Chapter 9

Edward POV

The leather steering wheel felt cool under my grip as I navigated the winding roads back to my house. The evening at my grandmother's had left me with a simmering frustration that I couldn't quite place.

In the rearview mirror, I caught glimpses of Anna's face, her expression closed off as she stared out the window. Vera sat beside me in the passenger seat, her perfume filling the car with a scent too sweet for my liking.

"Edward, thank you for speaking up for me earlier, in front of Elara," Vera said, breaking the silence. Her voice carried that familiar note of practiced gratitude that I'd heard countless times growing up.

I offered a noncommittal "Hmm" in response, my eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again. Anna's reflection showed her still gazing out the window, seemingly lost in thought. What had my mother said to her upstairs? The question had been nagging at me since we left.

"Anna," Vera twisted in her seat to look back at my wife. "What did Elara want to talk to you about? You were up there for quite a while."

Anna's fingers tapped lightly against her knee – a habit I'd noticed she had when uncomfortable. "Nothing important," she replied, her voice carefully neutral.

"Bullshit," I thought, making a mental note to ask her myself once we were home. My mother never did anything without purpose, and pulling Anna aside definitely meant something.

"Oh, by the way," Vera continued, her tone suddenly casual in a way that immediately put me on alert. "I heard Matthew Quinn will be back from Europe soon."

My fingers tightened involuntarily around the steering wheel as we stopped at a red light. I kept my eyes fixed on the traffic signal ahead, not trusting myself to look at Anna's reflection right now. Matthew Quinn. The name alone was enough to set my teeth on edge.

"They say he's doing quite well in the European art scene," Vera continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension she'd created. "He's planning an exhibition in New York soon."

I watched Anna's reflection carefully, noting the almost imperceptible change in her expression – a slight widening of her eyes, a subtle shift in her posture. It was barely there, but I caught it.

"We haven't been in contact for years," Anna said evenly, but there was something in her voice that sounded forced.

"Quinn's illegitimate son," I said coldly, unable to stop myself. "Not sure why his return is worth discussing."

I saw Anna frown in the mirror, disapproval flashing in her eyes. My jaw clenched at her reaction. The thought of her defending him, even silently, made something dark and possessive twist inside me.

The car fell into heavy silence. The traffic light turned green, and I pressed the accelerator perhaps a bit harder than necessary, causing the engine to growl as we shot forward. The tension in the car was palpable now, thick enough to touch. Anna had turned her attention back to the window, but I could tell from the set of her shoulders that she was far from relaxed.

Manhattan's nightscape blurred past our windows – the gleaming towers and neon signs that usually captivated visitors meant nothing to me tonight. My thoughts kept circling back to Matthew Quinn. I remembered him from our youth – always hanging around Anna, always watching her with those earnest eyes. The memory of them together made my grip tighten on the steering wheel again.

The sky had been threatening rain all evening, and now fat droplets began to hit the windshield. Within seconds, it transformed into a downpour, sheets of water cascading down as if the sky itself was venting my frustration. The wipers struggled to keep up, sweeping frantically across the glass.

By the time we pulled up to Frost Estate, the rain had become torrential. I took off my trench coat and handed it to Vera. "Here. Don't get wet."

Before I could even reach for something to offer Anna, she had already pushed her door open and stepped out into the deluge. I watched, a strange mixture of irritation and admiration rising in me as she strode purposefully toward the front door, the rain immediately soaking through her clothes, plastering her hair to her head.

Vera followed me carefully, huddled under my coat. By the time we made it inside, Anna was already standing in the foyer, water pooling around her feet on the marble floor.

"Eddie, thank you for your coat. That was so thoughtful," Vera said, making a show of handing it back to me. The use of my childhood nickname grated on my nerves, especially with the deliberate way she emphasized it in Anna's presence.

I watched as Anna silently tapped her soaked turtleneck, her hair dripping water onto her shoulders. Her expression remained coldly impassive, but I could read the tension in every line of her body.

"Vera, why don't you head upstairs and get some rest? We can talk more tomorrow," I said, not taking my eyes off Anna.

"Of course," Vera replied with a small smile, glancing meaningfully at Anna before turning to ascend the stairs.

As Anna moved to follow, I reached out and caught her arm. Her skin was cool and damp from the rain.

"What did my mother talk to you about?" I asked, keeping my voice low but firm.

She tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip slightly. "Don't test my patience, Anna."

Her eyes flashed with defiance. "She asked how our married life was going. She asked when I might get pregnant again and recommended a fertility specialist." The words came out clipped and cold. "Satisfied?"

I released her arm, but kept my eyes locked on hers. My mother's interference was predictable but still annoying. I made a mental note to speak with her about it.

"Matthew Quinn is back," I said abruptly. "What do you think about that?"

Anna's face remained impressively neutral. "What do you think I should think? I just found out tonight. I haven't had any contact with him for years."

I studied her face, searching for signs of deception. There was something there – a flicker of emotion that I couldn't quite identify – but whether it was nostalgia, regret, or something else entirely, I couldn't tell.

Suddenly, Anna's phone rang, the sound jarring in the quiet foyer. She glanced down at it, and I noticed the screen showed an unknown number. The call disconnected before she could answer.

"If there's nothing else, I'm going upstairs to dry off," she said, slipping the phone back into her pocket.

As she turned to leave, she paused, adding coolly, "Remember to grab your towel before you shower tonight. I'm not in the mood to be your errand girl."

I remained standing in the foyer long after she'd disappeared up the stairs, my mind working through the events of the evening. The way she'd reacted to Quinn's name and my mother's private conversation with her – pieces of a puzzle I couldn't quite fit together.

One thing was certain – I needed to find out exactly what Matthew Quinn's return meant for Anna. And for us.