Chapter 2

I stared at Dominic Ashford—a man the press called "The Ghost" because no one saw him coming until it was too late.

He stood a full head taller than Fletcher, broader in the shoulders, with the kind of quiet authority that didn't need a loud voice. His eyes scanned my face like he was reading a file he'd already memorized.

"You look surprised," he said.

"You look like you were waiting for me."

"I was." He held the elevator door open. "Get in. Your grandfather doesn't like to be kept waiting."

My mind raced. In my past life, I never knew I was an Ashford. I'd died as Nora Chen, the broke, unwanted ex-wife of Fletcher Duval. Nobody came to my funeral. Nobody even noticed I was gone.

But three months ago, when I woke up reborn, I found a letter my mother had hidden inside the lining of an old suitcase—a letter explaining everything. My real name. My real family. And why she ran.

I hadn't contacted the Ashfords yet. I was still planning my next move.

So how did they find me?

I stepped into the elevator, keeping distance between us. "How long have you known who I am?"

Dominic pressed the button for the parking garage. "Since you were six. We've been watching over you."

My blood went cold. "Watching over me? For seventeen years? While I grew up in poverty? While my mother worked herself to death? While I married a man who treated me like—"

"Like dirt." His voice was flat. No apology. No softness. "Yes."

"And you did nothing?"

"Your mother's dying wish was that we stay away until you were ready." He glanced at me. "You weren't ready. Now you are."

The elevator opened to a black armored car with tinted windows. A driver held the door.

I didn't move. "How do you know I'm ready now?"

Dominic's gaze dropped to the divorce papers in my hand. "Because you finally stopped loving someone who wanted you dead."

The words hit like a slap. Not because they were cruel—but because they were true.

I got in the car.

The drive to the Ashford estate took forty minutes. The estate itself sat behind walls so high you couldn't see the house from the road—only the iron gates with the family crest: a lion holding a blade.

Inside, the mansion was enormous—marble floors, cathedral ceilings, old oil paintings of people who shared my cheekbones. An elderly man sat in a wheelchair by the fireplace, a blanket over his legs and sharp, bright eyes that missed nothing.

"Nora." His voice cracked on my name. "You look just like your mother."

I knelt beside him, and for the first time in years, I let someone hold my hand without flinching.

"Grandpa."

He cupped my face, tears rolling into the deep lines of his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry we let you suffer. But I swear to you—every person who hurt you will pay. Starting with the Duvals."

Behind me, Dominic leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching.

"Grandfather," he said quietly, "before we deal with the Duvals, there's something she should know."

The old man wiped his eyes and nodded.

Dominic looked at me. "Fletcher Duval's mistress—Megan Hale. She's not just some woman he picked up. She's your cousin. Your mother's sister's daughter."

The room tilted.

"She knows exactly who you are, Nora. She's known all along. And she's been positioned beside Fletcher for one reason—to make sure you never find your way back to this family."

My hands started shaking.

Dominic stepped closer, his voice dropping low.

"There's more. She's pregnant—and she's claiming the baby is the key to a merger between the Duvals and the Ashfords. She's telling Fletcher that she is the real Ashford heiress."