All Chapters of Revenge Of The Secret Heiress : Chapter 191 - Chapter 198

Christopher found out on a Tuesday, from a dry cleaner.Not literally. But nearly. Carlos, who knew about the PI because Carlos knew about everything, had let it slip to Ravi as a security matter — "keep an eye near the dry cleaner's, the young mistress has a private arrangement there" — and Ravi, who took his job with monastic seriousness, had flagged it in his daily log. And Christopher, who was a lot of things but not stupid, had read the log line and put it together with three weeks of "work files" and a wife-shaped hole in the no more secrets deal, and by the time Anika got home that evening, he was sitting on the couch in the connecting hallway with the log on his phone and his face wiped of all its humor."Margaret Kessler," he said. No hello. "Private investigator. Retainer paid from your personal account, not the company's. Meetings at a dry cleaner's on Ninth, nine days ago and again this afternoon." He looked up. "The fire. You're investigating the fire. Behind my back. Aga

Carlos came over at midnight.Not the usual midnight visit, with the grocery bags and the pretend errand. This one, he came through the connecting hallway in his coat, still buttoned, and when Anika said the name — Shawn — the change that came over his face was something she'd only seen once before.The last time, he'd been standing in a burned-down garden."Say it again," Carlos said quietly."Shawn. He said to ask you about Shawn."Carlos sat down on the terrace chair, slowly, like a man whose knees had been consulted. For a moment he looked every one of his seventy years, and then some, and then a few more on top of that."Shawn Delacroix," he said. "Of course. Of course it would be Shawn." He pressed his hands together in front of his mouth. "Young mistress, how much do you know of your family's... wider branches?""Almost nothing. My memory's a burned photo album, Carlos. You know that. I know my parents. I know the house. I know the nickname — he knew the nickname.""He would,"

He did it properly. That was the thing that undid her.Three days after the awkward breakfast, on a Thursday, a delivery arrived at Delacroix Corp at exactly 4:00 p.m. Not to the tower — the courier instructions were very firm about that. It was one envelope, cream-colored, hand-delivered, addressed in actual ink: Ms. Anika Delacroix, personal.Inside was a single card, and the card was — Anika read it three times to be sure — an actual, formal, old-fashioned invitation.Ms. Anika Delacroix is cordially invited to dinner with Mr. Christopher Shall. Friday, 8 p.m. One table, one evening, one question asked properly and answered properly. Dress: whatever makes her happy. Venue: a surprise, but there will be no board members present.At the bottom, in his terrible handwriting, he'd added a line that wasn't part of the formal part: "You've had the broken version of me for two years. I'd like one evening to show you the whole one. — C"Anika sat with the card for a long time, at the end of

He shouldn't have come to the gala rehearsal. That was Shawn's first mistake.The Delacroix estate's rebuilt wing was hosting a run-through for the board evening — lighting, seating, sound — and half the elite of the city had found excuses to be there anyway, because the Delacroix name was the hottest ticket in town and everyone wanted a look at the secret heiress in her natural habitat. It was, in other words, a room full of exactly the people Anika had spent a year learning to manage.And into that room, uninvited, in full silver-fox glory, walked Shawn Delacroix.The murmur was immediate. Everyone knew the name; half the older guests knew the face. He worked the room like a key in a lock — charm, warmth, the old-world manners that made older women flutter — and made his way toward Anika with the unhurried confidence of a man who knew he'd been the subject of the evening's planning either way."You didn't RSVP," Anika said quietly."I never RSVP. It keeps people honest about whether