Chapter 3 - THE MAN INSIDE THE HOUSE
By midnight, the penthouse looked less like a home and more like a command center.
Security teams moved through every room.
Phones were collected.
Cameras were checked.
Staff members were interviewed.
For the first time since marrying Dorian, I understood something I had spent years refusing to acknowledge.
His world was not dangerous because men carried guns.
It was dangerous because trust itself had a price.
I sat at the kitchen island drinking ginger tea while Dorian stood across the room speaking quietly with Caleb.
“No assumptions,” he said. “Check everyone.”
Caleb nodded.
“Even family?”
Dorian didn’t hesitate.
“Especially family.”
A voice sounded behind us.
“Well, that’s comforting.”
Julian Cross walked into the kitchen.
Dorian’s younger half brother was thirty-two, lean where Dorian was broad, blond where Dorian was dark. He wore expensive clothes carelessly and smiled like consequences were things that happened to other people.
His gaze found me.
“Alina.”
I didn’t return his smile.
“How did you get in?”
He lifted his hands.
“I have a key.”
“Not anymore,” Dorian said.
Julian looked amused.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
The smile disappeared.
“What happened?”
Dorian studied him.
“You tell me.”
Something shifted in Julian’s expression.
Barely visible.
But I saw it.
“So we’re doing this?” Julian asked.
“Doing what?”
“Pretending I’m the enemy again.”
Dorian stepped closer.
“Where were you this morning?”
“At the club.”
“Which club?”
“Halston.”
“Witnesses?”
Julian laughed.
“You think I cut Alina’s brake line?”
I froze.
Dorian hadn’t told him about the brakes.
Caleb went still.
Julian realized his mistake instantly.
Silence swallowed the room.
Dorian’s voice became almost gentle.
“How did you know?”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“Someone called me.”
“Who?”
“One of your security guys.”
“Name.”
“I don’t remember.”
Dorian moved closer.
“You remember the bartender who served you a bad whiskey in Paris eight years ago. Give me the name.”
Julian looked toward me.
Then back at his brother.
“Roman.”
Caleb shook his head.
“Roman hasn’t been briefed.”
Julian swore.
“Fine. Maybe it was Noah.”
“Noah was with me,” Caleb said.
Dorian’s expression changed.
Not rage.
Something sadder.
“Give me your phone.”
Julian stared at him.
“No.”
“Give me your phone.”
“You don’t own me.”
Dorian extended his hand.
Julian suddenly looked very young.
Then he threw the phone onto the kitchen counter.
“Search it.”
Caleb picked it up.
Julian looked at me.
“I didn’t hurt you.”
I wanted to believe him.
For years, Julian had been family.
He sent me ridiculous birthday gifts.
He once spent Christmas Eve helping me rescue a stray dog from beneath a parked car while Dorian complained that both of us were insane.
But fear changes familiar faces.
“Then help us understand,” I said.
His expression softened.
“I can’t.”
Dorian’s voice sharpened.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Julian looked at him.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
For several seconds, the brothers stared at each other.
Then Julian laughed without humor.
“You spent your whole life cleaning up our father’s mess. Congratulations. You became him.”
Dorian’s face hardened.
“Leave.”
“Gladly.”
Caleb stepped between Julian and the door.
“Not yet.”
Julian glanced at him.
“What now?”
“Phone password.”
Julian gave it reluctantly.
Caleb disappeared with the device.
The next morning, I woke after barely three hours of sleep.
For a moment I forgot everything.
Then nausea hit.
I barely reached the bathroom.
When I opened the door afterward, Dorian was sitting on the hallway floor.
I stared at him.
He was wearing yesterday’s clothes.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“To make sure you didn’t fall.”
Something painful moved inside my chest.
“You could have knocked.”
“You asked me not to come into your bedroom.”
“So you slept outside?”
“I didn’t sleep.”
I shook my head.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Probably.”
I walked past him.
He followed at a distance.
In the kitchen, Maria had left crackers, fruit and tea.
Dorian watched me nibble one cracker.
“You need to eat.”
“You need to stop supervising my digestive system.”
His mouth almost smiled.
Almost.
For ten seconds, we felt married again.
Then Caleb walked in carrying Julian’s phone.
The moment disappeared.
“We found encrypted messages.”
Dorian stood.
“From whom?”
“We don’t know.”
Caleb placed printed transcripts on the counter.
Julian entered behind him escorted by Noah.
He looked exhausted.
Dorian began reading.
My eyes followed.
One message was dated six months earlier.
SHE HAS TO LEAVE HIS HOUSE.
Another:
MAKE HIM BELIEVE SHE’S SAFER WITHOUT HIM.
Then another.
THE DIVORCE MUST LOOK REAL.
I stared at Julian.
“You knew.”
His face went pale.
“You knew Dorian was trying to protect me.”
“Yes.”
“And you helped?”
Silence.
“Julian.”
His eyes filled with shame.
“I thought I was helping.”
Dorian gripped the counter.
“Who were you talking to?”
Julian shook his head.
“I can’t tell you.”
Dorian crossed the room so quickly I barely saw him move.
He grabbed Julian by the jacket.
“Someone tried to kill my wife.”
Julian’s face twisted.
“I didn’t know they would do that.”
“Who?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because they have Mom.”
Everything stopped.
Dorian released him.
“What?”
Julian looked close to breaking.
“Our mother didn’t go to Switzerland for treatment.”
Dorian stared.
“She was supposed to be at a clinic.”
“She never arrived.”
“When?”
“Five months ago.”
“And you said nothing?”
“They told me if I told you, she died.”
Julian wiped his face.
“They made me send information. Schedules. Security changes. Legal documents.”
My stomach turned.
“Information about me?”
“Not at first.”
“But later?”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Dorian looked like he might kill him.
I stepped between them.
“Where is your mother?”
Julian shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Who has her?”
His eyes moved toward Dorian.
“A man named Victor Kane.”
I saw Dorian’s reaction.
Recognition.
“Who is he?” I asked.
Neither brother answered.
“Dorian.”
He looked at me.
“Victor was my father’s accountant.”
That sounded almost ordinary.
Then Dorian continued.
“He was also the man who arranged disappearances when money didn’t solve problems.”
A chill ran over my skin.
“Why would he want me?”
Dorian looked toward the ultrasound photograph Dr. Mercer had printed for us.
Then his face changed.
“He doesn’t.”
“What?”
“He wants the baby.”
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if he knows my father’s will.”
Julian looked up sharply.
“What will?”
Dorian said nothing for a long moment.
Then he walked to the safe hidden behind the study wall.
When he returned, he carried an old envelope.
“My father left control of one private holding trust to his first legitimate heir.”
Julian frowned.
“You never had children.”
“No.”
Dorian looked at me.
“But now I do.”
I stared at him.
“How much?”
“Enough to buy companies.”
My throat tightened.
“That’s why?”
“Possibly.”
He opened the document.
I read the figure.
Then read it again.
Four hundred and eighty million dollars.
And underneath the number was one condition.
Upon the birth of Dorian Cross’s first biological child, control of the trust would transfer permanently away from the trustees who had managed it since Vincent Cross’s death.
One trustee’s signature was at the bottom.
Victor Kane.
Suddenly everything made terrifying sense.
For twelve years, Victor had controlled nearly half a billion dollars.
My baby’s birth would take it away from him.
Then Caleb’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Boss.”
Dorian turned.
“What?”
Caleb placed the call on speaker.
A distorted male voice filled the kitchen.
“Congratulations on the heartbeat.”
My hand instinctively covered my stomach.
Dorian went completely still.
The voice continued.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
Dorian’s reply was quiet.
“No. I have something you’re never touching.”
A laugh came through the line.
Then the man said something that made Julian collapse into a chair.
“Tell your brother his mother says hello.”
The call disconnected.
And less than ten seconds later, a photograph arrived.
It showed Evelyn Cross tied to a chair.
May you like
Alive.
Holding today’s newspaper.
