Between the Two Billionaires

Three-The funeral and the ghost I can't forget

Adrian’s POV

The church was heavy with silence, the kind that clung to the air and pressed down on your lungs. My mother’s voice carried over the crowd, smooth and practiced, as she read from the eulogy.

She spoke of my father like he had been some kind of saint. A loving husband. A brilliant businessman. A pillar of the community.

My jaw tightened. My stomach twisted in disgust. Every word she uttered was a lie.

Because I knew the truth.

My father hadn’t been loving. He had been manipulative, calculating, narcissistic. He only cared about one thing: himself. If trampling over you got him higher, he’d step down hard without hesitation. He had no conscience, no loyalty, no soul.

And my mother? The way she dabbed her eyes with a silk handkerchief, pausing just enough to let the cameras catch her grief-stricken face, it made me want to laugh. She wasn’t devastated. She wasn’t mourning.

Their marriage had been the most loveless union I had ever seen. My mother was stubborn and proud, a snob who cared only about her image. My father was cold, indifferent, and ruthless. Together, they had perfected the art of pretending. Pretending in front of their friends. Pretending in front of the press. Pretending even in front of me, their child.

But I wasn’t fooled. Not anymore.

The people sitting here in polished pews weren’t fooled either. I scanned the crowd and recognized faces. Business associates, politicians, rivals, people my father had used, manipulated, betrayed. I could see it in their eyes. They weren’t here to grieve. They were here to confirm he was truly gone, to smirk behind polite masks as they watched the great Adrian Vance Sr. lowered six feet into the ground.

I should have been listening. I should have at least pretended to pay my last respects. But I couldn’t.

Because she wouldn’t leave my head.

It had been two nights, but I could still feel her. Her voice, breathless against my ear. Her body tightening around mine. Her cries as she came undone.

That had never happened before.

I’d had more one-night stands than I cared to count, and by morning, I couldn’t remember their names, their faces, or the sound of their voices. They were faceless bodies, placeholders for a need. But this one…

Elara.

Her name was burned into me. I remembered her face perfectly. The way her lips parted when she moaned. The softness of her skin beneath my hands. The fire in her eyes when she dared me to look at her.

And God help me, I remembered the way it felt not to pull away.

I had gone in raw. I’d never done that before. Ever. I always used protection. Always. But with her, I hadn’t even thought twice. My body had wanted her that way, bare, nothing between us.

And then, worse—far worse—I had kissed her. Not just a kiss, but the kind of kiss I hadn’t allowed myself since college. Since her. The only woman I’d ever loved, who had ripped my heart out and left me bleeding. After that, I’d sworn never again.

But with Elara… I went down on her. I kissed her like I wanted to drown in her. I held her after, wrapping her in my arms all night. I cuddled.

I thought I hated cuddling. I thought I hated intimacy. I thought I was too smart, too hardened to ever let myself fall into something so weak.

And yet here I was, sitting in my father’s funeral, listening to my mother’s lies, and all I could think about was her. The way my chest tightened whenever I remembered her. The strange flutter in my belly like I needed her.

It disgusted me.

I didn’t like being vulnerable. I didn’t like feeling like this. And I hated her for making me feel it.

But I couldn’t stop.

Elara Steele.

Her name rang in my head like a bell I couldn’t silence. I remembered it from the night at the bar, when she tried to pay for her drinks with her ID. Her name had been printed there, bold and clean. I’d memorized it before I could stop myself.

I’d tried to resist. Tried to stop myself from digging. But I couldn’t hold back.

Sliding my phone from my pocket, I typed a quick message to the one man I trusted.

‘Find everything you can about this woman: Elara Steele. She lives in this city.’

I didn’t need to look up to know he’d received it. My personal assistant was seated across the aisle, dressed sharply in black. Our eyes met briefly. He gave me a subtle nod, then slipped out of the church.

Good. I needed answers.

By the time my attention shifted back, my mother was wrapping up her speech, her voice catching on carefully rehearsed sobs.

The organ music swelled as she stepped down, and people rose to their feet. The line began forming to approach us, to shake hands, to murmur meaningless condolences.

“Again, my condolences, Mr. Vance.”

I turned to see Henry Lawson, the Vance Corporation’s lawyer and one of the only men I respected. His voice was low, measured. He knew better than to give me platitudes.

“Thank you,” I said, but my mind was already on what I actually cared about. “Did you find any loophole in the will?”

Henry’s expression shifted. He shook his head once, sharply. “No. I’m afraid not. The will is airtight. You’ll have to do as your father says.”

My chest tightened, a rare flicker of fear clawing at me.

That damn video.

Even now, the memory of my father’s smug face on that screen made me want to smash something. The words he had spoken, calm and deliberate, echoed in my head.

‘Adrian, you are too cold. A boss, but not a true leader. You are unfit to inherit the Vance empire. Unless you can prove otherwise.

Within three months of my death, you must find love. Real love. You must be engaged, or married. Or the company will pass to your younger brother.’

My half-brother. The illegitimate bastard I could barely stand to look at.

I clenched my fists, fury boiling in my veins. My father had controlled me in life, and now he was still controlling me in death.

Henry lowered his voice, leaning closer. “I’ll keep digging, Adrian. But for now… it looks like your only option is to play his game.”

My jaw locked. “Then I’ll win his game.”

Henry nodded once, then excused himself, blending back into the crowd of mourners.

I stood there, surrounded by people whispering and pretending to care, while my mind raged. I was Adrian Vance. I didn’t lose. Not to my enemies. Not to my so-called family. And not to a dead man’s final command.

But even as I swore it, even as I told myself I would find a way to beat this, another thought intruded.

Elara.

Her name. Her voice. Her body wrapped around mine.

I cursed under my breath. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I turned sharply, ready to leave the funeral ground, the walls of the church closing in on me. My patience was gone.

But then—

“Brother!”

The word cut through the noise like a blade.

I froze.

I knew that voice. Smug. Charismatic. Infuriating.

Slowly, I turned.

And there he was.

My half-brother.

Smiling like the devil had just walked into the room.