Chapter 7: Eyes in the Dark

The leather interior of the luxury sedan was dead silent, save for the hum of the engine as it cruised toward the city.

Damien sat in the back, his dark glasses on, staring forward. To anyone looking in, he was a blind billionaire lost in thought. But to Marcus, who sat in the front passenger seat, Damien was a predator analyzing his latest move.

"Marcus," Damien said, his voice quiet but commanding.

"Yes, sir?" the butler replied, turning slightly.

"What did you make of my wife this morning?"

Marcus hesitated for a fraction of a second. "She seems... remarkably grounded, sir. Not at all like the reports we received regarding Miss Kendra Vance."

"Exactly," Damien murmured, a cold smile touching his lips. "The woman in my house is not Kendra. Kendra is a superficial socialite who screeches at staff and spends money she doesn't have. This girl... she has calluses on her fingertips. She makes decent coffee. And her pulse jumps every time I get within three feet of her."

He leaned back, tapping a rhythm on his cane. "What I want to know is why. Why did the Vance family swap them? If they wanted the Kingsley fortune, sending a substitute is a massive risk. Why did they send her instead of Kendra?"

"Perhaps they thought you wouldn't notice, sir. Given your... condition."

Damien let out a low, dry chuckle. "They underestimated me. But more importantly, she is playing a dangerous game. She actually thinks she’s invisible to me." He tilted his head toward the window. "Keep a close eye on the feed, Marcus. Let’s see what my little imposter does when she thinks she’s entirely alone."

"Right away, sir."

Meanwhile, back at the estate, Avery’s heart was in her throat.

The east wing was completely silent. She stood in Damien’s office, her fingers still resting on the handle of the locked drawer. She took a deep breath, scanning the room one last time.

What she didn't see were the tiny, pinhole camera lenses hidden seamlessly within the eyes of the antique brass owl on the bookshelf, and another embedded in the crown molding above the door. They flickered with a faint, infrared light, capturing her every move.

She focused on the drawer. It was locked tight, but Avery wasn't helpless. She reached into her hair, pulling out a sturdy, classic bobby pin. It was a trick her cousin had taught her years ago.

Kneeling before the drawer, she inserted the pin, twisting it gently. Click.

"Yes," she whispered, her chest swelling with a brief wave of triumph.

She slid the drawer open. Inside were several neat, labeled folders. She rapidly flipped through them. Tax Records. Asset Mergers. Kingsley Holdings.

Nothing on Kendra.

Frustrated, she began looking through the back of the drawer. Her fingers brushed against a thick, unmarked black folder tucked beneath the floor of the drawer.

"What's this?" she muttered, pulling it out.

She opened it, expecting to see her sister's face. Instead, she found medical charts, surgical diagrams, and heavily redacted incident reports.

At the top of the main sheet, a name was printed in bold: ALEXANDER HUNT.

Avery scanned the pages quickly. It details a high-risk, experimental reconstructive and ophthalmic surgery performed in a private Swiss clinic three years ago. There were notes on nerve damage, military-grade trauma, and a recovery timeline that seemed almost superhuman.

She frowned, looking at the photo attached. It was a man with his face completely bandaged, lying in a sterile hospital bed.

"Alexander Hunt..." Avery murmured, shaking her head. "Who is that? A business partner? A bodyguard?"

She looked at the date of the surgery, but it didn't register. Her mind was too consumed with her own survival. She couldn't afford to get distracted by Damien’s classified corporate operations or his associates.

I don't care about his business deals. I need the file on Kendra, she thought, brushing it off. She shoved the black folder back into its hiding place and slid the drawer shut, locking it back up.

She stood up, her eyes scanning the high bookshelves. If the file wasn't in the desk, it had to be somewhere else in this room.

Unbeknownst to her, miles away in the back of a black sedan, Damien’s phone buzzed with a silent alert. He pulled it from his pocket, tapping the screen to bring up the live, high-definition security feed of his office.

He watched her lock his desk drawer, his dark eyes narrowing as he saw the mix of frustration and determination on her beautiful face.

"Looking for something, sweetheart?" Damien whispered to the screen, his thumb tracing her silhouette on the glass.