THE BILLIONAIRE'S FORBIDDEN HEIRESS

The first time I saw my fiancé with another woman, I was holding his birthday cake. The irony wasn't lost on me. For three months, I had been planning the perfect surprise for Adrian Cole. I had ordered his favorite chocolate cake from the most expensive bakery in the city, decorated his apartment with black and gold balloons, and even convinced his closest friends to hide in the living room until he arrived. I had imagined his expression. I had imagined him pulling me into his arms and telling me how lucky he was to have me. Instead, when I opened the bedroom door, I found him kissing another woman. The cake slipped from my hands. It landed on the marble floor with a soft, ugly thud. Neither of them moved. For several seconds, nobody spoke. Then Adrian slowly pulled away from the woman. “Lena…” I stared at him. My name was Lena Hart. At least, that was what I had believed my name was for twenty-three years. I looked at the woman beside him. She was beautiful. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders, and she wore the kind of expensive silk dress I could never imagine buying for myself. She looked at me with an expression that was almost apologetic. Almost. “Who is she?” I asked. Adrian rubbed his forehead. “Lena, please.” I laughed. “Please what?” “Let me explain.” “Explain what?” My voice trembled. “That you forgot to tell me we were having a third person in our relationship?” The woman lowered her eyes. Adrian stepped toward me. “It's not what you think.” “Then what is it?” He said nothing. I looked at the bed. Two glasses of wine sat on the bedside table. His shirt was half-buttoned. Her earrings were lying on the floor. I nodded slowly. “Right.” I wiped my eyes before the tears could fall. “I understand.” “Lena—” “Don't.” I walked out. I expected him to follow me. He didn't. That hurt more than the betrayal. I returned to my apartment and sat on the floor for nearly an hour, staring at nothing. Adrian had been my best friend before he became my fiancé. We had met in university. He had been the charming boy everyone liked, while I had been the quiet girl who preferred books and coffee. Somehow, he had chosen me. At least, I thought he had. Two weeks earlier, he had proposed. I had said yes without hesitation. Now I wondered whether I had simply been too stupid to notice what everyone else could see. My phone rang. It was my father. I almost ignored it. Then I answered. “Hello?” “Lena, where are you?” “At home.” “You need to come here.” His voice sounded strange. “Why?” “Just come.” “I don't feel like going anywhere.” “This isn't a request.” I frowned. My father rarely spoke to me that way. “What happened?” There was silence. Then he said quietly, “There's something you need to know.” I arrived at my father's mansion forty minutes later. The moment I walked inside, I knew something was wrong. My father was sitting in the study. My stepmother, Victoria, stood behind him. She looked nervous. That alone frightened me. “What happened?” My father didn't answer immediately. He stared at me as though he were seeing someone he hadn't seen in years. “Sit down.” I remained standing. “Dad, I'm not in the mood for games.” “Lena…” He swallowed. “You aren't my biological daughter.” I stared at him. For a second, I thought I had misheard. “What?” Victoria closed her eyes. My father looked away. “You were adopted.” I laughed. It was the only response my brain could produce. “That's not funny.” “I'm not joking.” I stared at him. “No.” “When you were three years old, I took you in.” “My mother?” “She died.” “You told me she died when I was born.” “I lied.” My chest tightened. “Why?” My father stood. “Because I was trying to protect you.” “From what?” He didn't answer. I stepped closer. “From what?” He finally looked at me. “Your real family.” I frowned. “My real family?” “You were born into the Ashford family.” The name meant something. Everyone knew the Ashfords. They were one of the wealthiest families in the country. The Ashford Group owned hotels, banks, construction companies and several international businesses. “But they're…” “Dead?” He nodded. “The official story says your parents died in a private-plane accident twenty years ago.” I stared at him. “What does that have to do with me?” “You were supposed to be on that plane.” I stopped breathing. “What?” “You weren't.” “Why?” “Because someone changed the passenger list.” My hands began shaking. “Who?” “We don't know.” “You expect me to believe this?” My father walked toward a cabinet. He removed a small wooden box. Inside was a photograph. A young woman was holding a little girl. I recognized the little girl. Me. The woman was beautiful. She had my eyes. “That's your mother,” my father whispered. I touched the photograph. “What was her name?” “Amelia Ashford.” I looked at him. “And my father?” “Julian Ashford.” I had no idea what to say. Then my father placed another document on the table. My birth certificate. Except it didn't say Lena Hart. It said: Lena Amelia Ashford. My knees weakened. I sat down. “Why didn't you tell me?” “Because your uncle would have killed you.” I looked up. “My uncle?” “Marcus Ashford.” “What does he want?” “The company.” I stared at the document. “Why would he want me dead?” “Because your parents left everything to you.” My heart stopped. “Everything?” “Seventy percent of Ashford Group.” I couldn't speak. My entire life had been a lie. My father had hidden my identity. My parents had supposedly died. And somewhere out there was a man who wanted me dead because I had inherited a fortune I didn't even know existed. Then my phone buzzed. Unknown number. I opened the message. You need to leave your father's house immediately. I frowned. Another message arrived. They know you discovered the truth. I typed: Who are you? The reply came almost instantly. Someone who promised your mother I would protect you. My heart raced. I typed again. Where are you? A location appeared. Then one final message. Come alone. I looked at my father. “Who is this?” He stared at my phone. The color drained from his face. “Don't go.” “Why?” “Because I know that man.” “Who is he?” My father whispered one name. “Roman Black.” Even I knew that name. Roman Black was the youngest billionaire in the country. He owned Blackstone Holdings, a company so powerful that politicians openly sought his approval. He was known for being ruthless, private and impossible to manipulate. My father grabbed my wrist. “Lena, listen to me.” I pulled away. “You've lied to me my entire life.” “I did it to protect you.” “Then why does everyone keep telling me what I can and cannot do?” He looked heartbroken. “I don't want you to die.” I stared at him. Neither of us spoke. Then I picked up my bag. “I need answers.” “Lena!” I walked out. Rain was pouring when I reached the gate. I didn't care. I got into my car and drove toward the location. I should have been terrified. Instead, I felt strangely calm. Maybe because everything I had believed about my life had already been destroyed. There was nothing left to lose. The address led me to a private restaurant overlooking the sea. I entered. A waiter directed me upstairs. A man stood beside the window. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed entirely in black. He turned when he heard me. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I had seen photographs of Roman Black before. None of them had prepared me for the real man. His eyes were dark and unreadable. His face was calm. Too calm. “You came,” he said. “You knew I would.” “Yes.” “How?” “Because your mother told me you were stubborn.” I froze. “You knew my mother?” Roman stepped closer. “I knew her very well.” “Is she alive?” His expression changed. That tiny reaction told me everything. I stepped toward him. “Is my mother alive?” Roman looked into my eyes. “Yes.” My heart slammed against my chest. “Where is she?” “That's complicated.” “Don't give me that.” “I can't tell you yet.” “Why?” “Because the people who have been searching for you are closer than you think.” I stared at him. “Who are they?” Roman reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to me. Inside was a photograph. My mother. Alive. Older. Standing beside a little boy. On the back of the photograph was a handwritten message. Lena, if you're reading this, trust Roman. He is the only person I know who can keep you alive. My eyes filled with tears. I looked at Roman. “Why would my mother trust you?” His gaze held mine. “Because twenty years ago, she saved my life.” I swallowed. “And now?” He stepped closer. “Now it's my turn to save hers.” For the first time that night, I realized something. My broken engagement wasn't the worst thing that had happened to me. It was only the beginning. And the man standing in front of me might be the only person capable of helping me uncover the truth. Or he might be the most dangerous man I had ever met. I just didn't know which one yet.