Chapter 3

Just as Ethan was about to retort, a third figure emerged from the mansion. Brian Hughes, formerly Brian Lester. He was the man who had married into the family, my father's ambitious business partner who became the de-facto patriarch after his death. He was Ethan and Nicole's father.

He strode toward the gate with an air of absolute authority. His face was a thundercloud.

"This circus ends now," he boomed, his voice echoing across the manicured lawn. He sided immediately with his children, his eyes burning with contempt as he looked at me.

"This woman is a nobody, a grifter trying to cash in on a famous name," he announced to the press. "The Hughes family will not be harassed. Security! Remove her and get these people off my property!"

Two large men in black suits started moving toward me. The reporters began to back away, intimidated by Brian's command. He stood there, flanked by his son and daughter, the picture of a united, powerful family casting out an unwanted intruder. It was the image that had destroyed me before.

But as the security guards reached the gate, a new sound cut through the air. A low, rhythmic thumping that grew louder and louder.

Thwump-thwump-thwump.

Everyone looked up. A helicopter was descending from the sky, aiming for the vast, open lawn right behind the gate. It was a sleek, black Bell 429, the kind that screamed old money and real power.

It landed gracefully, its blades whipping up the grass. The paparazzi went into a frenzy, their cameras swinging from me to the helicopter. Brian, Ethan, and Nicole stared, confused and annoyed by the interruption.

The helicopter door slid open.

And out stepped Annabel Hughes.

My paternal grandmother. The iron-willed, semi-retired matriarch of the Hughes dynasty. The one who lived quietly on her ranch in Montana, the one everyone thought was out of the picture. The one who controlled the family trust and held the real power.

She was the one who had started the search for me. She had seen the live stream and had flown in immediately.

She wore simple, elegant riding pants and leather boots, her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her face was lined with age, but her eyes were as sharp and clear as a winter sky.

She walked straight past the helicopter, her gaze fixed on Brian Hughes. The air turned ice-cold.