The Billionaire’s Vengeful Bride

BLACKWELL TOWER

By eight the following morning, Sereia was already standing in front of her wardrobe trying to decide what kind of woman walked into a billionaire's office and demanded answers about a disappearance that had happened seven years ago. She rejected the first three outfits because they made her look too formal, the fourth because it made her look as though she had spent an hour trying too hard, and finally settled on a simple cream blouse beneath a tailored black jacket. She tied her hair back, slipped her father's photograph into the inner pocket of her handbag and stared at herself in the mirror for several seconds. She looked composed. Calm, even. It was almost convincing.

Her phone sat on the dressing table. No new messages had arrived since the previous night, but the absence of another warning did nothing to make her feel safer. Whoever had contacted her knew about her investigation. They knew about the photograph. Most unsettling of all, they knew exactly where she needed to go. Sereia had spent years searching for information in private, convinced that whoever had been responsible for her father's disappearance would never realize how close she was getting. Now she wondered whether that belief had been nothing more than wishful thinking.

She picked up her phone and called Nadia.

“You're actually going?”

Sereia smiled faintly. “Good morning to you too.”

“I've been awake since six because I knew you were going to do something reckless.”

“Going to an office isn't reckless.”

“Going to Blackwell Tower to question Lucien Blackwell about your father's disappearance is reckless.”

Sereia walked toward the door, checking that she had her keys. “I'm not questioning him.”

“You're absolutely questioning him.”

“I'll ask a few questions.”

“That is the same thing.”

Sereia laughed quietly. “I'll call you when I get there.”

“No. Call me before you go inside.”

“Why?”

“Because if you disappear into the billionaire's fortress, I want at least one person knowing where you are.”

Sereia paused.

The joke had disappeared from Nadia's voice.

“I'll call you,” she promised.

She ended the call and looked once more at the photograph hidden inside her bag. Her father's face stared back at her from seven years ago, young enough to still look untouched by the scandal that would destroy everything around him. Beside him stood Victor Blackwell, smiling with one hand resting casually on Elias's shoulder.

Sereia had studied that photograph so many times that she knew every detail.

Today, she intended to find out why it had suddenly become important.

Blackwell Tower rose above the surrounding buildings like it had been designed to remind the city who owned it. Its enormous glass walls reflected the morning sun, while security stood at the entrance with the kind of quiet alertness that suggested nobody simply walked inside without permission. Sereia stepped out of the car and immediately felt the weight of the decision she had made the night before.

She could still turn around.

She didn't.

Inside, the lobby was almost unnervingly quiet. Everything was polished stone, dark wood and glass. Employees moved through the building with purpose, speaking softly as they passed. Sereia approached the reception desk and gave her name.

The receptionist looked at the screen in front of her, then back at Sereia.

“Ms. Laurent?”

“Yes.”

There was a brief pause.

“Mr. Blackwell is expecting you.”

Sereia's stomach tightened.

She hadn't told anyone she was coming.

“How did he know?”

The receptionist's expression remained professional. “I wasn't informed.”

Sereia stared at her for a moment before following the assistant who appeared a few seconds later.

That was the first thing that bothered her.

The second was the fact that nobody had asked why she was there.

The elevator carried her toward the top floor in silence. As the numbers climbed, Sereia watched her reflection in the mirrored doors. She looked calm again.

She wasn't.

When the elevator finally opened, the assistant led her through a corridor lined with enormous windows.

“Mr. Blackwell is waiting.”

The office door opened.

Lucien stood beside the windows with his back toward her, one hand resting in his trouser pocket. He turned when he heard the door close.

For a moment, neither spoke.

In daylight, he looked different from the man she had seen at the gala. There was nothing charming or welcoming about his expression. His face was controlled, his eyes sharp, and there was something about the stillness of his posture that made Sereia immediately aware of the difference in their positions. This was his world. His building. His rules.

“You came,” he said.

Sereia's eyebrows lifted. “You knew I would.”

Lucien studied her. “I had a feeling.”

“That's convenient.”

A faint change crossed his expression, almost a smile but not quite. “You don't seem like someone who enjoys wasting time.”

“I don't.”

“Then sit.”

Sereia remained standing.

Lucien's gaze moved briefly toward the chair before returning to her. “You're angry.”

“My father disappeared.”

“I know.”

“You knew him.”

“Yes.”

“And your family did business with him.”

“Yes.”

“And you expected me to walk in here and sit quietly?”

“No.”

The answer caught her off guard.

Lucien moved toward his desk and picked up a folder. “I expected you to come here with questions.”

Sereia watched him carefully. “Then let's start.”

He placed the folder on the desk.

“Seven years ago, your father was preparing to expose someone.”

Sereia's heartbeat changed.

“Who?”

Lucien didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he looked at her as though measuring how much truth she could handle.

“That depends on what you already know.”

Sereia reached into her bag and pulled out the photograph.

“I know this was taken three months before he disappeared.”

Lucien's expression changed.

Only slightly.

But she noticed.

“You recognize it.”

“I recognize the people in it.”

“My father and Victor Blackwell.”

“Yes.”

“What were they discussing?”

Lucien's eyes remained on the photograph. “Something that was never supposed to become public.”

Sereia stepped closer to the desk. “What?”

Lucien finally looked at her.

“Your father wasn't running from the company scandal.”

The room seemed to become completely silent.

Sereia stared at him.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying the story you were given was incomplete.”

Her fingers tightened around the photograph. “Then tell me the real story.”

Lucien's expression hardened.

“Your father discovered that someone inside his company had been moving money through a series of accounts that didn't officially exist. When he tried to trace where the money was going, he discovered that the accounts were connected to people far more powerful than anyone in his company.”

“Who?”

“That is what he was trying to find out.”

Sereia shook her head slowly. “And my father disappeared because of it?”

“I didn't say that.”

“But you think it.”

Lucien didn't answer.

She stepped closer.

“Do you know where he is?”

“No.”

“Do you know if he's alive?”

Lucien's jaw tightened.

“No.”

The answer should have disappointed her.

Instead, it frightened her more.

Because he hadn't said it like someone guessing.

He had said it like someone who knew exactly how dangerous the question was.

Sereia looked down at the photograph again.

“Then why did someone send me here?”

Lucien's eyes narrowed.

“What message?”

She immediately regretted asking.

For the first time since entering the office, Lucien's controlled expression broke.

“Who sent you?”

Sereia studied him.

“You don't know.”

“No.”

“Then why do you look worried?”

“I don't.”

“You do.”

Lucien walked around the desk, stopping several feet away from her. “Sereia, if someone contacted you and directed you here, you need to understand something. They may not be trying to help you.”

“Maybe they aren't.”

“Then why come?”

She looked directly into his eyes.

“Because I'm tired of being afraid of people who know more about my family than I do.”

For a moment, something unreadable passed through Lucien's expression.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

His face changed.

“Stay here.”

Sereia frowned. “Why?”

Lucien didn't answer. He walked toward the window and answered the call in a low voice.

She couldn't hear the conversation clearly, but she caught fragments.

“…not possible.”

A pause.

“When?”

Another pause.

“Are you certain?”

Lucien ended the call and remained facing the window.

Sereia watched him carefully.

“What happened?”

He turned around.

For the first time, she saw something she hadn't expected to see in him.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For her.

“Your father's file is missing,” he said.

Sereia's breath caught.

“What file?”

“The original file.”

“Where was it?”

“In a secure Blackwell archive.”

She stared at him.

“Who took it?”

Lucien's expression became unreadable again.

“We don't know.”

Sereia slowly lowered the photograph.

Then her phone vibrated.

Both of them looked toward her handbag.

She pulled it out.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

A new message appeared.

You shouldn't have trusted him.

Sereia's eyes lifted toward Lucien.

Before she could say anything, another message arrived.

Now ask him what happened the night your father disappeared.

Lucien saw the words on her screen.

His face went completely still.

And Sereia realized, with a sudden chill, that whatever had happened seven years ago was something Lucien Blackwell had been trying very hard to keep buried.