THE BILLIONAIRE'S GAMBLE

The Rules

I stared at Adrian.

He stared back.

Neither of us spoke.

The words he'd just said kept repeating in my head.

They found his car.

In Adrian's family's private garage.

It didn't make sense.

My father had died eleven years ago.

I'd seen his body.

I'd attended his funeral.

I'd watched them lower his coffin into the ground.

So how could his car be sitting inside a private garage belonging to the Blackwood family?

"You're lying."

The words came out before I could stop them.

Adrian didn't react.

"I wouldn't joke about something like this."

"Then explain it."

"I'm trying."

"No. You're not."

I stepped closer.

"You've been doing this since I got here. You keep giving me half answers and expecting me to accept them."

"I told you what I know."

"You told me my father saved your life. Then you told me he disappeared. Now you're telling me they found his car in your family's garage."

"Yes."

"That's not an explanation."

"I know."

I laughed bitterly.

"This is insane."

Adrian walked toward the window.

"The car was discovered tonight during an inventory check."

"An inventory check?"

"Some old vehicles were being moved to another property."

"And someone suddenly noticed my father's car?"

"Yes."

"After eleven years?"

"Yes."

I shook my head.

"How do you even know it's his?"

"The registration."

He turned around.

"Your father's initials are still on the paperwork."

I felt a strange pressure in my chest.

"Can I see it?"

"Not tonight."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"Because the garage is being secured."

"Secured?"

"There are police officers there."

That made me pause.

"Police?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Adrian didn't answer.

And somehow, his silence frightened me more than the answer would have.

I picked up my handbag.

"I'm going there."

"No."

I stopped.

"What?"

"You're not going."

"That's my father's car."

"And that's exactly why you're staying away."

"You don't get to decide that."

Adrian walked toward me.

"I do when your safety is involved."

I scoffed.

"You've known me for two days."

"Long enough."

"That's not how this works."

"No," he said quietly. "It isn't."

His eyes held mine.

"You signed the contract."

I froze.

"You can't use that against me."

"I'm not."

"Then stop ordering me around."

His jaw tightened.

"Fine."

He stepped aside.

"Go."

I blinked.

"Really?"

"Yes."

He reached for his phone.

"I'll have someone drive you."

"You're coming?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because someone needs to stay here."

I frowned.

"Stay here and do what?"

"Find out who knew that car was there."

I didn't like the answer.

But I didn't have time to argue.

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a black SUV, watching the city disappear behind me.

I couldn't stop thinking about my father.

There were so many things I remembered about him.

His terrible singing.

The way he used to burn pancakes every Sunday and pretend it was intentional.

The little wooden box he kept locked in his bedroom.

And one strange thing.

A few months before his death, he'd become paranoid.

He started checking the windows at night.

He stopped taking calls in front of me.

Once, I'd asked him what was wrong.

He'd smiled and told me adults had problems children didn't need to understand.

I was thirteen.

I believed him.

Now I wasn't so sure.

The SUV finally stopped outside a large building surrounded by security vehicles.

I stepped out.

A police officer immediately approached.

"Miss Carter?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Blackwood said you might come."

"Where's the car?"

He hesitated.

"Inside."

I followed him.

The garage was enormous.

Several expensive vehicles were parked under bright white lights.

But at the far end stood an old silver sedan.

The moment I saw it, my legs nearly gave out.

I knew that car.

I'd sat in the back seat countless times.

My father had driven it when he took me to school.

I'd even scratched the passenger door when I was nine.

There was still a tiny mark near the handle.

I walked toward it slowly.

"That's his car."

The officer nodded.

"Are you certain?"

I touched the hood.

My fingers trembled.

"Yes."

Then I noticed something.

The car wasn't dusty.

It wasn't covered in dirt from years of storage.

It looked clean.

Recently cleaned.

I turned toward the officer.

"How long has it been here?"

"We don't know."

"Who owns this garage?"

"The Blackwood family."

"Who has access?"

"Several people."

"Names?"

He hesitated.

"That's confidential."

I turned away.

Of course.

Everything was confidential.

I walked around the car.

Then I noticed something underneath the windshield.

A small piece of paper.

I reached for it.

"Maya!"

The officer grabbed my wrist.

"Don't touch that."

I pulled my hand away.

"Why?"

"We don't know what it is."

I stared at the paper.

There was handwriting on it.

I couldn't read all of it from where I stood.

But I could make out three words.

"Don't trust Adrian."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

"What..."

The officer moved toward the car.

"Nobody touch anything."

I couldn't take my eyes off the note.

Who had written it?

And why was it inside my father's car?

More importantly...

How did they know I'd come looking?

By the time I returned to the mansion, it was almost midnight.

Adrian was waiting in the living room.

He looked up when I entered.

"What did you find?"

I dropped my handbag onto the sofa.

"You already know."

His eyes narrowed.

"Know what?"

"My father's car."

"I know about the car."

"There was a note."

Adrian became completely still.

"What note?"

I studied his face.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you look scared?"

"I'm not scared."

"You are."

He said nothing.

I pulled the piece of paper I'd been given by the police from my pocket.

I'd asked them to photograph it before they took it away.

I held my phone toward him.

His expression changed the moment he saw the picture.

"What does it say?"

I watched him.

"Don't trust Adrian."

Silence.

Adrian looked away.

For a few seconds, he seemed lost in thought.

Then he said something that made my blood run cold.

"That handwriting..."

"What?"

"I've seen it before."

"Where?"

He looked at me.

"Your father's old office."

My mouth went dry.

"You knew my father was still investigating something."

"Yes."

"And you never told me?"

"I didn't know if it was safe."

I laughed.

"Safe?"

"Maya—"

"No."

I stepped back.

"You don't get to keep secrets from me anymore."

His expression hardened.

"You're right."

I wasn't expecting that.

He walked toward me.

"From now on, you need to know exactly what you're agreeing to."

He picked up a folder.

"These are the rules of this arrangement."

"I've already read them."

"Those were the simple rules."

He opened the folder.

"This is different."

I looked down.

There were several pages.

"Rule one," Adrian said. "You don't leave this house alone."

I frowned.

"What?"

"Until we know who left that note."

"Absolutely not."

"Rule two. You don't speak to the media without me."

"Fine."

"Rule three. You don't investigate your father's past without telling me."

I looked at him.

"That's not happening."

"Maya."

"I'm not sitting around while you investigate my father's life."

"You don't understand what's happening."

"Then explain it."

His silence answered me.

I shook my head.

"Exactly."

I turned toward the stairs.

"Maya."

I stopped.

"You'll be staying in my bedroom."

I spun around.

"What?"

"The guest rooms are being renovated."

"Then I'll stay somewhere else."

"There is nowhere else."

"You have a mansion."

"And you're my girlfriend."

I stared at him.

"So?"

"So the public can't see you sleeping in a guest room."

I folded my arms.

"This is ridiculous."

"Welcome to my life."

He walked past me.

"Your things will be brought upstairs."

"Wait."

He stopped.

"You expect me to sleep in your room?"

"Yes."

"With you?"

He looked over his shoulder.

"Relax."

There was the slightest hint of a smile.

"I remember the rules."

He disappeared up the stairs.

I stood there for a moment.

This was a terrible idea.

A billionaire I'd known for barely two days.

A fake relationship.

A contract.

A dead father who might not have died the way I'd been told.

And now I was supposed to sleep in the same bedroom as Adrian Blackwood.

I sighed.

"God help me."

I picked up my bag and followed him upstairs.

But I stopped when I reached the bedroom door.

Adrian was standing beside the bed.

On the mattress was a small wooden box.

My breath caught.

I knew that box.

I'd seen it every day in my father's bedroom when I was a child.

The same scratches.

The same brass lock.

The same tiny dent on the corner.

I looked at Adrian.

"Where did you get that?"

He didn't answer.

I walked closer.

My hands began shaking.

"That's my father's."

"I know."

"How?"

Adrian looked at me.

Then he said the one thing I wasn't prepared to hear.

"Because your father gave it to me the night before he disappeared."

I couldn't move.

Adrian reached into his pocket and pulled out a key.

He placed it on the box.

"There's something inside that your father wanted me to protect."

I stared at the key.

"Then why haven't you opened it?"

His eyes met mine.

"Because he told me to wait until you came looking for it."

My heart pounded.

"I never knew it existed."

"I know."

"Then why did you bring it here?"

Adrian's expression changed.

"Because tonight, someone tried to break into my office."

I swallowed.

"Did they take anything?"

"No."

He looked at the box.

"Only this was moved."

I stared at the little wooden box.

Then I noticed something.

There was fresh blood on the key.

I looked up at Adrian.

"Whose blood is that?"

He didn't answer.

Then his phone rang.

He checked the screen.

His face went pale.

"Who is it?" I asked.

He slowly looked at me.

"It's the police."

"What do they want?"

Adrian answered the call.

He listened for several seconds.

Then his eyes met mine.

"They found a body."

My blood ran cold.

"Who?"

He ended the call.

Then he whispered:

"They think it's your father."