HIS CONTRACTED ASSASSIN

DAUGHTER OF THE DEAD

The hospital hallway stretched forever, white tiles and fluorescent lights and Julian's hand crushing mine. He hadn't let go since Marcus stepped into the elevator. His grip said you're not running but his eyes said please don't be what I think you are.

“We're going home,” he said. Not a question. “And you're going to tell me everything.”

The car ride was silent. I stared at Marcus's business card in my lap, the black letters sharp against the white paper. Marcus Ashford, CEO of Ashford Ventures. A phone number. No other words. He didn't need more.

Julian sat on the opposite side of the back seat, his jaw locked, his hands flat on his thighs. Every few seconds, his fingers would curl into fists, then relax. Curl. Relax. Like he was physically holding himself back from shaking the truth out of me.

The penthouse felt smaller when we walked in. Darker. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city lights, but they looked like watching eyes now.

Elara met us at the door. “Mr. Ashford, your brother called. He said to tell you—” Julian cut her off with a single look. She disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

He pointed to the couch. “Sit.”

I sat.

He didn't. He stood over me, arms crossed, his shadow falling across my face. “Marcus has been paying your grandmother for ten years. My background check said your grandparents were dead. So either Marcus is lying, or you are.” His voice dropped. “Which one is it?”

“Both.” The word came out before I could stop it.

Julian's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. “Explain.”

I thought of my grandmother's rules. Never confess. Never break. Make them prove everything. But Marcus had already blown my cover wide open. If I kept lying now, Julian would find out anyway. And he would destroy me.

“My grandmother is alive,” I said slowly. “Her name is Evelyn Blackwood. She raised me after my mother died.”

“Why did your background check say she was dead?”

“Because I paid someone to change the records.” My throat tightened. “I've been planning this for years. Every Tuesday in your lobby. The charity gala. The way I looked at you. It was all rehearsed.”

Julian went completely still. “Planned what?”

The words sat on my tongue like broken glass. I could still walk it back. Tell him half the truth. Blame Marcus. Protect myself.

Then I thought of my mother's photograph under my grandmother's mattress. The way her smile looked nothing like mine.

“Revenge,” I whispered. “I married you to destroy your family.”

The silence that followed was worse than any scream. Julian stared at me for a long, breathless moment. Then he laughed—a short, hollow sound that bounced off the walls and died just as fast.

“You're serious.” He walked to the window, his back to me. “You think my family destroyed yours. Who? My father? My mother?” He turned. “Tell me exactly what you think we did.”

“Your father murdered my mother.” The words came out stronger than I felt. “Thirty years ago. She was his mistress. When she got pregnant with another man's child, he had her killed. Car accident, they called it. But it wasn't an accident.”

Julian's face went pale. “My father is dead. He's been dead for five years.”

“I know. That's why I came after you.”

He crossed the room in three strides, stopping inches from my face. His hand shot out, not touching me—hovering near my throat like he wanted to wrap around it but couldn't make himself do it.

“You married me,” he said slowly, “to punish my father's corpse? That makes no sense.”

“I married you to take everything from the Ashford name.” I didn't back down. “The company. The reputation. Your future. Every Ashford dies broke and alone. That was the plan.”

His hand dropped. He stepped back, running both palms down his face. When he looked at me again, his eyes were different. Colder. But underneath the cold, something that looked almost like relief.

“You're not lying,” he said. “About the revenge. But you're still lying about something else.”

My heart stopped. “What?”

“You said your grandmother raised you. That she planned this with you. But Marcus said he's been paying her for ten years.” Julian tilted his head. “If she wanted revenge on the Ashfords, why would she take money from one?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. The question had no answer—because I didn't know. My grandmother had never mentioned Marcus. Never said his name. If she was taking his money, she was playing a different game than the one she taught me.

“I don't know,” I admitted.

Julian studied me for a long moment. Then he walked to the bar in the corner of the room, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and poured two glasses. He handed one to me.

“Drink,” he said.

“I don't—”

“Drink. You're shaking.”

I looked down at my hands. He was right. My fingers trembled so hard the amber liquid sloshed against the glass. I took a sip. The burn in my throat was almost comforting.

Julian sat on the couch across from me, stretching his legs out. He looked exhausted all of a sudden—the sharp edges of his face softened by something that might have been sadness.

“My father was a monster,” he said quietly. “I won't defend him. He ruined countless lives. Yours was just one of them.” He took a long drink. “But I'm not my father.”

“You say that like it matters.”

“It should.” He set down his glass and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You came here to destroy me. You signed a contract, married a stranger, and moved into his house—all to burn down a family that was already rotting from the inside.” His voice dropped. “That's not revenge, Lena. That's suicide.”

“I don't care.”

“You should.” He reached out and took my empty glass, setting it beside his. “Because whatever Marcus is paying your grandmother for, it's not to help you. Marcus wants me dead. He's wanted me dead since the day our father died.” His fingers brushed my wrist. “If he's involved with Evelyn, you're not the weapon. You're the target.”

The room tilted. “That's not possible. She loves me.”

“Does she?” Julian's thumb pressed against my pulse point. “She made you believe your mother was murdered by an Ashford. That part is true. But she left out that my father was already dying when she started planning this. She left out Marcus. She left out the money.” He pulled his hand back. “Ask yourself why.”

I thought of every conversation with my grandmother. Every whispered instruction, every tear she shed over my mother's photo. The way she held me when I was small and promised that one day, we would make them pay.

But she never mentioned Marcus. Never said his name. Never told me that someone inside the Ashford family was helping her.

“I need to see her,” I said.

“No.” Julian stood up. “You need to stay here. If Evelyn is working with Marcus, walking into her house is walking into a trap.”

“She's my grandmother.”

“She's a woman who turned you into a killer.” His voice was flat, final. “You're not going anywhere tonight. Tomorrow, I'll have my people look into Marcus's finances. We'll find the truth.”

I stood up too, my legs unsteady. “You can't keep me locked in here.”

“I can. And I will.” He stepped closer, and his hand came up to cup my face—gentle, almost tender. “Because whether you believe it or not, you're my wife. And I don't let anyone hurt what's mine. Not even you.”

His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn't know I had shed.

“You should hate me,” I whispered.

“I should.” His eyes searched mine. “But I don't.”

He kissed me then. Not like the wedding kiss—cold and demanding. This one was slower, deeper, like he was trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. His fingers slid into my hair, tilting my head back, and I let him. God help me, I let him.

When he pulled away, his breathing was uneven.

“Stay in the penthouse,” he said. “I'm going to find out what Marcus knows. When I come back, we finish this conversation.”

He walked toward the door, then paused. “And Lena? If you run, I will find you. And I will bring you back. Every single time.”

The door closed behind him.

I stood alone in the living room, my lips still burning, my heart still racing. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Evelyn: Come home. Now. Don't tell Julian.

I stared at the message. Then I looked at the door Julian had just walked through.

One of them was lying to me. Maybe both.

I grabbed my coat and headed for the elevator.

The lobby was empty when I stepped out. The night guard was asleep at his desk—or paid to look the other way. I didn't care which. I walked through the glass doors into the cold night air and hailed the first taxi I saw.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

I gave him my grandmother's address.

The ride took twenty minutes. I spent them staring at my phone, rereading Evelyn's message over and over. Come home. Now. Don't tell Julian.

She knew I would come. She always knew.

The old Victorian house sat at the end of the block, same as always. But tonight, every window was dark. No light in the front room. No shadow behind the curtains.

Something was wrong.

I paid the driver and walked up the cracked sidewalk. The front door was unlocked. It was never unlocked.

“Grandmother?” I pushed the door open. The hallway smelled like dust and something else—something metallic.

Blood.

My feet carried me forward before my brain caught up. The living room was destroyed. Overturned chairs, broken glass, papers scattered everywhere. And in the middle of the floor, facedown in a pool of dark liquid, was Evelyn Blackwood.

I screamed.

She didn't move.

I fell to my knees beside her, my hands reaching for her shoulder, rolling her over. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. Her chest didn't rise. Her lips were blue.

“No,” I sobbed. “No, no, no.”

A piece of paper was pinned to her dress with a knife. I pulled it free with shaking fingers.

The handwriting was Marcus's.

You were supposed to be the bait. Not the trap. Now she's mine.

Footsteps behind me.

I turned.

Marcus stood in the doorway, smiling.

“Hello, Lena,” he said. “I'm so glad you came.”