Chapter 9

{Hailey’s POV}

“We can’t stay here, Kiara. This family is two seconds from drawing blood over a will. We need to go before I break a vase over Julian’s head.”

She didn’t ask questions. Ride-or-die, that’s my girl.

“I’m coming with you,” a deep voice said. I turned. Williams Brown stood next to the front door. I hadn’t heard him open.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I told him. “I just need to get out of here, breathe air that isn’t soaked in generational entitlement and repressed murder fantasies.”

“You’ll need security for the rest of your life.” He was so matter-of-fact, I couldn’t even begin to argue. “But look on the bright side.…” He nodded to the car that had picked us up at the airport. “I also drive.”

I asked Williams to take us to a motel. Instead, he drove us to the fanciest hotel I’d ever seen, and he must have taken the scenic route, because Clara Smith was waiting for us in the lobby.

“I’ve had a chance to read the will in full.” That was her version of hello.

“I brought a copy for you. Suggest we retire to your rooms and go over the details.”

“Our rooms?” I repeated. The doormen were wearing tuxedos. There were six chandeliers in the lobby. Nearby, a woman was playing a five-foot-tall harp.

“We can’t afford rooms here,” I added flatly

Clara gave me an almost pitying look. “Oh, honey,” she said, then recovered her professionalism. “You own this hotel.”

I… what? Kaira and I were getting “Who let the rabble in?” looks from other patrons just standing in the lobby. I could not possibly own this hotel.

I… had no words. Somewhere between “broke backup dancer” and “accidental heiress,” my brain had skipped off the rails and was now playing dead in a corner.

“Besides,” Clara added, “in the state of New York, if an heir dies while a will is in probate, the inheritance doesn’t revert to the original estate… it becomes part of the heir’s estate.”

I have an estate? I muttered. “Gross”

“And if I refuse to move in with them?” I asked again, a giant ball in my throat.

“She’s not going to refuse.” Kaira shot laser eyes in my direction.

“If you fail to move into Lachlan House in three days,” Clara told me, “your portion of the estate will be dispersed to charity.”

“Not to George's family?” I asked.

“No.” Clara’s neutral mask slipped slightly. I studied her face. She’d known the family for years. She works for me now. Allegedly. But was she happy about that?

“Your father drafted the will, right?”

“In consultation with the other partners,” she replied tightly.

“Did he ever tell you why?” I demanded. “Why did George do this? Why me?”

Clara’s expression cracked, just a little. “I don’t think he knows.”

She looked at me. Hard. Too hard.

“Do you?”

I didn't answer. Instead, I looked down at the letter in my lap. George Lachlan had left me an explanation, but in the hours since the will was read, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to open the envelope. I was alone, sitting in the dark on the balcony of the penthouse suite of a hotel that I owned, wearing a plush, floor-length robe that probably cost more than my phone, and I was frozen.

I looked down at the envelope, at my name in calligraphy on the front. I swallowed.

George Lachlan had left me a letter. And I hadn’t opened it.

“I can’t,” I mumbled. “Not yet.”

Kiara gave me a side-eye. “Girl, if you don’t open that letter right now…”

“That’s the last thing I want to open.” I snorted.

Back in the suite, I found Williams positioned at the door.

“Who is it?” I asked him.

“Julian Lachlan,” Williams replied.

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw next Tuesday. “If he’s here to strangle me with a cravat, tell him to get in line.”

“I can send him away.” I hesitated. I should say no. I wanted to say no. But I didn’t. What was I doing? It was late, and I doubted American royalty took kindly to being dethroned. But there was something about the way Julian had looked at me, from the first time we’d met.

“Open the door.”

Williams did.

Julian walked in like he hadn’t just lost an empire. His eyes were icy, his tie loose, his hair a mess. Honestly? He looked like heartbreak in a suit.

“It didn’t even take twenty-four hours to figure out the property portfolio,” he said, smirking.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I told him, pulling my robe tighter around me.

“I’ve spent the past hour telling myself much the same thing, and yet, here I am.” I didn’t care how tired or beautiful or broken he looked. I wasn’t about to play the role of therapist to a dethroned prince.

“Julian, you need to…”

“I don’t know how you did this.” He cut me off, his voice dangerous and soft. “I don’t know what hold you had over my grandfather, or what kind of con you’re running here.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m talking right now, Ms. Vale.”

Oh, hell no.

He placed his hand flat on the door. I’d been wrong about his eyes. They weren’t pools. They were ice. “Whatever con you’re playing, whatever dirt you have—I’ll find it. I see you. I know exactly what you are. And when I find out how deep this goes? You’ll wish you’d stayed broke.”

I didn’t wait for Williams.

I shoved the door shut so hard it rattled the hinges. My heart was going nuts in my chest, but I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

I slumped against the door, still clutching the envelope. The letter. From the man who started all of this.

Finally, I ripped it open and pulled out the card. Only two words stared back at me, written in deliberate, looping ink:

Dearest Hailey,

I’m sorry.

—G.J.L

That’s it? You leave me the kingdom and a war—and that’s it?

I crumpled the paper, pressed it to my forehead, and laughed bitterly.

The dead man had just set my life on fire, and all he gave me was “I’m sorry.”