Chapter 4: The Woman Who Knew I Was Coming
I knew something was wrong before I even reached the front gate.
The security lights were on.
Every single one.
That had never happened before.
My estate had always been carefully managed, but never aggressively. My security team understood that this was a home, not a fortress. The lights only activated when there was unusual movement around the property.
And that morning, at 6:42 a.m., there was unusual movement.
I slowed the car.
Marcus noticed immediately.
“Something wrong?””
I looked at the cameras mounted near the gate.
“Someone changed the security settings.””
His expression hardened.
“Do you want me to call the team?””
“No.””
I watched the house in the distance.
“No calls yet.””
Because I needed to know one thing.
Who was afraid?
The answer came less than a minute later.
The front door opened.
Genevieve stepped outside.
She was wearing a cream sweater, dark pants, and no makeup. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. To anyone watching from a distance, she looked like a woman who had spent the night crying.
A woman who had been hurt.
A woman who needed comfort.
That was what made her dangerous.
Because I knew exactly how convincing she could be.
She walked toward my car.
Not surprised.
Not confused.
Waiting.
I lowered the window.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered:
“You’re home.””
Not you’re back.
Not when did you arrive?
You’re home.
Like she had already accepted that I knew.
I looked at her carefully.
“How long have you known?””
Her face changed slightly.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
The smallest hesitation.
“I don’t know what you mean.””
I almost smiled.
Months ago, that answer would have worked.
Now it sounded rehearsed.
“Genevieve.””
Her eyes softened.
“Dorian, what happened?””
“You tell me.””
She stepped closer.
“You’re scaring me.””
That was the first thing she chose.
Not concern for the boys.
Not an apology.
Not a question about what I heard.
Fear for herself.
“I want to see Everett and Nico,” I said.
“They’re sleeping.””
“I know.””
Her expression froze.
“You know?””
I opened the door.
“I was here yesterday.””
The silence between us became heavy.
Genevieve’s lips parted.
Just for a second.
Then she recovered.
“You came home?””
“Yes.””
“And you didn’t tell me?””
“No.””
Her eyes searched my face.
Trying to calculate.
Trying to understand how much I knew.
That was when I realized something terrifying.
She wasn’t worried about losing me.
She was worried about losing control of the situation.
“Dorian,” she said quietly, “whatever you think you heard…”
“I heard enough.””
Her face became pale.
“What did you hear?””
I stepped out of the car.
The question was almost unbelievable.
She knew.
She knew exactly what I heard.
“I heard you tell Clara that you were tired of pretending.””
Genevieve looked away.
Only for a moment.
Then she sighed.
“Dorian, you misunderstood.””
I stared at her.
“I misunderstood you saying you wanted my sons gone?””
Her eyes widened.
“They’re not my words.””
“They came from your mouth.””
She lowered her voice.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that conversation.””
There it was.
Not denial.
Not shock.
A confession hidden inside a sentence.
“You mean you were saying things you knew I shouldn’t hear?””
She shook her head.
“No.””
But her confidence was fading.
“Dorian, you don’t understand the pressure I’ve been under.””
I looked toward the house.
“The pressure of taking care of two children?””
“Yes.””
Her answer came too quickly.
“They’re wonderful boys, but this life isn’t what I expected.””
I felt something inside me go cold.
“Then why did you tell me you wanted this?””
“Because I did.””
“No.””
I looked back at her.
“You wanted me.””
She said nothing.
“You wanted the house. The security. The name. The position.””
“That’s not fair.””
“Fair?””
My voice rose.
“Fair was Everett crying because he thought someone he trusted hated him. Fair was Nico sitting on the floor surrounded by broken glass because the person who promised to protect him didn’t care enough to stop it.””
Her expression changed.
For the first time, I saw anger.
Not sadness.
Not guilt.
Anger.
“You’re exaggerating.””
The words shocked me.
“You’re defending yourself?””
“I’m explaining reality.””
She crossed her arms.
“Dorian, you have no idea what it’s like being expected to step into a family that existed before you.””
I stared at her.
“I never asked you to replace Mallory.””
“You didn’t have to.””
Her voice sharpened.
“Every room in this house reminds me I’m not her.””
The sentence revealed something I hadn’t considered.
This was not just greed.
There was resentment.
A resentment she had hidden beneath kindness.
“You hated my sons because they reminded you of my first marriage.””
“No.””
“Then what?””
She looked away.
“Because they always came first.””
The honesty of that sentence hurt more than a lie.
Because it was the truth.
My sons would always come first.
Any person who entered our lives needed to understand that.
Not compete with it.
“I loved you,” I said quietly.
Her expression softened for a brief moment.
Then she looked away.
“Dorian…”
“No.””
I shook my head.
“I need to know something.””
“What?””
“When did you decide you wanted control over my family?””
Her face went still.
That was enough.
I had my answer.
“Who told you about the trust?””
Silence.
“Genevieve.””
She looked at me.
Then slowly smiled.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
A tired smile.
“You really think I planned all of this?””
“I know you did.””
“No.””
She stepped closer.
“You know what I think?””
I waited.
“I think you’re finally seeing how your family has always treated you.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
“It means your mother has been controlling your life since you were a child.””
My expression changed.
Because that was the first time she mentioned my mother.
And she did it naturally.
Too naturally.
“How much have you talked to Eleanor?””
Her eyes flickered.
There.
Another mistake.
“Answer me.””
“She contacted me.””
My stomach tightened.
“When?””
“Before we became serious.””
“Why?””
Genevieve looked uncomfortable.
“She wanted to know if I was right for you.””
“And?””
“She asked questions.””
“What kind of questions?””
Genevieve looked toward the house.
“About your priorities.””
I stepped closer.
“Explain.””
“She wanted to know if I understood the responsibilities that came with your name.””
My jaw tightened.
“And you told her?””
“I told her what she wanted to hear.””
The sentence was quiet.
But it was devastating.
Because it was the same sentence I had heard yesterday.
I told Dorian what he needed to hear.
“You’ve been lying to everyone.””
Her face hardened.
“Don’t pretend your family hasn’t been lying too.””
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
Rebecca.
I answered immediately.
“Dorian,” she said.
Her voice was urgent.
“What happened?””
“I found the person who warned Genevieve.””
I looked at Genevieve.
She was watching me.
“What did you find?””
Rebecca lowered her voice.
“It wasn’t Adrian.””
I felt my stomach drop.
“Then who?””
A pause.
Then:
“Your mother’s assistant tracked your return flight.””
I looked at Genevieve.
Her face changed.
Just enough.
Enough for me to know Rebecca was right.
“Why would my mother warn her?””
“I don’t know yet.””
I stared at the woman standing in front of me.
The woman I thought I knew.
The woman who was about to become my wife.
“Rebecca,” I said quietly, “I need everything you have on Eleanor.””
“Dorian…”
“Everything.””
After I ended the call, Genevieve spoke.
“You’re going to blame my family now?””
I looked at her.
“No.””
I walked past her toward the house.
“I’m going to find out why everyone around me has been keeping secrets.””
Inside, the hallway was silent.
Too silent.
I walked toward the nursery.
Then I stopped.
Because on the small table outside my sons’ room was a handwritten note.
Not from Genevieve.
Not from Clara.
From someone else.
I picked it up.
My hands went cold as I read the first line.
*Dorian, if you are reading this, then Genevieve knows you heard everything.*
I turned the paper over.
At the bottom was a signature.
A signature that made my heart stop.
May you like
Because the person who wrote the warning was the last person I expected to protect me.
*Eleanor Ashcombe.*
