Reincarnated As The Billionaire's Bride

Chapter 3: The Anonymous Texts

RYAN’S POV

The Lockwood Gala was a battlefield dressed in silk and diamonds. Chandeliers dripped light like molten glass, laughter chimed in false harmony, and every smile hid a blade. I had walked through this ballroom countless times, and every time I knew: no one here was a friend.

Laurel, if she even was Laurel, stood beside me. Her hand trembled faintly in mine, her shoulders tight beneath her gown. The woman I grew up loathing would never look so breakable.

My hand pressed to the small of her back, a quiet command. “Smile,” I murmured, my voice low enough for her alone. “You’re Laurel Blackwood. And everyone is watching.”

She obeyed, lips curving into something soft but uneasy. Too soft. Too human. Not the sharp-edged heiress who once spat venom with every word.

Whispers rose as we entered.

“She looks different,” someone said.

“Softer.”

“Maybe the accident changed her.”

Maybe it did. Or maybe this wasn’t Laurel at all.

“Clara. Adrian.” I guided her forward, toward my siblings. They waited at the grand staircase like stage actors ready for their cue.

Clara’s lips curled in disdain the moment her eyes met Laurel’s. “You clean up well,” she said, voice dripping with false sugar. “Almost like a different person entirely.”

A spark of unease flickered in Laurel’s eyes, but she lifted her chin, answering coolly, “Almost? I’d say I look better.”

I narrowed my gaze. That was Laurel’s arrogance, yes. But the tremor beneath it? That was new.

Adrian laughed softly, breaking the tension, but Clara’s glare lingered. She saw something off, too.

Before more could unfold, the announcer’s voice boomed:

“Mr. Daniel Parker and Ms. Katherine Lane.”

And suddenly the air shifted.

I watched Laurel stiffen as if struck. Her body went rigid under my hand, nails digging into her palm.

I followed her gaze, and there they were. Daniel Parker, polished and smug, with Katherine Lane at his side, emerald silk clinging to her frame. Their smiles were perfect. Too perfect.

But I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at her. At Laurel. The fire in her eyes, the way her breath hitched, the hatred radiating off her skin.

It wasn’t the reaction of an acquaintance. It was personal. Intimate.

“Steady,” I murmured against her ear. I felt her tremble.

Daniel’s eyes found her. He faltered. Just for a second. Long enough for me to see the flicker, recognition. Shock. Then, just as quickly, it was buried under a smile I didn’t trust.

He approached, Katherine trailing, her smirk sharp as broken glass.

“Laurel Blackwood,” Daniel said warmly, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. His lips lingered too long. My jaw tightened.

Her smile was brittle. “Daniel.”

I didn’t miss the way Katherine sized her up, hawk-like. “Laurel. You look… different.”

Her eyes glinted with challenge.

Laurel’s response was sweet venom. “I could say the same to you, Katherine. But snakes always shed their skin, don’t they?”

The corner of my mouth twitched despite myself. That was a strike. But it wasn’t the Laurel I remembered. Her cruelty had always been shallow, playful. This was deeper. Older. Like a wound talking back to its betrayer.

My hand tightened at her back, warning her not to lose control.

Daniel leaned in close, his voice too low for anyone else. But I caught it.

“You remind me of someone,” he whispered. “Someone I thought was dead.”

Laurel froze. Her smile widened, but I saw the panic behind it.

“Funny,” she said smoothly. “You remind me of a man I used to respect. But he’s dead too.”

Daniel’s smile slipped. Barely. But enough.

I stored it away.

Later, while the music swelled and champagne flowed, Clara cornered her on the balcony. I lingered close enough to hear, though they didn’t notice.

“You think you can fool everyone, Laurel?” Clara hissed. “You’ve changed. People see it. Ryan sees it.”

Laurel froze.

“Whatever game you’re playing,” Clara whispered, eyes glittering, “I’ll be the one to expose you.”

Before Laurel could answer, the balcony erupted in light, camera flashes. Reporters, microphones thrust forward.

“Laurel! How was recovery?”

“Rumors say the engagement is back on. Is it true?”

“Any comment on Ashley Young’s suicide? You’ve been emotional about it, haven’t you?”

That name. Ashley Young.

I didn’t miss the way Laurel’s face shattered at the sound. Her lips parted, raw pain flashing before she smothered it.

Without thinking, I stepped in front of her, a shield. “No more questions.” My voice was steel.

They backed off instantly.

I dragged her down the corridor, away from the noise, my grip firm. Once alone, I turned on her.

“Why,” I said slowly, my voice cutting, “would anyone think you care about Ashley Young?”

She swallowed hard, lips trembling.

“And why,” I stepped closer, my eyes boring into hers, “did Daniel Parker look at you tonight like he was seeing a ghost?”

Her silence told me more than words could.

Then my phone buzzed. I glanced at it, and the ground beneath us shifted.

An email. Anonymous.

The subject line: The Truth.

I opened it. A single sentence glared back.

She’s not Laurel Blackwood. She’s Ashley Young. Ask her about Lily.

My gaze lifted. Her face had gone pale.

And then I said it, each word quiet, lethal.

“Who the hell are you?”