Arabella stood frozen in the doorway, her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest.
The voice she heard from within the study didn't belong to Nathaniel—but to someone she never expected to be near him again. Her blood chilled. She took a step forward, careful not to make a sound as she moved closer, her breath catching with every word spoken.
"…she doesn't know, does she?" the voice asked, deep and familiar.
Arabella's spine straightened. That voice—it couldn't be.
Nathaniel's voice responded, low and taut with frustration. "No. And it has to stay that way. If she finds out the truth now, everything will fall apart."
Arabella's mind raced. Who were they talking about? Her? What truth? She pressed her back to the wall, gripping the edge of the console table beside her. The air grew heavier with every second.
Then she heard it—the name.
"Arabella can never know what her own family did to you. If she finds out her brother was involved in the attack that nearly killed you, we lose everything."
Arabella felt her legs give out.
She collapsed to her knees, the weight of the revelation striking like a lightning bolt through her soul.
My brother?
Her mind replayed it in fragments: The fire. The betrayal. The whispers she had always ignored. But Nathaniel had known. He had known all along and hadn't told her.
---
Later that night, Arabella sat in her room, the echo of that conversation still tearing through her like a thousand shards of glass.
She couldn't confront Nathaniel. Not yet. She needed to understand the whole truth first. If her brother was involved in Nathaniel's attempted murder… what else had been hidden from her?
A knock on the door made her flinch.
"Arabella?" Nathaniel's voice, deep and cautious.
She stood quickly, smoothing her expression. "Come in."
He entered, dressed in a dark button-down and slacks, looking every bit the composed billionaire. But she could see the tension in his eyes, the silent weight he carried.
"I came to check on you. You didn't show up for dinner."
"I wasn't hungry," she said, keeping her voice steady.
Nathaniel moved closer. "Are you okay?"
Arabella gave him a soft smile, masking the storm inside. "Just tired. It's been a long day."
He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, but said nothing more. Instead, he reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.
"Let me know if you need anything."
She nodded.
And then he left.
Arabella waited until she was sure he was gone before collapsing onto her bed, eyes burning.
She had to know the truth.
---
The next day, Arabella paid a visit to the one person who might know what really happened all those years ago—her aunt Meredith.
The woman lived in a secluded estate outside the city, surrounded by guards and privacy hedges. Arabella hadn't seen her in years, not since the funeral of her parents.
Meredith opened the door herself, her eyes widening at the sight of her niece.
"Well, this is a surprise. Arabella Lancaster—no, you go by King now, don't you?"
Arabella didn't smile. "I need answers. About the fire. About my brother."
Meredith blinked, then gestured for her to come inside.
"I wondered when this would come back to haunt us," she muttered.
Arabella followed her into the study, the air thick with dust and secrets. Meredith poured herself a glass of whiskey and sat down across from her.
"Your brother, Anthony… he was desperate back then. Obsessed with saving your family's fortune. He fell in with the wrong people—some of them enemies of Nathaniel's family. He got in too deep."
Arabella's heart pounded. "Did he start the fire?"
Meredith looked her straight in the eye. "He gave them access. He may not have lit the match, but he handed them the keys. And Nathaniel… he was the real target. Not you. Not even your parents. Just him."
Arabella's breath left her body.
Her brother had betrayed them. Betrayed her. Betrayed Nathaniel.
And Nathaniel had known. He had carried the knowledge in silence, never breathing a word to her.
Her heart broke in a different way this time. It wasn't just about betrayal anymore—it was about love wrapped in lies.
---
That night, Arabella waited for Nathaniel in the study. When he walked in and saw her standing by the fireplace, his brows furrowed.
"You're up late."
"I went to see Aunt Meredith," she said quietly.
He froze. "Why?"
"To ask about the fire. About my brother."
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Nathaniel closed the door behind him, his jaw tightening. "Arabella…"
"You should have told me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You knew all this time. You knew what my brother did."
"I was trying to protect you."
"No," she said, stepping back, hurt blazing in her eyes. "You were trying to control the narrative. Just like everyone else."
He ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't want you to carry the guilt of his sins. You had already lost your family—I didn't want you to lose the image you had of them too."
"But I deserved to know the truth, Nathaniel. That choice wasn't yours to make."
Nathaniel stepped toward her, eyes pleading. "Everything I did was to keep you safe."
She met his gaze. "But who protected you?"
He faltered, and for the first time in a long time, she saw the pain etched behind his mask—the man who had survived betrayal, silence, and scars that had never fully healed.
---
That night, they didn't speak again.
Arabella sat alone in her room, wondering if love built on hidden truths could ever survive the light of day.
---
The next morning, a letter was slid beneath her door.
No return address. Just one sentence:
> "He's still alive. And he's coming back."
Arabella stared at the words.
Anthony.
Her brother.
The betrayal wasn't over.
The past was not finished with them yet.
Arabella stared at the letter in her trembling hands. Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of those words crashed over her like a tidal wave.
He's still alive.
The brother she believed was either missing or dead—the brother whose betrayal haunted her nightmares—was not only alive, but returning. Her knees weakened, and she gripped the edge of the dresser to steady herself.
She read the letter again.
He's coming back.
The message was brief, unsigned, and chilling in its certainty. No threat. No context. Just a haunting truth that unraveled every thread she had barely managed to stitch back into place.
Anthony.
The name echoed in her mind like a curse.
Arabella's thoughts spiraled. If Anthony truly was alive, where had he been all this time? Why hadn't he reached out to her? And worse—was he returning to make amends... or to finish what he started?
---
She didn't sleep that night.
When morning broke, pale and grey through the clouds, Arabella sat curled up on the edge of the couch in her room, the letter lying open on the coffee table in front of her. Her eyes were puffy from crying, but dry now. She was done weeping.
She needed answers—and she needed protection.
She made her way down the marble steps of the King estate to Nathaniel's office. She didn't knock this time. She couldn't afford to wait for pleasantries.
Nathaniel looked up from his desk the moment she entered, sensing her urgency.
"What happened?" he asked immediately, standing.
Arabella held out the letter. "This was slid under my door last night."
He took it, reading it in silence. Then his expression hardened, jaw clenched.
"Where is your security detail?"
"I told them to take the day off."
"Arabella—!"
"I needed to think. Alone."
Nathaniel ran a hand down his face, then placed the letter gently on his desk. "I'll double your security. Triple it, if necessary."
"Why didn't you tell me he was alive?" she demanded.
He looked at her, eyes flickering with guilt. "Because I didn't know for certain. The body was never found, but the fire was thorough enough to destroy almost everything. We had reason to believe he was dead."
Arabella crossed her arms. "But you suspected otherwise."
"Yes," he admitted. "We received an anonymous tip three months ago that Anthony might have faked his death and gone into hiding overseas. I didn't want to believe it."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice was softer now, laced with exhaustion rather than anger.
Nathaniel walked around the desk, stopping just in front of her. "Because the last time someone used your family to hurt me, you nearly died in the crossfire. I didn't want to drag you into that darkness again."
Arabella met his gaze. "Too late. I've lived in that darkness my entire life, Nathaniel. It's time I faced it head-on."
He nodded solemnly, recognizing the resolve in her eyes. "Then we'll face it together."
---
Later that day, Arabella visited the security wing of the estate, going over the increased measures Nathaniel had ordered: more cameras, additional guards, reinforced gates.
But something still gnawed at her.
She couldn't sit back and let others do the work. Not anymore.
She needed to find out where Anthony had been. Who had sent the letter. And what his return really meant.
That night, she called Elina.
"Are you alone?" Arabella asked.
"Yeah, just finishing dinner. What's going on? You sound... shaken."
"I need your help," Arabella said, her voice firm despite the whirlwind inside her. "I need to find someone."
---
The next few days passed in a tense blur.
Nathaniel brought in a private investigator from overseas—an ex-MI6 agent named Lucien Crane. The man was lean, sharp-eyed, and barely spoke. But Arabella could tell by the way Nathaniel interacted with him that he trusted him implicitly.
Lucien confirmed what Nathaniel had feared: Anthony Lancaster had indeed resurfaced in Eastern Europe under a false name. He'd been traced to Romania, Serbia, and possibly back in the U.S. within the last week.
And worse—he had ties to a powerful underground network of arms dealers and corporate saboteurs.
"He's not the same man you remember," Lucien warned Arabella during their first meeting.
"I'm not the same girl either," she replied coldly.
---
It all came to a head one evening, a stormy Tuesday when Nathaniel was attending a late business conference and Arabella stayed behind.
She was in the library, reading through old family documents, when the lights suddenly flickered.
Then went out.
Her heart stilled.
She rose slowly, every sense heightened. She could hear nothing but the distant patter of rain outside.
"Hello?" she called.
No answer.
A sudden sound—footsteps on the second floor.
Her blood turned to ice.
She grabbed her phone, fumbling to turn on the flashlight as she backed toward the exit.
But before she reached the door, a voice rang out from the shadows.
"You always were the brave one."
Arabella froze.
The flashlight caught the edge of a man's figure at the top of the stairs. Disheveled hair. Shadowed eyes. Familiar, yet terrifying in how different he looked.
"Anthony."
He stepped into the light.
The brother she hadn't seen in years.
Alive. Breathing.
Changed.