, and stopped at the sight of the very first page.

His eyes moved to me.

“Emily, your signature is here. But this document was prepared on a date when you had not even seen Adrian yet…”

…After Marcus’s words, only the low hum of the refrigerator could be heard in the room.

Adrian took the folder from his hand and spread the paper on the table. It was two in the morning. Under the kitchen lamp my signature was clearly visible, and below it was a date—five years earlier than when I had first met Adrian.

“That is not my signature,” I said.

“It looks very similar,” Vanessa said.

I looked at her.

“You knew?”

Vanessa bit her lip.

“I only knew that your father had something. I did not know that the documents were made out in your name.”

Adrian nodded at Marcus.

“The rest.”

Marcus took a small memory card from the folder and put it into the computer. A recording from a port camera appeared on the screen. The date was from five years earlier. In the emptiness of the night several trucks appeared. The mark of Adrian’s family company was visible on the side of one of them.

Then Adrian’s father, Lorenzo Moretti, appeared on the screen.

And my father was standing beside him.

I grasped the chair.

“This is impossible.”

In the recording my father handed something to Lorenzo. Lorenzo opened the envelope, read it, and immediately struck him in the face.

Vanessa covered her mouth with her hand.

Adrian stopped the recording.

“Why did my father do that?”

“Because my father found a list proving the shipments,” I answered. “He intended to go to the police.”

“What happened then?”

“One week later he died.”

Adrian looked at the screen as though trying to pull an answer out of it.

“And my name?”

Marcus unfolded the second sheet.

“An addendum to Lorenzo’s will. It says that if Adrian ever learned the truth about this case, the controlling share of the company had to be transferred to Emily, as the only person who would protect the evidence.”

Vanessa exhaled.

“That is why the marriage was necessary.”

I lowered my head.

“No. I did not arrange the marriage. Lorenzo’s people told Adrian to make a contract with me. They knew that this way I would be safe beside him. But they did not know that I had already realized whom I needed to avoid.”

Adrian took a step toward me.

“You knew my father’s people were watching you?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Since the day before our wedding.”

The pain on his face was sharper than anger.

“And you still married me.”

“Because you were the only one who was looking for the truth about my father. You simply did not realize it yet.”

Vanessa pulled out a chair.

“Then why my actions?”

I looked at her.

“You worked for them.”

“No.”

Marcus started a second video. Vanessa’s voice could be heard sending an unknown man information about my movements.

Vanessa’s face turned gray.

“They were only threatening me.”

Adrian said calmly:

“You put my wife in danger.”

“I saved you!” she shouted. “If Emily appeared in those dresses, everyone would know that she mattered to you. They would kill her first, then take your empire.”

Heavy silence fell over the room.

I looked at Adrian.

“That is why I returned the dresses. I wanted to be unimportant to you.”

Adrian brought his hand to my face, but stopped before touching me.

“You have never been unimportant.”

At that moment his phone rang. The call was from the hospital.

Adrian answered.

“Moretti speaking.”

A man on the other end said something. Adrian’s eyes changed.

“Whom did you bring there?”

Marcus went to the window.

“What happened?”

Adrian slowly lowered the phone.

“My father’s old lawyer is at the hospital. He said he has Lorenzo’s final recording. But he will hand it over on only one condition—if Emily and I go there together.”

I understood immediately.

This was no longer a threat about dresses.

Someone wanted Adrian to make a choice before the whole city.

Adrian picked up his jacket.

“This time we are going together.”

A new message arrived on his phone:

“Do not come to the hospital. The traitor among you is already waiting there. And he has a weapon in his hand…”