Novels by Fdh

Five minutes later, Alexander came back alone.His shirt was torn. His knuckles were bleeding. And his eyes — those cold, calculating blue eyes — were completely empty."She's gone," he said. "But she left something for you."He held out his hand.A white envelope. No name. No return address. Just a single gold wax seal with a crest I didn't recognize."What is it?""Open it."I took the envelope. My fingers were shaking. The paper was thick — expensive — the kind of stationary women like Elena used to weaponize their politeness.I broke the seal.Inside was a single photograph and a handwritten note.The photograph showed a woman. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A smile that looked exactly like my own."Who is this?" I whispered.Alexander didn't answer. He was staring at the photo like he'd seen a ghost."Alexander. Who is this?""Your real mother."The words didn't make sense."My mother is Catherine Vance. She's been married to my father for thirty years. She —""She's not your biological m

The woman who stepped out of the shadows was beautiful.Not the kind of beautiful that made you smile. The kind that made you want to run. Blonde hair, gold earrings, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She was holding a silver gun — smaller than Alexander's, but just as real."And you must be Isabella," she said, tilting her head. "The virgin who wasn't a virgin. The heiress who's playing poor. The mother of three heartbeats my stepson will never deserve."Alexander raised his gun again. "Take one more step, Elena.""I'm not here to hurt her." Elena smiled. "If I wanted her dead, she wouldn't have left the masquerade."My blood ran cold."You," I whispered. "You were the woman at the bar. The one who spilled my drink.""I told you exactly where you needed to be." She stepped closer, heels clicking on the concrete. "And you delivered beautifully. A virgin. A hidden heiress. The perfect weapon against a boy who rejected me.""You did this to hurt Alexander.""I did this to win." Elena

Alexander grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the door."We don't have time for this," he said. "Whoever sent that message knows where you live. Knows where we are. Right now."I yanked my arm back. "And I'm supposed to trust you instead?""You're supposed to survive. You can hate me afterward."He was already out the door, coat forgotten, rain soaking through his white shirt. I could see the outline of his shoulders, the tension in his back, the way he kept scanning the hallway like he expected someone to jump out.I grabbed my keys.I followed.Because as much as I hated him — as much as I didn't trust him — he was right.Someone had planned this.And I was standing in the middle of it, three heartbeats deep, with no idea which way was up.---The parking lot behind my building was empty.Too empty.Alexander's car was a black SUV that probably cost more than my entire apartment building. He unlocked it with a fob, opened the passenger door, and all but pushed me inside."Buckle i

I crawled under the fridge and grabbed Alexander's phone first. The screen was cracked — my fault — but the message was still readable."She's not the only one carrying secrets, Black. Ask her about the night of the masquerade. Ask her who else was in that coatroom."My blood turned to ice water.Alexander took the phone from my shaking hands. He read the message twice. Then he looked at me with an expression I couldn't read — not anger, not betrayal. Something worse.Disappointment."There was someone else," he said. It wasn't a question."No. There was no one else. It was just you and me and a very ill-advised coatroom.""Then why would someone send this?""I don't know!" My voice came out too loud. Too desperate. I hated the sound of it. "I was a virgin, Alexander. You knew that. You tested the sheets."He was quiet for a long moment. Then he handed me his phone."Read the sender's name."I looked at the screen.Marcus Vance.My father.The dead man who wasn't dead had just texted

I dropped the phone.It bounced off my cheap rug and slid under the fridge. Neither of us moved to get it. We just stood there — two strangers, three heartbeats, and a dead man who wasn't dead."How long have you known?" I whispered.Alexander didn't answer immediately. He walked to my window, pushed aside the thin curtain, and stared at the rain-slicked street below."I found out three weeks ago," he said. "When I ran your background check. Your father's death certificate is a forgery. A good one. But not good enough."I sat down. Hard. The chair creaked under me."He left me," I said. The words came out flat, hollow. "When I was eighteen. He drove away from our house and never came back. They found his car at the bottom of a ravine. Burned. No body. They told me he was dead.""They lied.""My mother lied." My voice cracked. "My mother told me he was dead. She held me while I cried. She planned the funeral. She wore black for a year."Alexander turned from the window. His face was un

He didn't speak for a full minute.I watched the calculation happening behind his eyes — the billionaire algorithm running numbers, outcomes, possibilities. What do three heirs cost? What do three heartbeats mean for his company? For his dead mother's will?Then he looked at me, and the algorithm died."My mother," he said slowly, "had a condition. A genetic one. She died giving birth to me."The words landed like stones in still water."I was tested last year." He pulled off his wet jacket, draped it over my kitchen chair like he belonged here. "I carry the same gene. Any child I father has a forty percent chance of inheriting it. But only if the mother carries a specific marker."He turned to face me."You don't have it, Isabella. I had my team analyze the blood from the hotel sheets. You're clean. You're rare. And somehow — against every odd — you're carrying three."I gripped the counter harder. "You tested my blood without my consent?""I tested evidence from my own property." Hi