The Billionaire Godfather’s Hidden Heiress

The first time I saw the black cars, I thought someone had died. There were six of them. Six enormous black SUVs parked outside my apartment building, their tinted windows reflecting the yellow glow of the streetlights. My feet stopped moving. For a few seconds, I simply stood across the road with my grocery bag hanging from one hand, staring. Nobody in my neighborhood owned a car like that. Not even close. The newest car on our street belonged to the old pharmacist downstairs, and his fifteen-year-old sedan complained every time he started the engine. These vehicles looked like they belonged outside a billionaire’s mansion. Not outside my tiny apartment. I tightened my grip on the grocery bag. “Okay…” I whispered. “That’s weird.” Maybe someone important lived in the building now. Maybe a celebrity was visiting. Maybe— A man stepped out of the first SUV. I immediately stopped thinking. He was dressed entirely in black. Black trousers. Black shirt. Black coat. His hair was dark, neatly styled, and his face was sharp enough to make him look almost intimidating from this distance. He wasn’t alone. Four other men stepped out of the vehicles behind him. They looked like security. My stomach tightened. I looked around. Nobody seemed concerned. An elderly woman was watering plants on her balcony. A delivery man was pushing a bicycle down the street. Two teenagers were laughing near the corner. Nobody seemed to understand that something about this scene was very wrong. I slowly turned around. Maybe I should walk away. Maybe I should call Sophia. I reached for my phone. Then I heard a voice. “Elena.” My entire body froze. The man in black was looking directly at me. I slowly lowered my phone. He crossed the street. I took one step backward. Then another. “How do you know my name?” He didn’t answer immediately. He stopped several feet away from me and studied my face. Not in the way men sometimes looked at women. This was different. It was as if he were comparing me to a memory. His eyes moved across my face, my hair, my lips. Then he exhaled. Almost like he’d finally found something he’d been searching for. “You’re Elena Marlowe.” It wasn’t a question. “Who are you?” His jaw tightened. “My name is Damien Blackwood.” The name meant nothing to me. At least, it didn’t at first. Then I remembered. Sophia had mentioned him once. A billionaire. A terrifying one, according to her. Blackwood International. Real estate. Technology. Private investments. Luxury hotels. Basically, the kind of man whose bank account had more zeros than I could imagine. I looked behind him at the expensive SUVs. My stomach sank. “What do you want?” “I need you to come with me.” I almost laughed. “Excuse me?” “You aren’t safe here.” I stared at him. Then I laughed. Actually laughed. “Okay. That’s a good one.” His expression didn’t change. “I’m serious.” “So am I.” I lifted my grocery bag. “I have food melting in here, and I’m already late getting home. Whatever this is, I’m not interested.” I turned toward my building. His voice stopped me. “Your father’s name was Alexander Devereaux.” The grocery bag slipped from my fingers. A carton of eggs hit the pavement. One cracked. Yellow yolk slowly spread across the concrete. I couldn’t breathe. Nobody knew that name. Nobody. I had spent most of my life avoiding questions about my parents because there were never any answers. My adoptive mother had told me they died when I was three. A car accident. That was all I’d ever been given. No photographs. No relatives. No stories. Nothing. And yet this stranger had just said my father’s name. I turned around slowly. “How do you know that?” Damien’s eyes softened for the first time. “I knew your father.” My heart began pounding. “You knew my father?” “Very well.” “How?” He took another step toward me. “Because he was my best friend.” The world seemed to tilt. I stared at him. “My father didn’t have friends.” “That’s what you were told.” Something cold moved through me. “What are you talking about?” Damien glanced toward the apartment building. “Not here.” “I don’t care.” “We need to leave.” “No.” His eyebrows pulled together. “No?” “I don’t know you.” “You don’t need to know me.” “You’re asking me to get into a car with six strangers!” “Sixteen,” he corrected. I looked behind him. More men were standing near the vehicles. My mouth went dry. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?” “No.” At least he was honest. I stepped closer. “If you knew my father, tell me something only he would know.” Damien was silent. For the first time, uncertainty crossed his face. Then he reached into his coat. Every muscle in my body tensed. He pulled out a small photograph. He held it toward me. I didn’t want to take it. But I did. The picture was old. Very old. A little girl stood in front of a huge white house. She had two curly puffs tied with ribbons. She was smiling widely. Beside her stood a beautiful woman. And behind them was a tall man with his hand resting gently on the woman’s shoulder. My heart stopped. I knew the little girl. I was looking at myself. I turned the photograph over. There was writing on the back. For our little Elena. My fingers started trembling. “No.” Damien watched me carefully. “Your father gave me that photograph.” I looked at the man’s face. There was something about him. Something familiar. But I couldn’t place it. “Who are they?” He didn’t answer. My eyes moved back to the little girl. “Who am I?” His silence was worse than any answer. I looked up. “Who am I?” Damien’s expression became unreadable. “Your name isn’t Elena Marlowe.” My heart hammered against my ribs. “Then what is it?” He looked directly into my eyes. “Elena Valentina Devereaux.” The name sounded strange. Elegant. Powerful. Nothing like me. I shook my head. “No.” “Yes.” “My father was Alexander Marlowe.” “That wasn’t his real name.” My breath caught. “You’re lying.” “I wish I were.” I stepped backward. “Why would someone change my name?” “To keep you alive.” I stared at him. “Alive from what?” Damien looked toward the street. For the first time, I noticed the men around us weren’t watching him. They were watching everything. Every window. Every car. Every person walking past. Then Damien looked back at me. “Your parents were murdered.” My body went numb. “What?” “Your mother and father didn’t die in an accident.” I couldn’t speak. “They were killed.” I shook my head violently. “No.” “I’m sorry.” “No.” My voice cracked. “My mother died in a car accident.” “That was the story created to hide what happened.” “Who told you?” “Your father.” I stared at him. “He knew he was going to die?” Damien’s jaw clenched. “He knew someone was coming for his family.” “Who?” “I don’t know.” The answer came too quickly. I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t know?” “I know who wanted your family’s fortune.” “Who?” “We don’t have time.” I almost screamed. “You keep saying that!” My hands were shaking now. “You’re telling me my entire childhood was a lie, and then you’re telling me you don’t have time?” Damien stepped closer. His voice lowered. “Because whoever killed your parents may know you’re alive.” A car passed behind us. I flinched. Suddenly every stranger on the street looked suspicious. Every dark window seemed to hide a pair of eyes. “Why now?” I whispered. Damien didn’t answer. “Why did you find me now?” His expression changed. Someone behind him spoke quietly. “Mr. Blackwood.” Damien turned. One of his security men approached. He whispered something into Damien’s ear. Damien’s face hardened. He looked toward the end of the street. Then back at me. “What?” He stepped toward me. “We’re leaving.” “No.” “Elena.” “I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled out his phone. “Look.” He showed me the screen. It was a photograph. My photograph. Someone had taken it earlier that day. Me leaving work. Another picture showed me entering the grocery store. Another showed me walking home. My blood ran cold. “Who took those?” “We don’t know.” I looked at the pictures again. They had been taken from different angles. Someone had been following me. For how long? Days? Weeks? Years? Damien put the phone away. “Your life changed the moment someone found you.” I swallowed. “Found me?” He nodded. “Your identity was hidden for twenty-four years.” My eyes burned. “Who hid me?” “Your father.” “From you?” His expression froze. “From everyone.” Something about that answer bothered me. “Why?” Damien looked away. For one brief second, I saw something in his eyes. Pain. Regret. Guilt. Then it disappeared. “Because he knew his enemies would come for you.” I looked down at the photograph still in my hand. The little girl smiled up at me. She looked happy. Safe. Loved. I wondered how much of that life had been stolen from me. Then Damien spoke again. “There’s something else you need to know.” I looked up. “Your father left you an inheritance.” I almost laughed. “How much?” Damien stared at me. “Enough to make you the most powerful woman in the country.” My lips parted. That couldn’t be true. I was Elena Marlowe. A woman who had spent years counting every bill before buying groceries. A woman who had worried about rent. A woman who had never owned anything expensive. I couldn’t be some hidden heiress. “I don’t believe you.” “You will.” He held out his hand. I stared at it. The street seemed unusually quiet. Six black SUVs waited behind him. Sixteen armed men surrounded us. A dead man’s secrets had just been dropped into my life. And somehow, I knew this was only the beginning. I looked at Damien. “Why are you doing this?” He didn’t hesitate. “Because I made your father a promise.” “What promise?” His eyes held mine. “That if anything happened to him, I would protect you.” I stared at him. “And who are you to my father?” Damien’s expression softened. “I was his best friend.” He paused. Then his voice dropped. “And your godfather.” My heart stopped. Before I could respond, a deafening sound cracked through the night. Bang! The window beside me shattered. I screamed. Damien grabbed me and pulled me against him as his security team immediately surrounded us. Another shot rang out. Bang! “Get her into the car!” Damien ordered. Men rushed forward. I could barely breathe. Damien held me firmly behind him, shielding my body with his own. For the first time, I understood. He hadn’t come to frighten me. He had come because someone wanted me dead. And whoever they were… They had just found me. I wasn’t Elena Marlowe anymore. I was Elena Devereaux. The missing heiress. And somebody had already pulled the trigger.