Chapter 15
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TORREN’S POV
The boardroom was quiet except for the sound of my voice echoing off the walls. I was halfway through the pitch, laying out our expansion plans in Jakarta, when the door slammed open.
Everyone turned.
Mico burst in, sweating like a sinner in church and holding a tablet with both hands like it was on fire.
“Sir!” he said, panting. “You need to see this. Now.”
I raised a brow. “Mico, I’m in the middle of a million–dollar presentation. You better have a damn good reason for-”
He shoved the tablet into my hands before I could finish. I scowled and took it, fully ready to fire his ass in front of these foreign bastards.
Then I saw the headline.
“Ephraim Lambert Engaged to Heiress Therese Calderon.”
My mouth went dry. My grip tightened on the tablet.
“Calderon?” I muttered. The name hit me like a punch.
I remembered hearing it once… no, twice. At a political gala years ago. Some diplomats whispered about Duke Rafe Calderon, like the man was a ghost or a myth. Royals. The old money kind. Not just rich, but dangerous.
Mico leaned close and lowered his voice. “Sir… she’s one of them. Therese. She’s Duke Rafe’s eldest daughter. The one who vanished. The one who walked away from all of it.” My spine locked. “What?”
“She was supposed to marry some heir in Spain. The whole alliance thing. But she ran. They disowned her. She disappeared. And she married… you.”
The investors stared. I couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore. The words felt like static. I raised a hand to signal the meeting was done.
I stood up, still gripping the tablet like it would bleed answers.
I walked straight into my office. Mico followed and closed the door behind him.
“Give me everything,” I said. “I want her entire bloodline laid out on my desk. And Lambert’s too. I’want photos. I want dirt. I want the truth.”
He opened a folder and laid it all out.
There was Therese–not the pale little mouse I used to bark at in the kitchen–but a girl in pearls, standing beside her father at some gala. Hair pinned up. Back straight. Smile calm and deadly.
He Left Me for Dead, Now He Beas Me for Mercy
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She was radiant. Perfect posture. Eyes sharp.
“She was never ordinary,” I whispered.
Mico added quietly, “She had full honors in university. Fluent in three languages. Piano prodigy. She was even photographed with the Duchess of Montereale. That’s how high her status was. Then she vanished from records eight years ago. After she chose you.”
I sat down hard in my chair and looked at the photo again.
“I had a diamond,” I said, voice rough. “And I traded her for Ruby.”
Mico stayed silent.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey. My hand trembled as I drank it.
“What else did I not know about my own wife?” I muttered.
The glass clinked against the desk, and I stared at the screen. She had returned as something else now. Not my wife. Not my victim.
She was power in a silk dress. And I knew I had made the worst mistake of my life.
**
Mico returned the next day looking like he hadn’t slept. He was holding a thick–ass folder, heavier than the last one. His knuckles were white around it and his expression already told me I wasn’t gonna like whatever was inside.
I was slumped on the couch in my office, shirt half–buttoned, still tasting last night’s whiskey in my throat. My head was pounding like a drum and I had poured myself another glass just to feel human. But it just sat there on the table. Untouched.
Mico stood in front of me and cleared his throat.
“You’re not gonna like this, sir,” he said and gently placed the folder down like it was a loaded gun.
I rubbed my temples and leaned forward. “Mico, just get to the point. My head’s splitting and I don’t have the patience for dramatic buildup.”
He opened the folder and started talking. “Ephraim Lambert,” he said. “One of the Five Old Blood families. They’ve been running shit from behind the scenes for generations. Billionaires. Monarch–tier power. No front–page scandals. No political enemies. Clean and terrifying.”
I looked up at him. “You’re saying he’s one of those?”
Mico, nodded. “Yup. The Lamberts used to be the Calderons‘ fiercest allies. Way back. There’s a photo here,” he flipped a page, “Lambert’s grandfather shaking hands with Rafe Calderon in ’86. Geneva summit. Backroom alliance deals. Hidden property mergers. Quiet wars no one even knew happened.”
I leaned back, slowly. My stomach twisted as I asked, “So this isn’t a marriage.”
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He shook his head. “No, sir. This is a revival. It’s the Old Blood reuniting. Think monarchy
chess, not some fairytale shit. This isn’t about love. This is power reconstruction.”
I stared at the photos. One showed Ephraim standing at a marble podium, flanked by men in tailored suits. Another was a blurry aerial shot of some island estate. Private landing strip. Armed guards. Helicopters on standby.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “She’s not crawling back… she’s storming back. With firepower.”
Mico didn’t speak. He just let it hang in the air like a warning.
I picked up the glass and finally drank, but my hand shook so bad it nearly slipped from my fingers. The burn down my throat was nothing compared to the one spreading in my chest.
I kept staring at the folder.
All this time, I thought she was this soft thing. Quiet. Fragile. A background wife.
Turns out she was royalty. And now, she was armed with a king.
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