Chapter 2

Lisa's POV 

Once Lucas dropped me off at the hotel, and I checked into my already booked hotel room, I barely had the strength to do anything else, so I simply tossed my phone onto the bed and let myself fall flat onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. That was when the weight of what I had just done finally crashed over me.

I had just destroyed what Christopher had spent ten years building—his reputation, his empire, his influence… and most importantly, his future opportunities.

I’m certain that by now, the media would be ripping him to pieces.

I released a long sigh and slowly reached for my phone again. Then, without letting myself think it through, I started to dial a number—a number I hadn’t called in five years, not since the day I got married to Christopher.

My chest tightened with every digit I pressed, as if my body was warning me to stop—to leave my past buried. But I didn’t. I dialed the number, and the line connected immediately.

“Ma’am.” Papa James’s voice cut through the silence—low, controlled, and deeply respectful.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would finally reach out,” he continued softly, a quiet warmth beneath his composure. “It has been far too long.”

A brief pause followed, as if I were remembering exactly who I used to be. Then I took a small breath and said firmly, “I need you to get me out of here. Immediately.”

Papa James didn’t hesitate. He said he’d send a team to pick me up, but I quickly stopped him. I insisted just one person was enough as I didn’t want much attention.

He paused for a moment, then agreed without argument. “Yes, ma’am. One person it is.”

A brief silence followed on the line, and then the call ended.

My thoughts lingered for a moment before drifting back to the past—back to Papa James, who had once been my family’s loyal gatekeeper before my parents died in a plane crash.

I was just five when I lost them, left alone with no one but Papa James, who became my guardian and raised me, protecting everything they left behind until I was old enough to take control.

My parents were the founders of Maxwell's Holdings, the world's leading luxury beauty brands, widely recognized as one of the biggest names in cosmetics industry.

It was a company that supplied formulas and products to nearly 40% of luxury cosmetic brands globally. From skincare to makeup, fragrance to body care—anything related to human skin, they created it for all ages, even infants. Their brilliance made the company powerful, respected, and constantly sought after by investors.

After their death, everything was left to me, with Papa James entrusted to raise me and safeguard my inheritance.

As I grew, I discovered our family’s rare gift—the ability to create unique formulas no one else in the world could replicate. 

At fifteen, Papa James realized I had inherited my mother’s talent for creating unique perfume formulas. That was when he told me the truth about my identity and wealth, and I slowly began learning how to manage the empire under his guidance.

By twenty-two, I was already controlling millions. But after several heartbreaks, I realized most men wanted my money or feared my success. Wanting something real, I left my wealth behind, transferred everything to Papa James temporarily, and disappeared to live a normal life in search of true love.

After a year of living simply, I met Christopher, whose company was going bankrupt. Despite his struggles, he showed me love and care, and I believed he truly loved me—unaware he only married me to clean up his public image.

Out of love, I secretly supported his company under anonymous identities, helping him rebuild it without him ever knowing.

Soon after he recovered, Clara appeared and was introduced as his younger sister living with us. I welcomed her warmly, believing I finally had a family and became a devoted housewife to care for them both.

But I later discovered Clara was actually his childhood lover, and their affair had been happening right inside the house I secretly bought for him.

I was still lost in the memory when a knock on the door pulled me back to the present.

I sat up and stayed still for a second before walking to the door. I didn’t speak, so the person spoke first. “Paris,” a calm voice said from the other side, followed by, “Papa James sends his regards.” That was the code word, and it was enough—I knew he was the one Papa James had sent to pick me up, so I opened the door.

When the door swung open, a tall man stood there, broad-shouldered and composed. His eyes were sharp, watching me without missing a thing. The top buttons of his shirt were left open, revealing a dark tattoo that trailed from his chest up to his neck, the ink faintly visible against his skin, making him look even more intimidating. “Ma’am,” he said smoothly, “Papa James asked me to come pick you up.”

I didn’t reply. I simply turned, grabbed my bag and cat and walked out. He followed behind me without a word. 

Outside the hotel, a black car waited. The driver stepped out at once and opened the door for me. I slid in, and moments later, Paris joined as the car pulled away into the night.

The drive stretched on longer than expected. Soon, rain began to fall, soft at first, then heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as darkness settled in. 

The farther we drove, the quieter it got, with fewer cars on the road. Then suddenly, a car sped past us and swerved sharply ahead, blocking our path. The driver slammed on the brakes, and our car screeched to a violent stop, throwing me forward before I could brace myself. Paris’s hand shot out just in time to steady me.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” he asked urgently, already turning back toward the front. I didn’t answer. My eyes were fixed ahead.

Through the rain, four men stepped out of the car that'd just blocked us, rain falling over them as they moved towards our car quickly, weapons and guns already in hand.

“Stay in the car,” Paris said firmly, already reaching for the door.

But before Paris could open the door, the driver stepped out first. He barely got the chance to speak before a gunshot blasted out unexpectedly and the old man collapsed beside the car, his body hitting the wet ground instantly.

I screamed, fumbling with my seatbelt, ready to rush out and check on the driver, but Paris was faster. In one swift move, he slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door behind him. “Ma’am, don’t move. Stay in the car,” he shouted through the rain, already trying to turn the vehicle around, but the attackers were quicker. They rushed forward before he could start the engine, smashed the window with their elbows, and glass exploded everywhere as they dragged him out. He hit the ground hard, and the four men immediately descended on him, beating him without pause while I struggled helplessly with the door from the back seat.

Before I could escape, one of the attackers yanked the door open and grabbed me, dragging me out into the rain. I screamed, fought, begged—but it didn’t matter. They threw me to the ground beside Paris, who was barely conscious, blood mixing with the rain beneath him. 

Then suddenly, another gunshot echoed through the rain. They had just shot Paris. His body went completely still immediately.

My breath caught as everything around me went still. Then laughter erupted from the attackers.

“We should have a little fun first,” one of them said, his voice thick with cruelty.

“But boss,” another hesitated, “Sir Christopher said we should just get rid of her. He wouldn’t like—”

The man laughed. “Who’s going to tell him? She’ll be dead anyway. We could just fuck the shit out of her before finishing the job, right?” The others burst into laughter again.

My heart broke instantly as the truth hit me—Christopher sent them.