CHAPTER FOUR

The fire burned slow and low, casting long shadows across the wood-paneled walls.

Outside, the rain had returned—light, steady, tapping against the tall windows like quiet footsteps.

Jonathan Monroe sat behind his desk, untouched whiskey near his hand, a sealed file folder before him. The scent of aged paper and smoke filled the room.

Two of his men stood near the door, waiting.

One of them, dressed in a charcoal suit, finally spoke. “It’s official, sir. The Geneva Link Project has been announced. One year. The biggest integration proposal in Europe’s history.”

Jonathan didn’t look up. “Go on.”

“Digital systems. Transport. Cross-border intelligence and economic data. It’s not just logistics—it’s control. The firm that wins it... becomes the backbone of Europe.”

“And who’s in?”

“Everyone,” the man replied. “Every major firm from Berlin to Dubai is circling. They’ve opened the gates. Only one will be chosen.”

Jonathan gave a slow nod. “NovaCorp?”

“Already in position. Your son’s team submitted an early strategy draft. It’s gaining quiet support from three major councils. They see NovaCorp as fresh... forward-thinking.”

Jonathan’s fingers tapped once on the desk. “Let them see what they want.”

The second man, younger, shifted. “There’s something else.”

Jonathan glanced up.

“A name keeps coming up,” he said. “It’s not on any company letterhead. No branding, no PR. Just someone... pulling strings. Private. Behind one of the strongest upcoming proposals.”

Jonathan waited.

“We followed the threads,” the man continued. “They lead to Whitmore. Raymond Whitmore. But not through anything public.”

That name brought a pause. Jonathan leaned back in his chair, eyes steady.

“I thought Whitmore vanished after the LA incident,” the older man added. “Retired. Lost his tech arm in the fire.”

“That's what most people believed,” Jonathan said softly. “Because that’s what Raymond wanted.”

The younger man frowned. “You knew him?”

Jonathan nodded once. “Not well. Not the way people know each other. We were... opposite ends of the same circle. Quiet competition. We never spoke much. But we watched each other.”

“And you think he’s back?” the man asked. “For the project?”

Jonathan stood slowly and walked to the window, watching the rain run down the glass.

“He never truly left,” he said. “He just learned how to disappear.”

Another pause.

“But something’s changed,” the older man said. “There’s another presence now. A man. Not Raymond. Younger.”

Jonathan didn’t answer immediately. The fire popped behind him.

“Sir... you think Whitmore had a son?” the younger man asked, careful with the words. “There’s no public record of one. Just the two daughters.”

Jonathan turned, slow and calm.

“There was never meant to be a record,” he said. “Raymond protected what mattered most. Kept it hidden. Until the right time.”

“And that time is now?”

Jonathan’s expression didn’t shift. “Seems so.”

The older man asked, “What do we do?”

Jonathan returned to his desk, picked up the closed folder but didn’t open it.

“We don’t move yet,” he said. “Not until we understand what’s really in play.”

“You think the son is dangerous?”

Jonathan didn’t answer right away. Then finally, with a faint hint of something unreadable in his voice: “I think he's been prepared. And I think whatever Raymond taught him... wasn’t meant to be seen in daylight.”

The room went still.

“Watch the board,” he said. “Forget the names people are shouting. Focus on the quiet ones.”

The younger man stepped forward. “Sir, what should we call this—this son?”

Jonathan gave a quiet smile, but there was no warmth in it.

“Nothing yet. He moves like his father. No name until he wants one.”

He picked up the whiskey glass, finally taking a small sip.

“Let the world chase headlines,” he said. “We’ll follow the shadow.”

And then he turned back toward the fire, watching it burn slow—like a memory refusing to fade.

***

Lauren lay quietly on her bed, the room wrapped in stillness. Her phone buzzed beside her pillow. A message blinked across the screen: “You’ve gained a new shareholder.”

She rolled her eyes. Not now. She had other things to think about—bigger things. Like the baby growing inside her.

Lauren Fashion was thriving. Sales were strong. Her team was on trend. Her vision was coming to life, and profits were speaking. It was everything she had dreamed of.

But none of that mattered right now.

She sat still on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at nothing. The silence felt heavier than usual.

From the back of the house, she could hear faint splashes. Granny Rosa had turned the old farmhouse garden into a fish farm. That was her newest project—growing catfish and dreams at the same time. She must’ve thought Lauren was still out.

But Lauren wasn’t alone for long.

The door creaked open without a knock. Granny Rosa stepped in, eyes sharp as ever.

“When Ama told me she saw your car out front, I had to confirm it myself,” she said.

Of course. Ama. The neighborhood informant. Two houses away and always in everyone’s business. A single mother with two sons from different fathers, and no shame about repeating how useless both men were.

Lauren didn’t even flinch. “Figures.”

Granny Rosa crossed her arms. “Why’re you hiding in here like a runaway?”

“Granny,” Lauren muttered, “please... I just want to be alone.”

“Nah.” Granny Rosa flopped onto the bed beside her like a teenager. “Tell me what’s going on in that big head of yours.”

Lauren winced. She never lied to Granny Rosa.

“If I tell you... you might actually kill me.”

“There’s only one thing you could ever do that would make me upset,” she said, “and that’s becoming a single mother. And you’re not stupid, Lauren. So talk.”

Lauren whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

Granny Rosa shot up from the bed. “Tell me you’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Lauren snapped. “I’m pregnant, Granny. And it’s frustrating.”

Granny Rosa’s voice dropped. “Does Caleb know?”

Lauren looked away. “I slept with Ethan too... that same night.”

Silence.

Granny Rosa gasped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Lauren shook her head. “It was the day Ethan asked me to sign the divorce papers. Caleb found me first, and he wanted me to prove I still loved him. Then I met Ethan again. I don’t know... it just happened. Everything came rushing back. I missed him.”

Granny Rosa rubbed her temples. “So what’s stopping you from taking a DNA test?”

“I’m scared,” Lauren confessed. “If it’s Caleb’s, Ethan will find out I slept with someone else—even after learning he was alive. He’ll hate me. And if it’s Ethan’s, Caleb will be crushed. He’ll think I’ve been playing both sides.”

“And your plan is... what? Stay scared forever?”

“I just want to keep it secret for now.”

“And what about Ethan? Your marriage?”

“I’ll end it. But not yet. Not until I pay him back.”

“Then get a loan from Caleb,” Granny said. “Pay Ethan. Walk away. Clean.”

Lauren’s voice was small. “What if the baby’s Ethan’s?”

Granny looked her in the eye. “Then you don’t need Caleb’s loan.”

“I can’t just give up the baby, Granny. I’m not getting rid of it.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said. “But you need to know the father.”

“I don’t know what I want anymore.”

Granny Rosa took her hand. “Then don’t rush. For now… stay married. If the baby’s Caleb’s, Ethan will walk away himself. But if it’s Ethan’s, you have a chance to fix things. Either way, you won’t be the one who gave up.”

Lauren blinked back tears. “So what do I do?”

Granny smiled gently. “Watch who gives up on you first.”

***

Lauren stepped into her flagship store in Beverly Hills, trying her best to focus. The soft scent of perfume and polished marble filled the air, but her mind wasn’t there.

Pregnancy. Uncertainty. Ethan. Caleb. It was all too much.

Her secretary rushed toward her. “You have a client waiting in your office. She said you were expecting her.”

“I wasn’t,” Lauren muttered under her breath, already moving. She had no appointments scheduled. Probably someone looking for a rush order.

But when she opened the office door, her entire body froze.

Madeline Carter.

The last person she ever expected to see again.

Madeline sat confidently in the leather chair by the window, legs crossed, dressed in an expensive beige pantsuit. Her glossy red lipstick matched the smug curve of her smile.

Lauren’s heart skipped.

Memories crashed in fast.

Madeline Carter—the billionaire’s daughter from West High. The same girl who had made Lauren’s life miserable for four years. All because of Ethan.

Ethan had been West High’s golden boy. Star pitcher. Smart. Quiet. Handsome. Every girl wanted him. But he had chosen Lauren.

And that had driven Madeline crazy.

Lauren had never told Ethan what she endured in silence—how Madeline cornered her in bathrooms, spread rumors, made school feel like a battlefield. Lauren never wanted to risk Ethan’s scholarship by dragging him into it.

But now… after nearly ten years… Madeline Carter was back. Sitting in her office like she owned the place.

Lauren steadied herself. “Good day. You must be the client. I’m sorry for the wait.”

Madeline stood and stretched out her hand with a mocking smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Lauren Lancaster.”

Lauren’s spine straightened. “It’s Lauren Whitmore now.”

Madeline chuckled, a glint of sarcasm in her eyes. “For now, maybe. I heard you’re divorcing him. Guess we’re always meant to meet when you’re a Lancaster.”

Lauren didn’t react. “Why are you here?”

“You must’ve received the shareholder alert this week.”

Lauren blinked. The notification she had ignored three days ago. She had been too overwhelmed with her pregnancy to care.

She walked briskly to her desk and opened her laptop. Her eyes widened as she read the details.

Madeline Carter — new shareholder. Confirmed.

She looked up slowly, schooling her face. “So... it’s you.”

Madeline smiled, pleased with the reaction. “Business is business, Lauren. I’ve been following Lauren Fashion for a while. You’ve built something impressive.”

Lauren said nothing. Her chest tightened.

Madeline casually took a step forward. “Oh, and I’ve also invested in the Geneva Link Project.”

Lauren frowned. “What project?”

Madeline tilted her head. “You don’t know?” She laughed softly. “It’s the biggest tech and infrastructure competition in Europe right now. A one-year proposal. Ethan and his father are in on it—under a different name, of course. But I’ve done my homework.”

Lauren stared at her, confused. Ethan was working on something like that? She hadn’t known. He hadn’t told her.

“What exactly do you want, Madeline?”

Madeline turned to the window, her tone soft but sharp. “I came back to get what I didn’t fight hard enough for in West High. And this time, I’m not leaving without it.”

Lauren’s stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”

Madeline turned, her eyes meeting hers with a calm boldness. “Ethan Whitmore.”

Lauren clenched her fists.

Madeline smiled again, slower this time. “I heard you’re asking him for a divorce. I can help you with that... if you’re really ready to let go.”