THE BILLIONAIRE'S FORBIDDEN HEIRESS

THE HOUSE AT OLD MILL ROAD

"Don't go."

My father grabbed my wrist before I could reach the study door.

"Dad, he said he knows where my mother is."

"And you believe a stranger who calls you at midnight? Lena, that's Roman Black! That man…"

"What about him? You know him?"

My father hesitated. Just a second too long.

"We've done business. He is dangerous. He is not someone you call, he is someone who finds you when he wants something."

"He said not to trust you," I said.

Victoria sucked in a breath.

My father let go of my wrist.

"And you believe him over me? I raised you. I lied to you to keep you alive."

"You lied to me for twenty years. You told me my mother was dead in childbirth. You told me I was a Hart. You let me get engaged to a man who was paid to watch me. So forgive me if I don't know who to trust right now."

I grabbed the brick off the desk. The paper still wrapped around it.

*$10 MILLION REWARD. WELCOME HOME, NIECE. M*

"My uncle is offering ten million dollars for me like I'm a lost dog. Someone took a photo of me today outside Adrian's apartment. Someone shattered our window. And you're telling me to stay here and hide?"

"Yes! Because if Marcus finds you…"

"He already found me, Dad. Look at this article. It's already online."

My father looked at the photo of my mother alive, still in his hand.

"Lena, if you go to that house, you walk straight into whatever he has planned."

"Then come with me."

"I can't. That house…"

"What about that house?"

He didn't answer. He just stared at the photo of my mother.

"Number 14, Old Mill Road. Whose house is that?" I asked.

Victoria answered quietly. "Your mother's."

I froze. "My mother Amelia's house?"

"Before she married Jonathan Ashford. She lived there alone. After the crash, no one went back. Daniel sealed it."

"Why?"

"Because that's where she was supposed to die too," my father whispered.

The rain had started again.

I pulled my keys off the desk.

"Lena, I am begging you," my father said. "Don't go alone."

"I'm not asking permission."

I walked out. Victoria followed me to the front door.

"Take this," she whispered, pressing something into my hand. My mother's old house key. Small, rusted.

"How did you…"

"Your father kept it in his safe. For twenty years. Go."

The black car was gone from the gate. The street was empty and wet.

I drove.

Old Mill Road was on the other side of town, past the river, where the houses were abandoned. No streetlights. My GPS said "You have arrived" but there was nothing. Just trees.

Then I saw it. Number 14.

A small house, two stories, paint peeling, windows dark. The garden overgrown. But the front porch light was on.

I parked and sat for a minute, engine running. My hands on the wheel.

The same car that had been outside our gate was now parked behind me. Black. Headlights off.

Someone got out.

Tall. Black coat. No umbrella despite the rain.

He walked to my window and knocked once.

I rolled it down an inch.

"Ms. Ashford," he said.

His voice was the voice from the phone. Calm. Low. Poised.

Even in the dark, I could see his face. Sharp jaw, dark eyes, early thirties. He didn't look surprised to see me. He looked like he had been expecting me for a long time.

"Roman Black?"

He nodded. "You came alone. Good."

"My father said you were dangerous."

"I am."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No."

"Are you going to kidnap me for the ten million?"

"If I wanted ten million, I would have taken it twenty years ago."

He stepped back and gestured to the house.

"Your mother is not here. But she left something for you here. Come inside before they come."

"Who is 'they'?"

"The men your uncle sent. They're two minutes behind you."

I looked in my rearview mirror. Down the road, headlights. Two cars, moving fast.

I got out of the car. Roman didn't touch me. He walked ahead, opening the front door of Number 14 with his own key.

"How do you have a key to my mother's house?"

"She gave it to me," he said.

"When?"

"Twenty years ago. The night she disappeared."

Inside, the house smelled like dust and old paper. No electricity, but Roman turned on a lantern he had brought. The light fell on a living room frozen in time. A couch with a blanket. A child's toys in a box. Photos on the wall….all of my mother when she was young.

And one photo I recognized. The same little girl with the scar. Me. Age three.

"She lived here after she left Ashford House," I whispered.

"For six months. Until she knew they were coming for her too."

"Who? Marcus?"

Roman set the lantern down. "Marcus and someone else."

"Who else?"

He looked at me.

"Your father."

My breath caught. "My father? Daniel Hart?"

"No. Your real father, Jonathan Ashford, didn't die in that crash, Lena."

The room tilted.

"What did you say?"

"The plane crash was staged. The body they found was not Jonathan's. Amelia knew. That's why she left you with Daniel Hart that night. She knew Jonathan would try to take you."

I grabbed the back of the couch to stay standing.

"My father is alive? Both my parents are alive?"

"Your mother is alive. Your father…" He paused. "Your father is the reason she had to disappear."

"You're lying."

"Am I? Ask Daniel Hart why he sealed this house and never let you come here. Ask him what your mother told him the night she left you with him."

"Your mother didn't die. She is in this house."

I stared at him. "What? You said she wasn't here."

"She isn't here now. But she left herself here."

He walked to the fireplace and pressed a brick. A small compartment opened.

Inside, a video camera. Old. And a letter, sealed.

He handed me the letter. My name on it, in my mother's handwriting: _Lena, my love._

"Play it," Roman said, handing me the camera.

I pressed play.

Static. Then a woman's face appeared. Young, beautiful, scared. My mother. Amelia Ashford.

"Lena, if you're watching this, you're twenty-three. I left you with Daniel because I had no choice. Your father, Jonathan, he…"

The video cut. The battery died.

"No!" I shouted. "No, turn it back on!"

"I tried. That's all there is. The rest is in the letter."

I tore the letter open with shaking hands.

Inside, one line, hurried:

_IF YOU ARE READING THIS, HE FOUND YOU. DON'T TRUST M,HE WANTS TO TAKE ….

The rest of the paper was burned away. Only ash at the bottom.

"Who is M?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"M is Marcus Ashford," Roman said. "But your mother wrote he is not to be trusted. Before I could say another word,headlights flooded the windows.

Two black SUVs pulled up outside. Doors slammed.

Roman blew out the lantern.

"They're here," he whispered. He was suddenly very close to me in the dark. I could feel his coat, the rain on it.

"Stay behind me," he said. "No matter what you hear, don't come out until I call you."

"What are you going to do?"

"What I do best."

He opened the front door and walked out onto the porch, into the rain, alone.

I crouched behind the couch and looked through the window.

Four men. Suits. And in the middle, an older man in his fifties, silver hair, expensive coat, smiling.

He looked exactly like the man in the photo of my father, Jonathan Ashford.

He looked up at the house and said, loud enough for me to hear:

"Hello, Lena. I have been waiting twenty years to meet my daughter."