HIS BILLOIN DOLLAR BRIDE

Chapter Four

The phone felt like a block of ice against Eva’s palm.

Welcome to the trap, little heiress.

Her gaze ripped across the shadows of the bedroom to the dark mahogany vanity table. The wood gleamed beneath the pale moonlight filtering through the window, appearing entirely ordinary. Yet, the anonymous text message vibrated with a sickening certainty. Someone inside the Knight estate knew she was Silas Brooks’s daughter. Someone knew she held the stolen patent files.

Eva swallowed the panic rising in her throat, her thumbs flying across the screen to trace the source. *Unknown Number. Location Untraceable.*

Crossing the plush Persian rug in absolute silence, she approached the vanity. The brass drawer handles were cold against her fingertips. She pulled the second drawer open. It glided out with a soft hiss, revealing a single, pristine white envelope resting precisely in the centre of the velvet-lined interior.

Inside was a photograph.

It was a candid, high-resolution shot of her father, Silas, taken from a distance. He looked exhausted, his hair greying at the temples, standing outside a brick building she didn't recognize. On the back, written in sharp, precise cursive, were the words: *He survived the ruin, Eva. Will you survive the family that caused it? Keep your mouth shut during the morning visit, or Arthur isn't the only one who dies.*

The implications shattered her remaining composure. Her father might still be alive. And whoever sent this was holding a blade to her throat before she even met the patriarch.

By 9:45 AM, the Surrey sun was choked out by heavy, iron-gray clouds.

Eva stood before the full-length mirror in the east wing suite, adjusting the high neckline of a tailored emerald wool dress the house staff had left for her. It covered the thin line of dried blood on her wrist, but nothing could hide the tension tightening the muscles of her jaw. She had slipped the photograph and the patent files back into the false bottom of her suitcase, locking it with a code only she knew. She had to play the part. For her mother's life, and now, for her father's ghost.

A firm, rhythmic knock rattled the bedroom door.

Eva pulled it open to find Damian standing in the corridor. He had traded his relaxed attire from the night before for a sharp, bespoke charcoal three-piece suit. His silver tie-bar caught the dim hallway light, and his grey eyes narrowed slightly as they swept over her, taking in the rich green fabric of her dress.

"You look like a Knight, Miss Brooks," Damian murmured, his deep voice carrying a gravelly edge that suggested he hadn't slept either. He held out his arm, bending it at the elbow. "But you look like you're walking toward an executioner."

"I am," Eva said quietly, stepping out and closing the door behind her. She didn't take his arm immediately, looking up into his impenetrable gaze. "Monica isn't the only ghost in this house, Damian. Are you absolutely certain you know every threat waiting for us in your grandfather’s wing?"

Damian’s jaw hardened, his arm remaining rigid. "I know exactly who my family is. They are sharks driven by greed. If you bleed even a drop of weakness, they will tear you apart. Take my arm, Eva. The staff are already watching."

Eva hesitated, then slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. The fabric of his suit was thick, but the heat of his arm burned right through her palm. The physical proximity immediately revived the suffocating tension from the night before, making her heart stutter against her ribs. She forced herself to walk in stride with him as they traversed the labyrinthine corridors toward the west wing.

The air grew progressively heavier, thick with the underlying scent of rubbing alcohol, eucalyptus, and expensive lavender oil. The private medical wing was sealed by heavy mahogany double doors, guarded by two private security personnel who bowed their heads as Damian approached.

"He’s awake," Damian said, his voice dropping into a flat, professional tone as the doors were opened. "Remember the rules. Absolute devotion. We are a unified front."

The suite was vast, styled like a classic Edwardian library but retrofitted with state-of-the-art life support monitors that hissed and beeped with the same mechanical indifference Eva had fled at St. Jude's. In the centre of the room, propped up against silk pillows in a massive four-poster bed, sat Arthur Knight.

The patriarch of Knight Enterprises was eighty-four, his skin translucent and mapped with purple veins. But beneath the frail exterior, his eyes the exact shade of steel grey as Damian’s were sharp, burning with an ancient, predatory intelligence.

"Damian," the old man rasped, his voice sounding like dry autumn leaves scraping against pavement. He didn't look at his grandson. His gaze locked instantly onto Eva, dissecting her with a single, sweeping glance. "And this is the girl Julian was screaming about on the phone at four in the morning."

Damian led Eva to the bedside, his grip on her hand tightening into a warning pressure. "This is Eva, Grandfather. My fiancée. The woman who will be taking the Knight name by the end of the week."

Arthur let out a low, rattling wheeze that might have been a laugh. He extended a withered, skeletal hand toward Eva, his long fingers hooked like a bird of prey. "Come closer, girl. Let me look at you. Damian doesn't buy things unless they have value. Let me see what he paid for."

Eva felt the acid burn in her stomach. This was the man who had personally signed the order to destroy Silas Brooks twenty-four years ago. She wanted to pull her hand away, to accuse him right there in his sickbed, but the threat from the anonymous text message echoed in her mind. *Keep your mouth shut.*

She stepped forward, releasing Damian’s arm to place her hand inside Arthur's fragile, dry palm. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Knight," she said, her voice perfectly steady, her green eyes matching his steel glare without a hint of submission. "Damian has told me a great deal about your... legacy."

Arthur’s fingers tightened around hers with surprising strength, his eyes narrowing as he studied her facial structure. A sudden, sharp flicker of recognition passed over the old man’s features, his breath catching in his throat. He looked from her eyes to the sharp line of her jaw, his chest rising and falling rapidly under the silk blanket.

"You..." Arthur whispered, his grip turning painfully tight as the heart monitor beside the bed began to spike, its rhythm accelerating into a frantic beep. "Your eyes. Who did you say your mother was, girl?"

"Her name is Sarah Brooks, Grandfather," Damian said, stepping forward, his brow furrowing as he noticed the older man’s sudden agitation. He placed a hand on Eva’s shoulder, pulling her back slightly. "Is something wrong?"

"Brooks," Arthur repeated, the word sounding like a curse on his tongue. He began to cough violently, a harsh, hacking sound that rattled his frail ribs. He pointed a trembling finger at Eva, his grey eyes wide with a sudden, unadulterated terror. "Get her out. Damian... she isn't a proxy. She's—"

Before the old man could finish the sentence, the main monitor emitted a long, continuous, high-pitched scream.

The flatline.

"Code Blue!" a medical nurse shouted, bursting through the side doors with a crash cart. "Mr. Knight is in full cardiac arrest! Step back, sir!"

The room dissolved into chaotic motion. Two doctors rushed the bed, ripping away Arthur’s silk blanket as they prepared the defibrillator paddles. Damian didn't move for a fraction of a second, his body frozen as he stared at his grandfather’s convulsing form.

Then, his grey eyes snapped to Eva. The cold, calculating trust they had negotiated the night before vanished, replaced by a dark, terrifying storm of absolute suspicion. He grabbed her upper arm, his fingers digging into her flesh with brutal force as he dragged her out of the room, slamming the heavy mahogany doors behind them.

The hallway was silent, save for the muffled sound of the alarms inside.

"What did you say to him?" Damian hissed, pinning her against the stone wall, his face inches from hers. The veins in his neck were pulsing, his control completely shattered. "He looked at you, and his heart failed. Julian said you were a plant. Who the hell are you, Eva?"

Eva looked at him, her breath caught in her throat. She could see the sheer panic and fury battling in his eyes. If she told him the truth now that she was the daughter of the man his family ruined, he would see her as an enemy operative. He would cancel the contract, pull the funding for her mother's kidney, and leave her family to die. But if she lied, the anonymous blackmailer would execute the threat against her father.

Before she could form a word, the double doors flew open.

Julian Knight stood there, flanked by two corporate lawyers and the chief of house security. A malicious, triumphant grin split his face as he looked at Damian’s hand, gripping Eva’s arm.

"The old man is gone, Damian," Julian said, his voice ringing with a chilling finality. "And since he died before signing the final transition papers, the estate execution clause from 1998 activates automatically. Security, arrest Eva Brooks for the intentional aggravation and wrongful death of Arthur Knight. And Damian? You're officially barred from the building."