Chapter 6 - The heiress's desperation
The revelation that the assassin was employed by Alexander’s own security firm sent a shockwave through the estate. The sanctuary was compromised from within. Alexander immediately ordered Marcus, the only security chief he trusted implicitly, to isolate the communications grid and detain the unconscious assassin in the estate's subterranean wine cellar for interrogation.
The sun rose over a household existing on the bleeding edge of paranoia. Alexander relocated Sofia to the most secure room in the mansion—his own master bedroom, a sprawling fortress of reinforced glass and steel doors. He refused to leave her side, transforming from a commanding CEO into an uncompromising, lethal protector.
Meanwhile, in a penthouse high above downtown Los Angeles, Victoria paced the floor like a caged panther. Her father, Richard Thorne, sat in a high-backed leather chair, his face a mask of ruthless calculation. Richard was a man who had built his real estate empire on the bones of his rivals, his eyes cold and predatory.
You handled this poorly, Victoria, Richard stated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. Wearing that necklace was an act of profound, arrogant stupidity. It was a trophy I kept to remind us of our victory over Eleanor Sterling. It was never meant to see the light of day.
I didn't know the locket opened! Victoria snapped, her glamorous blonde updo messy from lack of sleep. I just wanted to show Alexander that I owned his mother's legacy. But it doesn't matter now. He knows the maid is the lost sister. The assassin failed last night. Alexander is going to declare war.
Richard steepled his fingers, staring out at the city skyline. Let him declare war. He is a billionaire, but he is emotional. Emotions make men sloppy. We still have our operative inside his board of directors. We initiate the hostile takeover protocol today. If we strip his assets and freeze his corporate accounts under the guise of an SEC investigation, he won't have the resources to protect the girl or pursue the legal ramifications of her identity.
In Alexander's master bedroom, Sofia sat wrapped in a heavy cashmere blanket, staring blankly at the wall. The attack the previous night had shaken something loose in her mind. The adrenaline, the violence, the smell of cordite in the air—it was acting as a key, unlocking a door she had kept sealed for two decades.
Alexander sat beside her, holding a tablet displaying a vast array of corporate files and personnel dossiers. He was hunting for the mole on his board.
Sofia, Alexander said gently, noticing her distant stare. What are you remembering?
Sofia blinked, her enormous hazel eyes turning toward him. The fire, she whispered. I always dream about the fire. But last night, when that man broke in... I remembered what happened before the smoke.
Alexander set the tablet down, giving her his complete, undivided attention. Tell me.
I wasn't in the nursery with your mother, Sofia said, her voice trembling as the phantom memories crystallized into terrifying clarity. A man came into the house before the alarms went off. He was wearing a dark suit. He picked me up from my crib. My mother fought him... she fought him so hard, Alexander. But he pushed her. She hit her head on the fireplace. She wasn't moving.
Alexander’s jaw tightened so hard it looked carved from granite. The official report said his mother died of smoke inhalation, trapped in the room. It was a lie. It was murder.
The man who took me... he had a large, heavy gold ring on his right hand with a square red ruby, Sofia continued, tears spilling over her rosy cheeks. He carried me out to a car before the house went up in flames. He is the one who took me to the orphanage. He is the one who stole my life.
Alexander picked up the tablet. He rapidly swiped through the dossiers of his board members and the executives of Vanguard Holdings. He stopped on a high-resolution photograph taken at a charity gala five years ago. He zoomed in on the subject's right hand.
He turned the tablet to Sofia. Is this the ring?
May you like
Sofia stared at the screen. A brilliant, square-cut ruby set in heavy gold rested on the man's finger. She looked up at the man's face in the photo. It was Richard Thorne. Victoria's father.
Yes, Sofia gasped, shrinking back against the headboard. That’s him. He didn't let my mother burn by accident. He set the fire.
