"He Hated Everyone. Then He Held Her Daughter and Uncovered a 2-Year-Old Secret."

And tonight, I was standing in the middle of it wearing a stunning emerald-green silk gown that Ethan had quietly had delivered to my apartment two days prior, with a team of professional stylists who made sure I looked every bit the part of high-society royalty.

Lily was safely tucked away in the penthouse suite upstairs under the watchful eye of a trusted, heavily vetted security detail led by Marco, Ethan’s most loyal head of personal security.

I stood near a towering pillar of white orchids, holding a flute of sparkling water, my eyes scanning the crowd for the man I dreaded meeting more than anyone else in the world.

Arthur Callahan.

The patriarch arrived precisely at eight o’clock. He was seventy-eight years old, tall and imposing, with silver hair combed back with military precision and cold, piercing eyes that missed nothing. He walked with a heavy silver-headed cane, flanked by Marcus Vance—his slick, perpetually smiling executive assistant whose eyes flicked nervously across the room like a cornered fox.

As Arthur made his way toward the VIP dais, the room parted before him like the Red Sea. People bowed their heads, offered polite, deferential smiles, and scrambled for a moment of his attention.

Then, Arthur stopped.

His sharp eyes locked onto the edge of the room where Ethan and I were standing.

For a fraction of a second, Arthur’s stride faltered. He stared at me—not at my gown, not at my jewelry, but at my face. The resemblance to Caleb was unmistakable, a ghostly echo of a rebellious son who had dared to defy his father's empire.

Slowly, deliberately, Arthur changed direction, steering his heavy cane across the polished marble floor straight toward us.

“Ethan,” Arthur’s voice was like grinding stones, dry and authoritative. “You managed to avoid my calls all week, yet you show up to my foundation gala accompanied by... a guest.”

Ethan didn't blink. He stepped slightly forward, placing his body in a protective barrier between his father and me.

“Good evening, Father,” Ethan replied smoothly, his tone ice-cold. “Allow me to introduce Lena Parker. She is my special guest tonight.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. There was no warmth in his gaze, only a calculating, predatory appraisal.

“Parker,” Arthur repeated slowly, tasting the name as if it were unpalatable. “I don't recall seeing a Miss Parker on the guest list provided by corporate communications. In fact, her face looks remarkably familiar. Weren't you working in the lower-level document processing pool?”

“I was, Mr. Callahan,” I answered, keeping my voice steady, refusing to let my hands shake against the stem of my glass. “I am now an executive assistant assigned directly to Ethan’s office.”

Arthur’s lips curled into a thin, cynical smile. He shifted his gaze back to his eldest son. “An executive assistant. How charming. Have you completely lost your mind, Ethan? You cancel a four-billion-dollar merger meeting on Tuesday, you lock yourself in your penthouse for forty-eight hours, and now you’re parading low-level administrative staff around my gala as if she belongs in our social circle?”

“Lena belongs wherever I ask her to be,” Ethan said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, razor-sharp register. “And if you have a problem with my staffing decisions, Father, you are welcome to take it up with the board of directors tomorrow morning.”

Arthur’s face flushed with sudden, suppressed rage. He leaned heavily on his cane, his eyes darting toward Marcus Vance, who stood quietly just behind his left shoulder.

Marcus stepped forward, offering a greasy, insincere smile. “Mr. Callahan is only concerned for the company’s public image, Ethan. With the upcoming federal transport audits, we cannot afford any... domestic distractions.”

Ethan’s head snapped toward Marcus. The air around Ethan grew so cold, so heavy, that the guests standing nearest to us instinctively took a step back.

“Watch your tongue, Marcus,” Ethan snarled, stepping toward him with terrifying menace. “You speak when you are spoken to. And even then, I’d advise you to keep your mouth shut.”

Before Marcus could stammer a reply, Arthur raised a hand, cutting off the impending confrontation. The old man stared at Ethan with a dark, knowing glint in his eye.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Ethan,” Arthur whispered, leaning in close so only we could hear. “You think you can protect whatever secret you’re hiding? You think digging into old ghosts won't bring this entire building down on your head?”