The Billionaire's Dead Wife Returns

Chapter 3:The Secret Meeting

Covent Garden stirred slowly under a pale Sunday morning sky. The famous piazza, usually alive with street performers and crowds, held a hushed reverence in the early hours. A light mist clung to the cobblestones, and the autumn air carried the faint scent of roasted chestnuts from a vendor setting up his cart. Aria Morgan Blackwood arrived at the small independent café twenty minutes early, her coat wrapped tightly against the chill. She had spent the better part of the morning pacing the empty halls of Blackwood Manor, the anonymous message burning a hole in her phone.

*Should she trust it?* The financial records attached to the message had kept her awake long after she returned from the gala. They suggested layers beneath the public narrative-transfers and meetings that did not align neatly with a simple love story. Yet trusting a stranger felt like stepping off a cliff. In the end, curiosity and a stubborn refusal to let her marriage dissolve into tabloid dust had won.

She chose a table near the back with a clear view of the entrance. The café smelled of fresh espresso and warm pastries. A barista moved quietly behind the counter, polishing glasses. Aria ordered a flat white she barely touched, her eyes flicking to every person who entered: a young couple with a dog, an older man reading a newspaper, a woman in running gear checking her phone. None lingered. None approached her.

Nine o'clock came and went. The anonymous informant did not appear.

At precisely nine, the waiter approached with a polite smile. "A gentleman left this for you earlier this morning, madam. Said to deliver it at nine."

He placed a plain manila envelope on the table and retreated. Aria's pulse quickened. She glanced around once more before opening it with careful fingers.

Inside were printed financial records-more detailed than the ones on her phone-showing irregular transfers between shell companies and Sterling Media. Copies of confidential meeting schedules listed Ethan and Harold Sterling in private discussions as far back as early 2025. Several photographs captured the two men entering discreet venues: a private club in Mayfair, a country estate outside London. The images were timestamped months before the engagement announcement. None of it proved Ethan's innocence. If anything, it painted a picture of calculated business maneuvering. But it chipped away at the clean narrative of a man who had simply fallen out of love and into Vanessa's arms.

Tucked at the bottom was a single handwritten note on heavy cream paper. The handwriting was neat, masculine, unfamiliar.

> Someone wanted you to believe the affair. Ask Ethan about October 2022.

Aria read the note three times. October 2022. Their marriage had been only a few months old then. She remembered it as one of their happiest periods-weekend escapes to the coast, Ethan surprising her with tickets to a gallery opening she had mentioned in passing. There had been no fights, no suspicions. What could this possibly refer to?

She slipped everything back into the envelope and left the café, the bell above the door tinkling softly behind her. The streets of Central London were waking up now, but she moved through them with purpose, hailing a taxi rather than driving herself. Her mind raced. The questions refused to settle.

Blackwood Corporation Headquarters rose like a monument in Canary Wharf-a towering glass edifice that caught the weak sunlight and reflected the Thames in distorted waves. Security was tight even on a Sunday. Aria approached the main entrance with her head high, the envelope tucked securely in her bag beside the divorce papers she had not yet signed. The guards recognized her immediately. One offered a sympathetic nod; another looked away, uncomfortable. Whispers followed her across the marble lobby.

"Mrs. Blackwood," the receptionist said, her voice carefully neutral. "I'll let Mr. Brooks know you're here."

Daniel Brooks appeared within minutes. Ethan's executive assistant looked impeccably put together in a charcoal suit, but faint shadows under his eyes suggested the past few days had been long for him too. He greeted her with quiet respect, no trace of pity or judgment.

"Mrs. Blackwood. This is... unexpected. Mr. Blackwood is in a board meeting, but I'll inform him you're here. Would you like to wait in the executive lounge?"

Aria nodded. "Thank you, Daniel."

He led her to a sleek room on the upper floors with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the financial district. She declined coffee and sat in silence, watching the city move far below. The wait stretched. Thirty minutes. Forty-five. She traced the edge of her wedding ring, the metal a constant reminder that legally, nothing had ended.

Finally, Daniel returned. "He'll see you. This way."

Ethan's office occupied the corner of the executive floor, a vast space of minimalist design: dark wood, glass walls, and strategic art pieces. He stood behind his desk when she entered, hands clasped behind his back. He wore a tailored navy suit, the cuff of his left sleeve slightly lower than usual. His expression was guarded, controlled-the same mask he had worn at the press conference.

"Aria," he said quietly. No warmth, but no hostility either. Just exhaustion beneath the surface.

She closed the door behind her. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. The air between them felt thick with everything unsaid. This was the first time they had been alone since the world had shattered.

"Why?" she asked. Her voice was steady, though her heart hammered. She did not elaborate. The single word carried every question: the announcement, the papers, the silence, the kiss on live television.

Ethan's jaw tightened. He looked away briefly toward the window, then back at her. When he spoke, his tone was low, restrained. "You know why."

"I don't." She took one step closer but stopped. "Three years, Ethan. Thirty-seven months of marriage. And you end it with a press conference and courier-delivered papers? No conversation. No explanation. I deserve more than that."

He exhaled slowly, a flicker of something raw crossing his features before it vanished. "You betrayed me first, Aria. Three years ago. October 2022. You passed confidential Blackwood information to a competitor. You were involved with someone who used you to get to me. I saw the evidence myself-transfers, communications, meetings. It destroyed everything we had."

The accusation landed like a physical blow. Aria stared at him, stunned into silence for several heartbeats. "What are you talking about? I never- Ethan, I have never betrayed you. Not once. I gave up my career ambitions to support yours. I built our home. I loved you. Who told you these lies?"

He shook his head, his eyes dark with old pain. "I didn't want to believe it. But the evidence was there. Dates, locations, financial trails that led back to you. I confronted what I could. You never even denied it because I never gave you the chance. By the time I pieced it together, the damage was done. The trust was gone."

"I'm denying it now," she said fiercely, though she kept her voice low. No shouting. Only the quiet intensity of two people who had once known every corner of each other's hearts. "There was no affair. No leaking information. I don't even know what competitor you're referring to. Ask me anything. Show me this so-called evidence."

Ethan's gaze held hers for a long moment. Something conflicted moved behind his eyes-doubt, perhaps, or regret-but he masked it quickly. "It doesn't matter anymore. The merger is moving forward. Vanessa and I... it's done."

The words stung, but Aria noticed how he said them: flat, almost rehearsed. Not the voice of a man in love.

She nodded once, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Then I suppose that's your answer."

She turned to leave. As she reached the glass door, she felt his eyes on her back. Through the reflection in the glass, she caught a glimpse of his face before he turned away. For the briefest second, his expression softened-brows drawn, mouth tight with unspoken turmoil-before the professional mask returned. He looked like a man carrying a weight far heavier than ambition.

Aria walked out without looking back. Daniel escorted her to the elevator in respectful silence. Employees watched her departure with a mix of curiosity and discomfort. The tower felt colder on the way down.

The drive back toward Kensington began uneventfully. London's streets were quieter on Sunday evening, the autumn light fading into deep blues and greys. Aria kept her hands steady on the wheel, replaying every word Ethan had said. October 2022. The note from the café echoed in her mind. Someone had wanted her to believe the affair. But who? And why?

She checked her mirrors periodically. A black SUV had been behind her since leaving Canary Wharf. At first, she dismissed it-plenty of similar vehicles on the roads. But after several turns through the City and into quieter residential areas, it remained. Three cars back. Then two. Always there.

Her pulse quickened. She made a deliberate left turn onto a side street, then another. The SUV followed, maintaining distance. Streetlights flickered on as dusk settled, casting long shadows. The manor was still several minutes away.

Aria gripped the wheel tighter, her wedding ring pressing into her finger. She told herself it was paranoia. The stress of the past days playing tricks. Yet the vehicle stayed with her through another turn, then another.

She pulled into a quieter residential street near Blackwood Manor, the road lined with mature trees and high hedges. The black SUV turned in behind her. This time, its headlights switched off. It slowed and stopped in the growing darkness, perhaps fifty meters back. No one exited. No doors opened. It simply waited, a silent, ominous shape against the night.

Aria's breath caught. She sat frozen in her car, engine idling, staring into the rear-view mirror. The manor's gates were just ahead, but the distance suddenly felt vast. Someone had followed her from the headquarters. Someone had been watching all evening.

The questions multiplied in the silence. The financial records. The mysterious note. Ethan's accusations. And now this.

She was no longer sure what was real.