Chapter 3 The Billionaire Who Doesn't Exist

Ava Monroe never liked being underestimated. Especially not by a man who strolled into her event, dropped a verbal grenade at her feet, and vanished like the whole damn place belonged to him. She didn't sleep that night. Not with the name Kai echoing in her head and the sick twist of intuition tightening behind her ribs. She sat on the edge of her bed in the guest suite Victor's team had set up for her-laptop open, hair pulled into a messy knot, still wearing the remnants of her event-day makeup. Search bar open. "Kai Leclair." No hits. Nothing real, anyway. Some French artist.

A video game designer in Tokyo. An Instagram model in Dubai. None of them were him. She narrowed the search. "Kai Leclair – Victor Leclair – relation?" Still nothing. No family records. No mentions. Not even a cousin in a tabloid scandal. He wasn't just invisible. He was erased. She leaned back in the plush chair, exhaling hard. Everyone left breadcrumbs-business filings, donations, scandals. The rich were careless with their footprints. But this man? He hadn't left a trace. And that made him dangerous. --- The next morning, the island glistened with overcompensation. Crystal glasses clinked. Helicopters hovered above the sea like insects. Staff moved like ghosts with perfect posture. Ava wore black slacks, a silk blouse, and sunglasses that hid her bloodshot eyes. Her body moved on muscle memory, checking schedules, coordinating brunch setups, fielding petty complaints from billionaires with God complexes. But her mind was hunting. At exactly 11:27 a.m., she saw him. Across the pool, leaning against a railing in the shade. Reading a book. Who reads at a party full of sex and power and champagne? She crossed the patio with her tablet in one hand and a forced calm in her bones. "I looked you up," she said when she reached him. He didn't look away from the page. "That was fast." "There's nothing. No records. No history." He finally looked up. "Does that scare you?" "Yes," she said honestly. "But what scares me more is that everyone else is pretending you're normal." Kai closed the book. It was poetry. French. Of course. "You think I'm a threat?" "I think you're hiding something." He smiled, barely. "Aren't we all?" She exhaled. "Look, I don't care who you are. I just need to know how deep I'm in." "You're not in," he said. She blinked. "Excuse me?" He straightened. No longer relaxed. "Not yet," he said. "But you will be. Whether you want to be or not." The words hit like cold water. She stepped back. "Is that a threat?" Kai studied her, then stepped closer-not aggressive, just near enough for her pulse to falter. "No," he said softly. "It's a warning." Ava swallowed. Her voice, when it came, was low. "From what?" He looked over her shoulder, to where Victor's guests were laughing at something cruel and expensive. Then back to her. "From the real reason you're here." --- That night, Ava sat on the back terrace of the villa, the ocean crashing quietly below, her skin prickling in the salty wind. She'd been through some shit. Men twice her size had screamed in her face because their lobster was too cold. She'd handled lawsuits, NDAs, minor celebrity overdoses, and one accidental royal engagement. But this? This was different. Kai Leclair wasn't just rich. He wasn't just rude. He was calculated. The way he moved. The way he looked at people without blinking. The way he said her name like it was both an accusation and a promise. She checked her phone. A new message blinked on the screen. Unknown Number: "Stop looking for my name. Start looking for his." She stared at it. Then the screen went black.