The rain lashed against the windows as thunder cracked overhead, but all Arabella could hear was the rapid thud of her heart.
Anthony stood at the top of the staircase, the dim light from her phone casting shadows across his face. He looked older—sharper around the edges, worn down by years of hiding. But it was undeniably him. The man whose betrayal had shattered her family.
Her hands trembled, the flashlight jittering in her grasp.
"I didn't come to hurt you," Anthony said, descending the stairs slowly, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt.
Arabella didn't move.
Her voice was quiet, but it carried. "Then why come now?"
He reached the bottom of the staircase and stopped just a few feet from her. "Because I heard you were alive... and married to Nathaniel King."
His tone wasn't judgmental. It was something else—something close to regret.
Arabella's grip tightened on her phone. "That's not an answer."
Anthony let out a slow breath, his eyes scanning her face like he couldn't believe she was real. "I wanted to see you for myself. To explain."
"Explain?" she echoed, voice rising. "After all these years? After you disappeared—faked your death—and left me with nothing but your lies?"
Anthony looked down, guilt etched deep into the creases of his forehead. "I didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice," she snapped, voice cracking. "You just didn't choose me."
His shoulders slumped.
For a long, agonizing moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small flash drive. He held it out.
"This will explain everything. The deal, the setup, why I had to disappear. Everything."
Arabella didn't take it.
She didn't move.
"Why should I believe anything you say now?"
Anthony's voice cracked for the first time. "Because they're still watching me. Because the same people who tried to destroy me are now watching you. I had to go dark to keep you safe."
Arabella looked at the flash drive, then at him. "You weren't there when I needed you, Anthony. When Mom died. When everything burned down. You abandoned me."
"I was trying to protect you," he whispered, stepping closer. "But I was too deep. And once I realized how far they were willing to go, it was too late."
Arabella's silence was louder than any scream.
"I couldn't let them use me to hurt you."
"You already did," she whispered.
She finally reached out and took the flash drive. Her fingers brushed his, cold and foreign now. "Get out."
"Arabella—"
"Go," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "If Nathaniel finds you here, I can't protect you."
Anthony hesitated, then slowly turned and disappeared into the hallway. A moment later, the front door creaked open, and she heard the storm swallow him whole.
---
When Nathaniel returned, he found Arabella in the library, curled on the floor, the flash drive in her lap.
He rushed to her side. "Arabella—what happened? Are you hurt?"
"No," she murmured, eyes hollow. "He was here."
Nathaniel froze. "Anthony?"
She nodded.
He knelt beside her. "How? Did he threaten you?"
"No. He gave me this." She held up the flash drive. "Said it explains everything."
Nathaniel looked at her face and saw the war behind her eyes—anger, pain, longing, disbelief.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," she whispered.
"You don't have to decide tonight," he said gently. "Whatever's on that drive, we'll face it together."
---
They didn't open it immediately. Nathaniel had it checked for viruses and digital trackers first—standard protocol in his world. Once it was deemed safe, they loaded it onto a secure system in his office.
Arabella sat beside him, watching as files unfolded—documents, emails, surveillance footage.
And names.
Names that made her blood run cold.
There were emails between Anthony and a man named Victor Malkov, an international weapons dealer Nathaniel had once tried to put behind bars. There were blackmail letters—letters that threatened Arabella's life if Anthony didn't comply.
Photos. Footage. Plans.
It painted a terrifying picture: Anthony had been used as a pawn in a larger game—a game that reached into governments and corporate empires alike. He hadn't just faked his death to escape—it had been a final desperate move to disappear before those around him turned him into a weapon.
Arabella sat in stunned silence.
Nathaniel leaned back. "I know that name. Victor Malkov. He's wanted in six countries."
Arabella's fingers tightened around the chair. "He's the one who came after Anthony… and who might come after me now."
Nathaniel didn't speak for a moment. Then: "We're not waiting for him to make the next move."
Arabella's head snapped toward him.
He looked every bit the man she'd come to both fear and trust—the ruthless billionaire who had carved his empire from the bones of enemies.
"I'll contact Lucien. If Malkov's making moves again, we need to smoke him out."
Arabella nodded slowly. "And Anthony?"
Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "He's a liability. If he's being watched, just meeting you could've put a target on your back."
"He came to warn me, Nathaniel. He could've stayed gone."
"He could've also brought them straight to our door."
Arabella didn't respond. She understood both sides. Her heart warred with itself, torn between anger and compassion.
Nathaniel rested a hand on hers. "Whatever happens next, you won't face it alone."
---
That night, Arabella lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence was deafening.
Her thoughts swirled.
So many lies. So many layers to the truth.
And in the middle of it all—her.
She didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She simply stayed silent, processing the truth that had come crashing down on her shoulders once more.
She had been betrayed by her blood.
And now… she would decide what to do with the pieces.
The storm had long passed, leaving behind only the distant sound of water dripping from the gutters outside. The city lights flickered faintly beyond the balcony windows, casting silvery shadows across the bedroom.
Arabella sat up, her legs curled beneath her as she stared out into the night.
She had always dreamed of closure. Of understanding why her brother vanished, why he left her alone to pick up the shattered pieces of their family. And now that she had some of those answers, they weighed heavier than the questions ever did.
The truth didn't bring comfort—it brought more doubt.
Her fingers curled around the flash drive again, even though she had already watched everything. Her mind replayed the footage, the documents, the names. The truth had been buried for so long, and now that it had clawed its way to the surface, it threatened to destroy what fragile sense of peace she had rebuilt.
A soft knock came at the door.
She looked up as Nathaniel stepped in, wearing a dark robe over his slacks, his hair still damp from a shower. He looked at her with concern, the kind that had become more frequent between them in recent days.
"You haven't slept," he said quietly.
Arabella gave a faint shake of her head. "Too much noise in my head."
He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing lightly over hers.
"Is it him?" he asked. "Anthony?"
She hesitated. "It's everything. Him. Malkov. The way my past keeps bleeding into my present." Her voice cracked. "No matter how far I run, it always finds me."
Nathaniel leaned in, his eyes locked onto hers. "Then stop running, Arabella. Start fighting."
She met his gaze, startled by the intensity in his voice.
"We're not victims anymore," he continued. "Not you, not me. The people who tried to control our past don't get to write our future."
For a moment, she looked at him, truly looked at him—not as the man who forced her into a marriage, not as the cold billionaire the world feared, but as the man who had seen her pain and still stood beside her.
"You believe that?" she asked softly.
"I believe in you," he said without hesitation.
The silence that followed wasn't heavy this time. It was filled with something steadier—understanding.
"I need to find Anthony again," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "That's dangerous."
"I know. But he's still my brother. He's in this mess because of our bloodline. I need to know what he's planning."
Nathaniel exhaled slowly. "Then we do it together. We'll track him."
Arabella gave a small nod. "Thank you."
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Get some rest. We'll deal with the war tomorrow."
She watched as he left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alone again, Arabella reached for her journal—the one she kept hidden under the drawer. She hadn't written in it for weeks, but now her fingers moved without pause.
> _"Anthony's alive. He didn't die that day. He disappeared, and in doing so, so did a piece of me.
I should feel closure, but all I feel is hollow.
I want to scream at him.
I want to forgive him.
I want to forget he ever existed.
But most of all, I want to know if he's truly the enemy… or just another casualty of this twisted game."_
She closed the journal and slipped it back into its hiding place.
Sleep never came.
But resolve did.
Tomorrow, she would begin to uncover the rest of the truth—no matter how much it hurt.