Chapter 2

Anya Alexander POV:

I don't know how long I lay on the cold kitchen floor. Time seemed to stretch and warp, each second an eternity of silent screaming. When I finally pushed myself up, my limbs felt heavy, disconnected from my body. The watch on the counter seemed to mock me. A monument to my own stupidity.

I looked at the two letters again. The one from the lawyer, Fred Warner. The name meant nothing to me. A reclusive tech billionaire from a bygone era, a Howard Hughes-like figure who had vanished from public life decades ago. An orphan like me wouldn't have any connection to a man like that. It had to be a mistake.

The other letter, however, was no mistake. It was the truth, cold and hard and undeniable.

My phone buzzed again. And again. A relentless assault. Friends-or people I thought were friends-sending me links to the news, their messages a mix of pity and morbid curiosity.

Then came a message from a number I didn't recognize. My thumb hovered over it, then pressed.

It was a picture. Kacey. She was holding up her left hand, the monstrous diamond sparkling under a chandelier. Her smile was triumphant, predatory. The caption was simple.

"He told me you were just the help. Looks like he was right. Thanks for warming him up for me."

A fresh wave of nausea hit me. I remembered helping Hamilton pick out a birthday gift for Kacey a few months ago. A delicate diamond bracelet. He' d said it was a bonus for her outstanding work. I' d even suggested the design, thinking it was a kind gesture for my bright-eyed protégée. I had been so blind. I had personally handed my executioner the axe.

I forced myself to breathe, the air catching in my throat like shards of glass. Another message chimed, this one an email with a subject line that cut through the noise: "Invitation: The Apex Club."

My fingers, clumsy and trembling, opened it. It was a formal invitation to join an exclusive, underground club for the world' s most elite software architects and developers. The ones who worked in the shadows, the true geniuses behind global tech. They called me by the name I used in the deep web coding forums, a name only a handful of people knew: "Ghost."

"We have admired your work on Glass Innovations' core architecture for years," the email read. "Your talent shouldn't remain in the shadows. We would be honored to have you."

A single, hysterical laugh escaped me. In the same hour my life was torn apart, a door I never knew existed was creaking open.

I replied instantly. "I accept. It would be my honor."

A small, defiant spark flickered to life in the frozen wasteland of my heart. It wasn't much, but it was something. Something that was mine.

My mind raced. I needed a plan. I couldn't stay here. This house, this life, it was all a lie. I thought of the baby. My baby. Not his. Never his. My hand rested on my still-flat stomach, a fierce, protective instinct surging through me.

Then I remembered the first letter. The lawyer. Fred Warner. It was a long shot, a desperate, insane grasp at a floating piece of wreckage, but it was all I had. I found the law firm online, my fingers flying across the keyboard. I found the main partner's direct line.

He answered on the second ring, his voice calm and professional.

"This is Anya Alexander," I said, my own voice sounding hollow and distant. "I received a letter regarding Fred Warner."

There was a pause, and then the lawyer's tone shifted, becoming warmer, almost reverent. "Ms. Alexander. We've been trying to find you for a very long time. Your father..."

"My father?" The word felt foreign on my tongue. "I don't have a father. I'm an orphan."

"That's not true," the lawyer said gently. "Fred Warner is your biological father. He's been searching for you ever since you were lost."

The floor seemed to drop out from under me for the second time that day. My father. A reclusive tech billionaire. It was too much. It was impossible. But in a world where my seven-year marriage was a phantom, maybe the impossible was the only thing left to believe in.

"I... I need help," I whispered, the words tearing from my throat. "I'm pregnant. And I'm leaving."

"Whatever you need, Ms. Alexander," the lawyer said, his voice firm and reassuring. "Your father's resources are now your resources. Where should we send a car?"

I gave him the address, my mind a blur. I hung up the phone. I looked at the anniversary cake I had baked, the words "Happy 7 Years, H" written in careful chocolate script. With a surge of cold fury, I picked it up and hurled it against the wall. It splattered, the sweet cream and rich chocolate sliding down the pristine white paint like blood. A perfect, messy, and final end.

Goodbye, Hamilton.

I erased every trace of myself from the house, packing a single bag with my laptops, hard drives, and the few personal items that were truly mine. As I was about to turn off my phone for good, one last message came through.

It was from Kacey. It was a video.

My thumb, acting of its own accord, pressed play. The screen filled with Kacey's face, flushed and smug. She was in a hotel room, propped up on pillows, wearing one of Hamilton' s shirts. The sound was muffled, but I could hear his voice, low and intimate, in the background.

"Are you sure she won' t see this?" I heard him murmur.

Kacey giggled, a sound that made my skin crawl. "Of course not, silly. She thinks I' m her sweet little protégée. She even helped me figure out what kind of gifts you like."

I heard the rustle of sheets, then Hamilton' s voice, closer this time, laced with a lazy amusement that cut me deeper than any rage. "Did she now? Well, you can thank her for me later."

The video cut off.

The phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. The bile rose in my throat, hot and bitter. It wasn't just a betrayal. It was a conspiracy. They had been working together, laughing at me, using my trust and my love as weapons against me. The mentorship, the "admiration," the friendship-it was all a calculated performance.

How long? How long had I been their fool?

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the suffocating silence. My escape. My new life.

I didn't look back.