Chapter 7 The Penthouse and the First Glimpse of a New Life

The Rolls-Royce glided into the private, subterranean garage of a sleek skyscraper on Central Park South, a fortress of glass and steel with security that was discreet but absolute.

Ace got out, lifting Alexandrea effortlessly from the car. He carried her to a private elevator that opened directly into his residence-a sprawling duplex penthouse that occupied the entire top two floors.

The elevator doors slid open to a foyer the size of a small art gallery.

His head butler, Alastair Finch, was waiting for them. He was an older man, impeccably dressed in a traditional butler's uniform, his posture ramrod straight.

Alastair's gaze flickered to the unconscious woman in his employer's arms, but his expression remained perfectly serene. "Welcome home, sir."

"Alastair," Ace acknowledged, already moving towards the master bedroom wing. "Have Thaddeus bring Dr. Reed. Immediately."

Thaddeus Griffith was Ace's adopted younger brother, a brilliant surgeon. Dr. Evelyn Reed was the trusted, discreet female physician who served the family.

"Of course, sir," Alastair replied, his eyes briefly resting on Alexandrea's pale face before he turned to carry out the order.

Ace gently laid Alexandrea down on the enormous king-sized bed, pulling a soft cashmere throw over her. He stood there for a moment, watching her sleep, Bret's damning silence on the phone replaying in his mind.

He took out his phone and dialed Giles Oneill.

"Giles," he said, his voice flat, all business. "I need you to look into something."

"I want everything on the Terry family. Specifically, Ivette Terry's maternity records from twenty-two years ago. I want Alexandrea's birth certificate, her adoption papers, every piece of documentation you can find on her."

He added, his voice dropping an octave, "Dig deep. I have a suspicion that Alexandrea Terry is not a Terry at all."

Giles, though likely shocked, was a professional. "Understood, sir."

Ace hung up. The investigation had begun. The truth was now only a matter of time.

He walked out of the bedroom, where Alastair was waiting. He began issuing a new set of commands.

"Starting tomorrow, I want a team of the best nutritionists and private chefs in the city."

"Contact Dr. Aris Thorne. I want him on retainer, but she's not to know he's a therapist."

"Her entire wardrobe, everything she needs, is to be replaced. Top of the line. Clear out the east wing walk-in closet for her."

Alastair absorbed each instruction with a quiet nod. When Ace finished, he asked a simple, crucial question. "And the young lady, sir? How shall we refer to her?"

Ace paused. He glanced back towards the bedroom door, and for a moment, a look of profound tenderness crossed his features.

"She is to be addressed as the future Mrs. Griffith," he announced.

Alastair bowed his head deeply. "I understand perfectly, sir."

The news would spread like wildfire through the household staff. Alexandrea's status, her very identity, had just been rewritten by the master of the house, all while she slept, completely unaware.

The private elevator chimed, and Thaddeus arrived with a woman carrying a medical bag.

Thaddeus, a younger, more carefree version of Ace, whistled softly. "Big brother, you weren't kidding. You actually just stole her?"

Ace shot him a warning look. "Less talking. Go check on her. She's hurt."

Thaddeus and Dr. Reed went into the bedroom. Ace didn't follow. He gave them their space. He walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, looking down at the glittering tapestry of New York City at night, his mind already moving pieces on a chessboard only he could see.

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