The Billionaire Amongst Us

CHAPTER 4

After the ceremony, Uncle Hadrian stepped out to meet with his stepdaughter, Evelyn, the journalist who is digging into the fire incident that happened years ago.

According to her, she is cocksure the only surviving heir is alive and probably waiting for the right moment to revenge; maybe now, maybe later.

As he slithered into the family's library in the cover of the darkness, Evelyn was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for him, apprehensive and agitated, but still wearing the calm gaze she was known for.

“Have the guests retired?” she asked dryly.

“You asked to see me,” Uncle Hadrian ignored her, arms folded.

"Yes, my network has confirmed claims about the fire incident," she paused and continued. "It is true, the heir lives, but his whereabouts are unknown."

Uncle Hadrian faced her. “I know. But why is he still alive and breathing as we speak?"

Evelyn leaned against the frame, mouth agape. “Is that what this is about for you? A killing spree?”

Uncle Hadrian blew a temper.

“Shouldn’t It be? A whole family vanished except one.” Hadrian exhaled. “They were dangerous and powerful, yes, but dangerously proud. They refused peace when it was offered.”

He paused and studied her. “What happened to the boy?”

“The heir,” she continued. “There were whispers after the fire. Witnesses claimed someone fled the estate that night. Then… silence, no records, no sightings. It was like he disappeared into oblivion.”

“You want the truth?” Hadrian stepped closer. “The Dunes were powerful. Too powerful they threatened everything the Delanceys built. When alliances broke down, there were… decisions. Unfortunate ones.”

“Decisions?” Evelyn’s voice cracked. “You call wiping out an entire bloodline a decision?”

“Not all of them died,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught. "Sometimes I wonder why you and Lord Delancey's name hasn't the front page for these atrocities."

"We are a powerful family with connections from powerful men," He sneered sarcastically. "Should I remind you of why you're still standing as a Family Journalist?"

"What better way can I be used as a family pawn if not this." Her tone was very sarcastic and undemure.

“My dear daughter, you’re now deeper into this than you think,” he said. “And if you keep digging, you won’t just find secrets, you’ll wake monsters.”

Just then, the door creaked open Kairo stepped in, dressed in his faded houseboy uniform, holding a tray of fresh tea. He moved silently, head bowed, eyes downcast, but alert.

“Leave it on the table,” Hadrian said without looking at him.

Kairo obeyed, placing the tray down gently. Evelyn’s eyes flicked to him for a second longer than necessary; she could feel admiration and butterflies too. Gosh, only God knew what she saw in the houseboy that made her tummy dance.

“You’re wasting your breath,” Hadrian continued, not sparing Kairo a glance. “This house is haunted by stories, Evelyn, not heirs.”

Kairo, minding his business, poured the tea into a bigger jug.

“And yet the stories make you nervous,” Evelyn replied, her gaze fixed on Hadrian. “Especially now that someone is sniffing around the ashes.”

“You’re starting to sound like the fool there,” Hadrian said, motioning lazily at Kairo. “Always listening, never speaking. That blank stare… no ambition, no opinion. He could best pass as furniture waiting in a lonely shed to be disposed of."

Kairo’s jaw tightened just slightly, but his expression stayed unchanged. He was minding his business still. Only if they knew.

“He’s loyal,” Evelyn said coolly.

“Loyalty from the bottom of the ladder means nothing,” Hadrian muttered. “Servants are shadows. Replaceable.”

Kairo set the final cup down and turned to leave but Uncle Hadrian chuckled darkly. “Though if the heir looked like him, well, I’d feel sorry for the Dunes.”

Kairo paused just slightly at the door but didn’t turn around. If only he knew.

Then he exited, silent as smoke; and as the door shut behind him, Evelyn’s voice cut through the silence.

“You should choose your words more carefully.”

Hadrian sipped his drink.

“It is not the Dead I fear."

Evelyn could not understand what was wrong with this man. Uncle Hadrian could be extreme most times, and usually so, judging from the number of times she had to dissuade him from a decision his mind was made up on.

“I admire your intelligence, Evelyn. Much smarter than these painted dolls running around this estate pretending to be royalty. That’s why I need you to focus....

..focus on Lord Harrison. That young man is power-wrapped in a tailored suit. If he marries Celeste, the DeLanceys will gain too much influence and money, which they’ll become untouchable.”

“You sound like it’s not your family too,” she said coolly.

Hadrian scoffed. “My brother and that furniture wife of his have never treated me like family. I’m tolerated, not trusted. But you, Evelyn, are my daughter and you could be so much more than a pawn in this family’s drama.”

She crossed her arms. “You want me to seduce him.”

Hadrian smirked.

“Seduce is an ugly word. Let’s say… charm him. Make him look your way instead of Celeste’s. Once his heart leans toward you, the engagement weakens, and with it, their empire. We keep Lord Harrison close but under our thumb.”

Evelyn’s gaze darkened. “That’s manipulative, dangerous. And besides, I don't fancy him enough”

"And who do you fancy? That good-for-nothing of a houseboy?” She stiffened.

Hadrian’s tone dropped, cold and knowing. “Evelyn, of all the people your heart chooses to love, it is a lowly, poverty-stricken, ambitiousless houseboy. He’s a servant, Evelyn. He brings tea and disappears into shadows; he’s not a story worth following.”

Evelyn stood. “And what if he is?”

“Then he’s a threat,” Hadrian said flatly. “And you know what I do with threats?"

They stared at each other in silence, the tension between blood and ambition stretched taut.

Hadrian turned toward the door.

“Charm Lord Harrison. We need that wealth and power which I can't trust my brother with.” Then he was gone into the darkness.

Evelyn stood alone in the room, heart pounding, not for power, but for the quiet unreadable figure who had just minutes ago cleared their teacups and melted into the silence like smoke.