Nobela ni Maryann Brown

Eventually, the car slowed. Eventually, the world came crashing back in. Williams was waiting. He wasn’t alone. A full security team stood beside him, suited, stone-faced, and clearly prepared to drag us both back by our collars if needed.“You and I,” Williams said, not looking at me, but at Marcus, “are going to be having a little talk.”I stepped out of the car, trying to intercept the fire. “If you want to yell at someone, yell at me. I’m the one who—”“Miss Vale,” Williams cut me off, “you’ll get your turn.”I didn’t expect him to be gentle—but I also didn’t expect him to personally escort me back to my room, like I was a rebellious teenager who’d missed curfew. At the door, he didn’t say goodnight. He didn’t even glare.He just said, “We’ll talk in the morning.”The silence that followed was worse than a lecture. I closed the door behind me and locked it—not because I didn’t feel safe. Just because I wasn’t sure who I was protecting myself from anymore.I didn’t sleep.My brain

“I told you what your mother said.”Marcus didn’t react right away. He just stared at me. Not blinking. Not breathing. “The old man chose our names.” His voice was quiet—flat—but I could already see the gears in his head turning.Then, all at once, it was like something snapped.“He picked our names,” he repeated, sharper this time. “He chose them, and then he highlighted them in the Red Will. He disinherited the family twenty years ago, and not long after that, he gave us our middle names.” Marcus began pacing the hallway, his movements quick, erratic—like an animal that suddenly realized the size of its cage.“Julian’s twenty-eight. I’m twenty-six. Aaron turns twenty-four next month.” He stopped walking. “It lines up. All of it.”I could feel him fighting for clarity, for control, trying to see the shape of the pattern that George Lachlan had left behind. “The old man was playing a long game,” Marcus muttered. “Our whole lives… we were pieces on his board.”“The names have to mean s

If I’d known I was going to end up alone with a naked, bubble-covered Debra Lachlan, I probably would’ve chugged half that bourbon Marcus left behind.“Negative emotions age you,” Debra declared breezily, adjusting her position in the massive tub. Water sloshed around her like she was lounging in a marble fountain. “There’s only so much one can do with Mercury in retrograde, but…” She let out a long, theatrical breath and flicked a wet hand in my direction. “I forgive you, Hailey Vale.”“I didn’t ask for your forgiveness,” I replied, holding my ground.She acted like she hadn’t heard me. “You will, of course, continue to provide me with a modest amount of financial support.”I stared at her, trying to decide whether she was joking or had simply disconnected from reality. “Why would I give you anything?”Instead of answering, she gave a low, indulgent hum, like I was the unreasonable one. “Because I’m their mother,” she said lightly. “And because I know more than you do. About them. Ab

The solarium was massive—vaulted glass ceilings, glass walls, sunlight pouring in like it had somewhere to be. Marcus stood at the center of it all, shirtless, barefoot, and bathed in gold. He looked like some tragic painting: ancient myth meets tabloid royalty. A bottle of bourbon rested near his feet, already a quarter empty. Again, like the first time we met, he was shirtless and drunk. Also again, I couldn’t seem to look away.“What’s the occasion?” I asked, gesturing toward the bourbon with a tilt of my chin.Marcus didn’t answer right away. He stared upward, swaying slightly, the muscles in his back tight with whatever storm was brewing in him.“Theodore. Arthur. Frederick. Wilder.” He rattled off the names like a prayer. Or a curse.I recognized them immediately. “Middle names,” I said, treading carefully. I swallowed hard. “They’re all surnames, your father’s?”Marcus let out a humorless laugh, bitter and hoarse. “Debra doesn’t talk about our fathers. Not a word. As far as she

{Hailey’s pov}I had just stepped through the main hall at Lachlan House, heading to meet Marcus, when I was intercepted. Not by Marcus, but by another Lachlan entirely. Luca.“Hailey just came from viewing a special copy of the will,” Clara offered smoothly from behind me. So much for her whole not-telling-her-ex-anything-anymore stance.“A special copy?” Luca turned his sharp blue gaze on me, amusement playing at the edges of his mouth. “Let me guess. Red ink, secret messages, veiled threats from the grave?”I didn’t confirm or deny.“Would I be correct in assuming this has something to do with the gobbledygook in my letter from the old man?”That made me pause. Of course Luca had gotten a letter, just like Julian and Marcus. Possibly Aaron too. The clues were all interconnected. George Lachlan hadn’t just left a fortune—he’d left a trail of riddles.“I’m sitting this one out,” Luca said, almost lazily. “I told you—I don’t want the money.”From beside me, Clara’s voice turned to ste

{Hailey’s Pov}Sunday arrived quiet and gray, the kind of morning that felt like it was waiting for something to happen. Williams drove me in silence to the McConnell Smith and Jones building, the same firm that had handled everything George Lachlan-related since before I was even born.Clara met us in the lobby—a sea of chrome and glass so sterile it made a hospital waiting room look cozy. The place was massive, clearly designed for high-stakes negotiations and power plays, not just simple will readings. And yet, the moment we walked in, it was nearly deserted.“You said I was the firm’s only client,” I told Clara as we passed a receptionist and a guard on our way to the elevators. “So why does this place feel like it’s hiding an army of lawyers behind closed doors?”“There are several divisions,” she said, her voice clipped. “Mr. Lachlan’s assets were… broad. He needed lawyers for each one.”“And the will I asked about—it’s here?”I kept a hand in my pocket, fingers brushing over th