“You’re too handsome to be alone,” my six-year-old daughter told the coldest billionaire in Manhattan. “You should be my daddy.” I thought she’d just gotten me fired, until Adrian Kane asked her one question that made her reveal the secret I’d spent years hiding.

By Thursday afternoon, news of the upcoming board meeting had leaked to the financial press. Headlines across Wall Street read: Blackwell & Reed Inheritance Feud: Mysterious Heir Challenges Victoria Kane.

Despite the media circus outside the building, inside the Tribeca penthouse, life had taken on a surprisingly warm, domestic rhythm.

Mia was sitting at the kitchen island, kicking her small legs back and forth while eating pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse ears—a specialized culinary creation that Adrian had spent forty-five minutes mastering in his gourmet kitchen.

"Look, Mommy! Mr. Handsome made me a pancake with three ears!" Mia announced proudly, pointing her syrup-covered fork at her plate.

"It's a very artistic pancake, sweetie," I smiled, pouring myself a fresh cup of coffee.

Adrian stepped up beside me, wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the top button undone, handing me a small manila folder. "The legal team reviewed your voting proxy. Everything is ironclad for tomorrow's 9:00 AM board vote. Victoria's legal injunction was dismissed by the state judge an hour ago."

"So she has no moves left?" I asked, looking through the court documents.

"Legally? None," Adrian said. "Financially? She's cornered. But a cornered predator is unpredictable. I've doubled the security team trailing us to the office tomorrow."

"Thank you, Adrian," I said softly, looking up at him.

Over the past four days, watching Adrian transform from a cold, distant corporate titan into a protective, loving presence in our lives had been extraordinary. He was no longer just my boss, or Julian's brother—he had become our anchor.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the counter. It was an unknown number.

I answered it. "Clara Vance speaking."

"Miss Vance," a raspy, elderly voice spoke through the receiver. "My name is Arthur Pendelton. I was Julian Kane's private physician in Seattle seven years ago."

My heart skipped a beat. "Dr. Pendelton?"

"I am calling because I saw your name on the news this morning regarding the Kane family trust," the old doctor explained. "There is something crucial you need to know about Julian's final medical records. Something that was kept out of the official autopsy report."

I moved away from the kitchen island, walking toward the study. "What are you talking about?"

"Julian didn't die of a sudden natural heart condition, Miss Vance," Dr. Pendelton said gravely. "Three days before he collapsed, his bloodwork showed high concentrations of synthetic digitalis—a rare heart toxin that simulates a natural cardiac arrest."

A cold shockwave washed over my body. "Toxin? Are you saying... Julian was poisoned?"

"I tried to report it to the local coroner seven years ago," the doctor continued, "but a private legal firm from Manhattan stepped in, paid off the coroner, and had the body cremated immediately. The legal firm was hired by Victoria Kane."

I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. Tears of shock and fury filled my eyes.

"Clara?" Adrian's voice sounded behind me. He walked into the study, noticing my pale face instantly. "What's wrong? Who was that?"

I turned to face him, my voice cracking with deep emotion. "Adrian... Julian didn't die from an illness."