Chapter 4: The Emperor of Night

Melody's POV

The next morning I walked toward the front door, when I heard Adam whistling happily. He was wheeling his suitcase towards the foyer.

“Morning,” he said when he saw me. He was wearing a tropical print t-shirt and khaki slacks. “Well, I’m off to the airport. Remember, my aunts are arriving later this afternoon.”

“Right,” I smiled dryly at him.

He was heading off to the Maldives for a romantic vacation with his mistress, aka my former best friend. But I didn’t care. I was off too…to the lawyer’s office to finalize my 120-billion dollar inheritance.

David, my real estate agent, had put in my offer to his client. We were waiting to hear back. Once the house sold, I would have nothing more to do with Adam and his family.

The moment I walked into Mr. Vance’s office though, my face fell. He looked pale, with a layer  of sweat glistening on his forehead. His tie was undone and his shirt was semi-untucked in the front.

"We have a problem," he said, stepping around me and locking the door. "A big one."

"What?" I asked, confused.  “What problem?”

He dropped a stack of files on my desk.

"It’s your stepmother, Eleanor. She’s contesting your capacity. She's claiming you're unfit to manage the estate. As such, the Wentworth family is refusing your inheritance. She’s petitioning the court to freeze the assets immediately."

A sense of dread washed over me as I picked up the top page of the files. Sure enough, it was a formal petition submitted to the Wentworth Enterprise board of directors. Signed by Elenaor herself.

“On what grounds?” I asked.

“You’re unwed,” Mr. Vance stated. “She’s claiming that you have no capacity to run the estate, given your…humble…background.”

He was choosing his words carefully, and I appreciated that. But what he really meant was that I came from an orphanage and didn’t carry the clout of a prestigious, socialite family name.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

"There is a solution," Vance replied. Then he produced a laminated list from his briefcase. Slapping it down on the desk, he smiled proudly. "This is a list of the most eligible bachelors in the city. Powerful men. Rich men. Men whose last names alone would shut Eleanor up."

“You want me to marry one of these men?” I balked.

“I’m afraid it’s your only option,” Mr. Vance said. "If you can't prove to the board that you have a 'stable, high-level social status' by the deadline, the estate will go into a trust. A trust run by her." Vance leaned in. "You will get nothing. She will win."

“Well, what’s the deadline?” I asked, doing my best to process everything.

“Seven days,” Mr. Vance said, biting his lips sheepishly.

“Seven days?” I admonished. “You want me to find a husband in seven days?”

“It’s that or nothing,” he confirmed.

I flipped through the list. Tech moguls, European counts, senators' sons. They were all stereotypical high society men. Weak men with dark secrets lurking behind the closed doors of ‘gentlemen’s clubs.’

"These won’t do," I muttered, scanning the profiles. "Eleanor will eat them alive. She'll hire a detective and dig up all their dirt within an hour."

Just then, the muted TV in the corner of the room caught my eye.

Adam appeared on the screen. It was an interview from a few days ago, playing on a repeat news program. Adam was standing in front of the Sunkey logo, with a smug smile on his face.

“Turn it up,” I said to Mr. Vance. He picked up the remote and turned up the volume.

"...Innovation is key," Adam said, smooth and confident, as he smiled at the camera. The interviewer leaned forward.

"Mr. Adam, with the IPO approaching, everyone is asking…. Who’s your inspiration? Which titan of industry do you look up to most?"

Adam’s expression changed. The arrogance vanished, replaced by a fanatical, almost religious awe.

"Oh, without a doubt, it's Mr. Keal, Keal Summers," Adam said excitedly, his eyes widening. "He is the God of Wall Street. If Sunkey Group could get even a one percent investment from the Summers family, I would die a very happy man. To call it an honor of a lifetime is an understatement."

Blinking at the screen, a ball of nausea rolled around in my stomach.

Adam craved Keal’s money so much he was practically groveling in the interview. I was humiliated for him; it was such a tactless display.

Looking back down at Mr. Vance’s list, my eyes landed on the last entry. It wasn’t a biography. Instead, it was a brief newspaper headline.

The Emperor of Night: Keal Summers.

Squinting, I looked more closely at the photo. It was grainy, a picture taken from a distance. In it, there was a man in a black suit, his face partially obscured by shadow. Scanning over the article, it listed various rumors, rumors that swirled around this enigma of a man. Apparently he had a volatile temper, a facial disfigurement that he kept well-hidden, and a trail of dead or exiled lovers.

Dead or exiled?

My breath hitched in my throat.

According to the news article, two of his fiancées had met "unfortunate ends." Whatever that meant.

As such, there wasn’t a woman on the planet who dared to marry him again.

Except for one…

"Mr. Vance," I said. "Contact Mr. Keal Summer for me. I found my bachelor. "