Chapter 3 - THE DEAD FIANCÉE WHO HAD BEEN PREGNANTBy noon, Ethan had told me enough truth to make every lie worse.
We met at Denise's office because I refused to see him alone.
Ethan arrived wearing jeans and the old navy jacket I had seen hundreds of times.
For some reason, that made me angrier than the suit.
“Don't dress poor for me,” I said.
He stopped in the doorway.
“I wasn't.”
“You have an entire wardrobe I apparently don't know about.”
Gabriel snorted.
Denise pointed toward a chair.
“Sit.”
Ethan obeyed.
I had never seen him look powerless before.
It was unsettling to realize a man worth billions could still resemble someone waiting for a verdict.
Denise began.
“Start with Camille.”
Ethan stared at his hands.
“I met Camille when I was twenty-two. Our families knew each other.”
“You were engaged?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told Mia?”
“No.”
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because talking about Camille meant talking about everything I was trying to escape.”
“That explanation is becoming convenient.”
“I know.”
He didn't defend himself.
Camille Davenport came from a wealthy family too, though nowhere near Victoria's level. Ethan said they had initially been friends.
Then they fell in love.
Victoria approved.
At first.
“Why?” Gabriel asked.
“Because Camille's father owned a logistics company my mother wanted access to.”
Gabriel leaned back.
“Romantic.”
Ethan ignored him.
When Camille became pregnant, she wanted Ethan to leave Ashford Holdings.
Victoria didn't.
“She told me Camille was trying to isolate me.”
“Were you?”
“No. I was stupid enough to believe my mother.”
My anger shifted slightly.
Not into forgiveness.
Just attention.
Three days before Camille's death, she called Ethan crying.
She said Victoria had offered her ten million dollars to terminate the pregnancy, end the engagement, and sign a confidentiality agreement.
Camille refused.
Ethan confronted Victoria.
She denied it.
“I believed her,” he whispered.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because she was my mother.”
The answer landed harder than expected.
Two nights later, Camille drove toward Ethan's apartment during a storm.
She never arrived.
Her car broke through a guardrail and plunged into a river.
She died before rescuers reached her.
The baby died with her.
Police ruled it an accident.
“But you think Victoria caused it,” Denise said.
“I think she covered up something.”
“What?”
“The brakes.”
Ethan had later discovered that Camille's mechanic claimed someone from the Ashford household had collected her car the day before the crash.
That mechanic disappeared six weeks later.
“Disappeared?”
“Moved,” Ethan said. “At least officially. I couldn't find him.”
Denise frowned.
“Did you tell police?”
“Yes. They said there wasn't enough evidence to reopen anything.”
“Then why pretend to be poor?”
Ethan looked at me.
“Because after Camille died, I realized I didn't know if anyone in my life loved me or my surname.”
I understood the emotion.
I did not accept the deception.
“So you became Ethan Cole.”
“Yes.”
“Delivery driver.”
“Yes.”
“Broke boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“And then you met me.”
His face softened.
“At a laundromat.”
I remembered.
He had accidentally put bleach in the wrong dispenser and ruined three shirts.
I'd laughed so hard I snorted.
He heard it.
We ate pizza together that night.
No limousine.
No security.
No private dining room.
Just two people sharing a booth.
“I didn't plan to fall in love with you,” he said.
“That's supposed to help?”
“No.”
“Why didn't you tell me after you did?”
“Because every month I waited made telling you harder.”
I looked away.
That, at least, sounded human.
Cowardly.
But human.
Denise interrupted.
“What changed now?”
“My grandfather died.”
“And?”
“He controlled my trust and voting shares. They transfer next month.”
“How much control?”
“Thirty-one percent of Ashford Holdings.”
Denise whistled quietly.
Ethan continued.
“My mother has twenty-four percent. Other family members and institutional investors hold the rest.”
“So once your shares transfer…”
“She can't control the company without me.”
There it was.
The reason Victoria suddenly cared about her son's waitress girlfriend.
The baby wasn't simply embarrassing.
The baby could become an heir.
Denise asked the obvious question.
“Does Mia's pregnancy affect the trust?”
Ethan hesitated.
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
“My grandfather's estate contains a generational succession clause.”
“English,” Gabriel said.
“If I have a biological child, certain family shares eventually pass through my bloodline instead of reverting to my mother's branch.”
I stared at him.
“How much?”
“Potentially several billion dollars over time.”
Gabriel muttered something unprintable.
I felt sick.
“My baby is seven weeks old.”
“I know.”
“And people are already calculating what they're worth.”
Ethan looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
I stood.
“I need air.”
He followed me into the corridor.
“Mia.”
“Don't.”
“I'm trying to protect you.”
“By lying?”
“I know I handled it wrong.”
“Wrong?”
I spun around.
“I was cleaning your mother's toilets while pregnant because I thought I owed her for a dress. You knew she could buy that dress without noticing the money was gone.”
“I told her to stop.”
“You let me keep going.”
“She said if I interfered, she'd investigate you.”
“She did anyway.”
His face tightened.
“What?”
I told him about the five-million-dollar check.
His anger had been genuine.
But then I remembered something.
“When you got into that Rolls-Royce last night, what were you doing?”
He looked down.
“Going to a board meeting.”
“You told me you had delivery shifts.”
“Yes.”
Another lie.
I nodded slowly.
“See? This is the problem. Every answer reveals another deception.”
“Mia—”
“I don't know where Ethan Cole ends and Ethan Ashford begins.”
His eyes were wet.
“Neither do I.”
That silenced me.
For one second.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph arrived.
It showed me leaving my apartment that morning.
Another photo showed Gabriel's car.
Then Denise's office entrance.
Underneath them was one sentence.
Take the money while the offer remains generous.
Ethan saw the message.
All softness vanished from his face.
He took out his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“My security director.”
“I don't want your family's security.”
“He doesn't work for my family. He works for me.”
Within twenty minutes, a man named Marcus Reed entered the office.
Former federal protective-service agent.
Forties.
Calm eyes.
No visible weapon.
He examined the photographs.
“They're close.”
My skin crawled.
“How close?”
“The first picture was taken from across the street from your building. The others are from vehicles.”
“So I'm being followed.”
“Yes.”
Ethan looked furious.
Marcus turned to him.
“Does Victoria know Ms. Torres retained counsel?”
“Probably.”
“Then you have a leak.”
Denise crossed her arms.
“Inside where?”
“Possibly Ashford security. Possibly somewhere else.”
I hugged my arms around myself.
A family worth billions.
Dead fiancée.
Pregnant heir.
Surveillance.
This was insane.
Then Marcus enlarged one of the photos.
He stared.
“What?”
Ethan asked.
Marcus zoomed into the reflection on Denise's glass door.
A man stood across the street.
Older.
Gray beard.
Baseball cap.
Ethan suddenly went pale.
“No.”
“What?” I asked.
He moved closer.
“That's impossible.”
“Who is he?”
Ethan looked at me as though a ghost had stepped into the room.
“That's Samuel Price.”
“Who?”
“The mechanic who worked on Camille's car.”
My pulse jumped.
“You said he disappeared.”
“He did.”
Marcus stared at the image.
“Apparently he came back.”
Ethan immediately headed for the door.
Marcus blocked him.
“Absolutely not.”
“He knows what happened.”
“He may also be bait.”
Then my phone rang again.
Unknown number.
This time, I answered.
No one spoke.
“Hello?”
Breathing.
Then an older man's voice.
“Ms. Torres?”
“Yes.”
“Don't trust the Ashfords.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Samuel?”
Everyone turned toward me.
The man inhaled sharply.
“I've been waiting five years to tell Ethan the truth.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't say.”
“What truth?”
Silence.
Then:
“Camille's brakes were cut.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Samuel continued.
“But Victoria didn't order it.”
The room went still.
I whispered,
“Then who did?”
The line crackled.
A car horn sounded somewhere behind him.
Samuel spoke three final words.
“Ask his brother.”
The call ended.
I looked at Ethan.
“You have a brother?”
His face told me I had just uncovered yet another secret.
“A half-brother.”
“Name?”
“Julian.”
“Where is he?”
May you like
Ethan stared toward the window.
“At my mother's house.”
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