Carrying The Ruthless Tycoon's Secret Heir

n the vast, silent living room. The echo of the slam faded, replaced by th

. The time for

d a large suitcase from the top of the walk-in closet, the one she'd arrived with three years a

ing else. The closets full of designer gowns, the velvet-lined drawers of glittering jewelry, the shelves of expensive handbags-she di

dwriting neat and clear. She placed it on the nightst

she zipped the suitcase shut. She took one last look around the gilded cage that had

out, the soft click of the door clo

to her comings and goings, hailed

cation of the small, second-floor apartment her mother had lived in be

d been on all night, were extinguished. The door opened. Julian emerged, his suit

here, perhaps crying, perhaps ready to beg for his

d only

tine. And on the nightstand, he saw

n his chest. It wasn't anger. It was a holl

ver, in three years, imagined she would s

the sharp edges dug into his palm. The Patek Philippe on his wrist, a symbol o

thumb jabbing at the screen

"Cancel all her access cards. Corporate accou

end. "Sir," he asked, his voice carefully neutra

is pride, a fortress of steel and ice, rose up to choke him. He h

ld and hard. "It's not nece

fume-something light, like freesia-faintly lingering in the air. He pinch

his office without knocking. "Jules, yo

ated, his voice flat as he stared

gh his hair. "You're going to regr

oking brick building in Astoria. The air here smelled d

of dust covered everything. The air was stale, th

f the city. Then, she began to clean. She scrubbed away the dust, as

t. The balance was meager. The road

was his sister, Kennedy, a kind-hearted art student

frantic. "My brother is acting like a walkin

," Chloe said, her v

ing to play mediator. Other acquaintances from Julian's world. She

e old, worn sofa that had been her mother's. The late afternoon sun s

a hand on h

whispered to the tiny,

e fear, despite the uncertainty, she felt the