Chapter 3

Money leaves a trail. Even when it’s buried in shell companies, offshore accounts, or fake charities named after dead dogs—money always talks. And I was finally listening. I sat at the dining table in my new penthouse, a laptop in front of me, three phones buzzing with legal updates, and Luca’s voice calm and crisp on speaker. “Veronica funneled roughly two million into a consulting firm two weeks before your father’s death,” he said. “Guess what the firm specializes in?” “Fake mental health diagnostics?” I offered. He chuckled. “Close. Corporate image clean-up. Also known as: burying scandals before they hit the press.” I leaned back, legs crossed, fingers steepled. “So she paid them to scrub my existence.” “And made you look insane while she did it,” he added. My jaw clenched. She didn’t just try to ruin my life. She tried to erase it. “I want it all back,” I said quietly. “Every cent. Every lie she wrapped in pearls and called a legacy.” “You’ll get it,” Luca replied. “But you need to be strategic.” I stood, pacing to the window. The city stretched beneath me like a chessboard. “Strategic is easy,” I said. “Cold is easier.” He went quiet. Then—“And how are you sleeping?” I paused. The question wasn’t professional. And the tone wasn’t neutral. “I’m fine,” I lied. “You sure?” he asked. “Because most people don’t eat vengeance for breakfast.” I turned to face the camera. My eyes locked with his through the screen. “I’m not most people.” Later that night, I found him waiting outside the penthouse. Suit jacket gone. Sleeves rolled up. Tie loosened just enough to make breathing harder. He looked tired. But when his eyes landed on me, he lit up like trouble. “You shouldn’t be here,” I said, holding the door open just enough for the hallway light to catch on my silk robe. He raised a brow. “You asked for updates.” “You could’ve emailed.” He stepped forward. “I don’t trust email with secrets this big.” Now he was close. Too close. “Luca,” I warned. He tilted his head. “I’ve worked for your family a long time.” “Technically, I am your employer now.” He smirked. “Then I should warn you: I’m not very obedient.” My pulse kicked. “You going to fire me for saying that?” I leaned against the doorway, just enough silk slipping off my shoulder to be an accident—or not. “I haven’t decided,” I said. “Depends what you tell me next.” He reached into his coat. Pulled out a manila folder. “Veronica’s hiding something bigger,” he said. “Something with your father's signature on it. Sealed records. Hidden assets. Offshore bank in Zurich.” My breath caught. “She killed him, didn’t she?” “I can’t prove it yet,” he said. “But I will.” And then he looked at me. Like he already had. “Get some rest, Lyla,” he said softly. “War starts tomorrow.” He turned and walked away. And I stood in the doorway, heart racing, silk clinging to sweat-slick skin— Already thinking about how this war might end. And who I might lose in the process.