Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The doorknob moved again.

“Evelyn?”

I backed away.

Every instinct told me to answer.

Someone was standing ten feet away, saying my name in a perfectly normal voice.

That was exactly why I didn’t.

“Lucian,” I whispered.

“I’m here.”

The calm had returned to his voice.

Almost.

“Who is outside my door?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

A pause.

“I don’t know who’s physically outside your door.”

My stomach twisted.

“That’s a very specific distinction.”

“I know.”

The man knocked.

Three soft taps.

“Miss Bennett?”

Different now.

Formal.

Maybe staff.

Maybe security.

Maybe I was standing in the middle of a billionaire’s mansion clutching a seven-year-old photograph and having a nervous breakdown over someone bringing me towels.

“Ask him his name,” Lucian said.

I swallowed.

“Who is it?”

“Thomas, miss.”

I looked toward the phone.

As if Lucian could somehow see my expression.

“Do you have a Thomas?”

“No.”

The answer was immediate.

My blood went cold.

The handle moved again.

“Miss Bennett, Mrs. Ellis asked me to check whether you needed assistance with your luggage.”

Margaret.

Maybe—

“She didn’t.”

Lucian’s voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear him.

“How do you know?”

“Because Margaret knows never to send male staff into the private wing without permission.”

I stared at the door.

Private wing.

Of course he had a private wing.

I would make fun of that later.

Assuming there was a later.

“Get into the bathroom.”

“What?”

“Now.”

The voice outside came again.

“Miss Bennett?”

I moved.

The bathroom was through a doorway beside the closet.

Marble.

Glass shower.

Bathtub large enough to qualify as a swimming pool.

No lock.

Of course.

“There’s no lock.”

“I know.”

“That’s extremely helpful.”

“Close the door.”

I did.

“Now what?”

“Stay there.”

“Lucian—”

“Security is coming.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“You sent security?”

“I sent everyone.”

Something slammed in the bedroom.

I jumped.

“What was that?”

Lucian didn’t answer.

The sound came again.

Harder.

The bedroom door.

Someone was hitting it.

“Lucian.”

“I hear it.”

Another impact.

The frame rattled.

I looked around the bathroom for anything I could use as a weapon.

Soap.

Towels.

A hair dryer.

Excellent.

I was going to die in a marble bathroom holding a Dyson.

“Find something you can use to defend yourself.”

“I’m looking.”

“There’s a drawer beneath the sink on the left.”

I yanked it open.

Inside were neatly folded towels.

“Unless you want me to suffocate him with Egyptian cotton, this isn’t helping.”

“The other left.”

I stared at the cabinets.

“Are you serious?”

“Evelyn.”

I opened the opposite drawer.

My hand froze.

A gun sat inside.

Black.

Compact.

Very real.

I stared at it.

“Lucian.”

“Take it.”

“No.”

“Take the gun.”

“I don’t know how to use a gun.”

“You don’t need to unless he gets through the bathroom door.”

“That is not reassuring.”

The bedroom door slammed again.

Wood cracked.

I grabbed the gun.

It was heavier than I expected.

“Do not put your finger on the trigger.”

“It’s not.”

“Keep the barrel pointed toward the floor.”

“Okay.”

“Safety is on the left side.”

I found it.

My hands were shaking badly now.

“I thought you said this house was secure.”

“I never said that.”

“You’re a billionaire with armed security.”

“Security systems fail.”

“Apparently.”

Silence.

Then another crack.

Closer.

The bedroom door had opened.

I stopped breathing.

Footsteps.

Inside the room.

Lucian heard them.

“Get behind the tub.”

I moved.

The bathtub sat against the far wall.

I crouched behind it, feeling ridiculous and terrified at the same time.

The photograph was still in my other hand.

I hadn’t even realized I’d brought it with me.

Twenty-one-year-old me smiled up from the glossy paper.

Lucian stood behind her.

Watching.

Seven years ago.

“What does he want?” I whispered.

Lucian didn’t answer.

“What does he want from me?”

“Not now.”

“You know who this is.”

“I have a suspicion.”

“Who?”

The bathroom door opened.

I raised the gun.

Every thought disappeared.

A man stood in the doorway.

Tall.

Dark suit.

Dark hair.

Maybe forty.

He looked at me.

Then at the gun.

And smiled.

“Easy.”

“Don’t move.”

My voice shook.

I hated that it shook.

He lifted his hands.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s generally what people say right before they hurt someone.”

His smile widened.

There was something familiar about his face.

I couldn’t place it.

“Smart girl.”

Lucian’s voice exploded through the phone.

“Evelyn, get away from him.”

The man’s eyes dropped to the phone.

His expression changed.

“Is that Lucian?”

I didn’t answer.

He laughed softly.

“Of course it is.”

“Who are you?”

He looked at me again.

Those eyes.

Gray.

My stomach dropped.

Not the same shade exactly.

But close enough.

“Ask him his name,” Lucian said.

The man heard him.

He stepped forward.

I raised the gun higher.

“Don’t.”

He stopped.

“Good.”

He sounded almost impressed.

“Who are you?”

He tilted his head.

Then looked directly at the phone in my hand.

“Your brother still doesn’t tell you anything, does he?”

My heart stopped.

Brother.

Lucian said something.

I didn’t hear it.

Because I was staring at the stranger.

“Your brother?”

The man smiled.

“Interesting.”

“Answer me.”

“Which question?”

“Who are you?”

His gaze moved over my face.

Slowly.

Not sexually.

Recognition.

That was worse.

Like he had seen me before.

Like he knew me.

“My name is Thomas.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yes.”

At least the Vale family apparently shared one trait.

My grip tightened around the gun.

“Then tell me your real name.”

Before he could answer, footsteps thundered through the bedroom.

The man’s expression changed.

He looked toward the door.

Then back at me.

“Looks like we’re out of time.”

He reached inside his jacket.

“Don’t!”

I clicked the safety off.

He stopped.

For the first time, the smile disappeared.

“Careful, Evelyn.”

“Take your hand out.”

He did.

Slowly.

Empty.

Then security flooded the room.

Daniel appeared first.

Gun raised.

“Hands where I can see them!”

Two more men followed.

The stranger didn’t resist.

That surprised me more than anything.

Daniel grabbed him, shoved him against the wall and pulled his arms behind his back.

The man laughed.

Actually laughed.

“Daniel.”

Daniel went still.

“You remember me.”

His face changed.

I saw it.

Recognition.

Shock.

Fear.

“Jesus Christ.”

The stranger smiled against the marble.

“Hello, Danny.”

Daniel looked at me.

“Miss Bennett, get out of here.”

“Who is he?”

“Now.”

“Who is he?”

The stranger answered for him.

“Ask your fiancé.”

My phone was still connected.

I looked down at it.

“Lucian.”

Silence.

“Who is he?”

Another silence.

Then—

“My brother.”

I looked at the man pinned against the wall.

“Your brother.”

“Yes.”

“You have a brother?”

The man laughed again.

“Had.”

Daniel tightened his grip.

“Shut up.”

“What does that mean?”

Lucian exhaled through the phone.

“Evelyn, listen to Daniel. Leave the room.”

“No.”

“Please.”

The word stopped me.

Lucian Vale did not seem like a man who said please.

Especially not like that.

The stranger heard it too.

His smile disappeared.

Something passed across his face.

Anger.

“Still protecting her.”

My skin prickled.

“Protecting me from what?”

He looked directly at me.

“From the truth.”

Daniel pulled him toward the bedroom.

The man twisted enough to look back.

“Check the date on the photograph, Evelyn.”

Then he was gone.

I stared after him.

The photograph.

My hands shook as I turned it over.

The message was still there.

HE FOUND HER AGAIN.

But beneath the writing, near the bottom edge, was a printed date.

October 17.

Seven years ago.

My stomach tightened.

I knew that date.

Everyone in my family knew that date.

I lifted the phone.

“Lucian.”

“I’m here.”

“That photograph was taken the day my father died.”

Nothing.

Not even breathing.

The silence told me everything.

“You knew.”

“Evelyn—”

“You knew.”

“I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

Another pause.

“Not over the phone.”

I laughed.

It sounded broken.

“Stop saying that.”

“I’ll be there in twelve minutes.”

“Lucian, your supposedly dead brother just broke into my bedroom. You have a photograph of me taken on the day my father died, and apparently you’ve known who I am for seven years.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me one thing.”

“What?”

I looked down at the photograph again.

At younger me.

At Lucian behind me.

At the scarf around my neck.

“Did you know my father?”

Silence.

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

“Yes.”

My throat tightened.

“How?”

Lucian didn’t answer immediately.

When he finally did, his voice was almost unrecognizable.

“Your father worked for mine.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“No.”

“He did.”

“My father was an accountant.”

“I know.”

“He worked for an insurance company.”

“No, Evelyn.”

I sat on the edge of the bathtub.

“What do you mean, no?”

“That’s what he told your family.”

Cold spread through my chest.

I remembered my father leaving for work.

His briefcase.

His ties.

The office Christmas parties.

Everything I’d believed about him.

“What did he actually do?”

Lucian inhaled.

“He handled my father’s private accounts.”

“For Vale Holdings?”

“No.”

I didn’t like the way he said it.

“Then for what?”

Another pause.

“For things Vale Holdings couldn’t be associated with.”

My stomach turned.

“What things?”

“I’ll explain when I get there.”

I almost screamed.

“Stop protecting me from information about my own family!”

“I’m not protecting you from the information.”

“Then what are you protecting me from?”

His answer came quietly.

“My brother.”

I looked toward the bedroom.

Security voices carried through the hallway.

“And why does your brother care about me?”

Lucian was silent.

“Lucian.”

“Because your father stole something from ours.”

“What?”

“We don’t know.”

“Money?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Evidence.”

My heart started pounding again.

“Evidence of what?”

“Enough to destroy my father.”

I stood.

“My father died seven years ago.”

“I know.”

“On the same day that photograph was taken.”

“Yes.”

“Was that an accident?”

Silence.

Longer this time.

My knees weakened.

“Lucian.”

“I’m almost there.”

“Was my father’s death an accident?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

I covered my mouth.

“No.”

“Evelyn—”

“No.”

I backed against the vanity.

“My father died when his car went through a guardrail.”

“I know.”

“The police said he fell asleep.”

“I know.”

“You knew that wasn’t true?”

“I suspected.”

“For seven years?”

“Yes.”

Tears burned behind my eyes.

I hated them.

I hated him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t prove it.”

“You could have told me someone might have murdered my father!”

“And put you in danger before I understood why?”

“I’m already in danger!”

“I know.”

His voice cracked.

Barely.

But I heard it.

Then another thought hit me.

The house.

My mother’s house.

The mortgage.

The contract.

All of it.

“You knew Adrian was looking for something my father took.”

Lucian went silent.

“And you think it’s at my mother’s house.”

“Evelyn—”

“Oh my God.”

I pressed my hand against my forehead.

“That’s why you paid the mortgage.”

“No.”

“That’s why you chose me.”

“No.”

“That’s why you married me.”

“No.”

His voice sharpened.

“Then why?”

Silence.

I waited.

For once, Lucian Vale didn’t seem to have an answer prepared.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“Because Adrian found you again.”

I looked at the photograph.

HE FOUND HER AGAIN.

“And?”

“And the last time my brother became interested in a Bennett…”

Lucian stopped.

My chest tightened.

“The last time what?”

His answer was barely above a whisper.

“Your father died.”

The bedroom went silent.

Then I heard commotion downstairs.

Doors opening.

Men shouting.

Lucian had arrived.

But another voice came through the hallway.

Adrian.

Loud enough for me to hear.

“Ask him, Evelyn!”

Security tried to silence him.

He shouted again.

“Ask Lucian where he was the night your father died!”

My blood froze.

The front doors slammed somewhere below.

Then Adrian laughed.

“Go ahead!”

Footsteps thundered up the stairs.

Heavy.

Fast.

Coming toward me.

“ASK HIM WHO WAS DRIVING THE OTHER CAR.”

I stared at the bedroom doorway.

Lucian appeared.

Black suit.

Rain on his shoulders.

Eyes locked on mine.

For the first time since I’d met him, he looked afraid to come any closer.

I slowly lowered the phone.

“Who was driving the other car?”

Lucian stopped.

And the look on his face told me I wasn’t going to like the answer.