SECRETLY The Billionaire Tycoon

A SLAP In The Face

The Thornton family arrived at Apex Tower like royalty visiting a vassal state.

Margaret wore her most expensive gown, the one she'd bought for the governor's gala. Richard had been stuffed into a new suit that made him look like he was attending a funeral. Kyle livestreamed from the moment they stepped out of the car, phone held high, narrating to his hundred thousand followers.

"Entering the billionaire's lair!" His voice echoed across the pristine lobby. "We're about to close the biggest deal in family history! The Thorntons are officially playing in the big leagues!"

Other guests in the lobby turned to stare. Margaret preened under their attention, making sure her diamonds caught the light. "We're meeting with Silverline's owner," she announced to no one in particular. "Private dinner. Very exclusive."

A young woman in designer heels whispered to her companion, impressed. An older businessman nodded approvingly. Margaret felt vindicated. This was what success looked like.

Isabella and Brandon arrived ten minutes later in his Porsche. She'd chosen a form-fitting dress that showed off her figure—and the slight curve of her stomach at eight weeks pregnant. Women noticed. Men noticed. Brandon's hand settled possessively on her lower back as they walked through the doors.

"You look incredible," he murmured. "Everyone's staring."

"Good." Isabella touched her stomach, that practiced gesture. "They should be."

Kyle rushed over with his phone. "Sis! Say something for the followers!"

Isabella smiled at the camera. "Just here to celebrate another Thornton success. Family business, family victory."

The comments flooded in. Hearts and fire emojis. Congratulations. One user wrote: Your ex-husband could NEVER.

Isabella's smile widened.

Security escorted them to a private elevator. It required a keycard and a biometric scan. The doors were polished to mirrors. As they ascended, Margaret couldn't stop talking.

"This is just the beginning. Once we sign with Silverline, we'll have access to government contracts. Municipal projects. We'll be untouchable."

"If we sign," Richard said quietly.

"We will." Margaret shot him a look. "Stop being negative."

The elevator opened on the ninety-ninth floor. Isabella gasped before she could stop herself.

The restaurant was entirely glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the space, offering a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the city. Lights sprawled beneath them like a galaxy. The buildings they'd always thought were tall looked like toys from this height.

"See?" Margaret nudged Isabella. "This is the world your ex-husband could never give you. This is what real success looks like."

But something was wrong. The restaurant was empty. One table sat in the center of the room, perfectly set for six people, but every other table had been removed. No other guests. No ambient noise. Just them and the vast, echoing space.

A waiter appeared from nowhere. "Good evening. The host will arrive shortly. Please, enjoy the appetizers."

He gestured to the table. They sat. Brandon immediately grabbed the wine bottle, examined the label, and whistled. "This is a 1947 Château d'Yquem. Fifty thousand dollars a bottle minimum."

"See?" Margaret looked triumphant. "This owner has real taste. Real money."

But Richard kept looking around, that knot in his stomach tightening. "Why are we the only ones here? This entire floor is empty."

Kyle panned his phone across the vacant space. "Guys, this is kind of weird. It's like they closed the whole restaurant just for us."

"Of course they did!" Margaret's voice had an edge to it now. "They're showing respect to our family's importance!"

Isabella took a sip of wine and tried to ignore the unease creeping up her spine. The silence felt wrong. The emptiness felt staged. Like they were actors on a set, waiting for the real performance to begin.

The lights dimmed. Not much. Just enough to make the city beyond the windows glow brighter. And then footsteps echoed from the private elevator. Slow. Deliberate. The click of expensive shoes on marble.

Ryker emerged first. Six-foot-three of controlled violence in a tailored suit. His presence filled the room, commanding instant silence. Even Kyle's livestream commentary died in his throat.

Isabella's hand froze halfway to her wine glass. "Wait. Isn't that the man from the video? Adrian's rented 'bodyguard'?"

Brandon stood up, his chair scraping loudly. "Hey! Where's your boss? We don't have time for assistants! Tell whoever hired you to—"

Ryker stepped aside.

And Adrian walked out of the elevator.

The transformation was staggering. Gone were the cheap clothes, the hunched posture, the careful invisibility he'd worn like armor. Now he wore a custom suit that probably cost six figures, his hair styled back, his shoulders squared with the kind of confidence that came from owning everything in sight. He moved like a predator, like someone who'd never bowed to anyone in his life.

Margaret squinted at him, confusion flickering across her face. "What's all this? Young man, we're here to see the owner of—"

Adrian walked past her without acknowledgment. Sat down at the head of the table in the chair they'd left empty. Leaned back. Fixed them all with eyes that had forgotten how to pretend warmth.

"You're looking at him."

Silence crashed through the room like a physical force.

Isabella's wine glass slipped from her fingers. It hit the floor and exploded, red wine spreading across white marble like blood. Her mouth opened but no sound came out.

Brandon jumped up, his chair clattering backward. "This is a joke! This is that beggar! He's scamming you all! I'm calling the police right now!" He fumbled for his phone. "This is fraud! Identity theft! You can't just—"

"Please do." Adrian's voice was ice. Absolute zero. "I'd love to have officers here when I explain how you've been embezzling from Sterling Industries. Two million dollars over the past eighteen months. Offshore accounts in the Caymans. Want me to pull up the transaction records? I own the bank you used."

Brandon's phone slipped from his hand. Hit the floor. Didn't break. Just lay there between them like evidence.

"That's—" Brandon's face drained of color. "That's not—you can't—"

"I can." Adrian gestured to Ryker, who pulled out a tablet and set it on the table. Transaction records filled the screen. Dates. Amounts. Account numbers. Everything. "Bank of Providence, account ending in 7743. Your offshore shell company, 'Coastal Investments LLC.' Should I continue?"

Brandon sat down hard, like his legs had stopped working.

Margaret found her voice. It came out shrill, desperate. "This is impossible! You're not—you can't be—Adrian was a delivery driver! A nobody! You're an imposter!"

"Am I?" Adrian looked at her the way someone might look at an insect they were deciding whether to crush. "Ryker, show them the ownership documents for Silverline Corporation."

The tablet screen changed. Legal documents appeared. Corporate filings. Ownership structures buried under twelve layers of shell companies, all leading back to one name: Adrian Kane.

"Silverline Corporation," Ryker said calmly, "is a subsidiary of Kane Global Enterprises. Which is owned by Kane Holdings International. Which is owned by Apex Empire. Which is owned by the man sitting in front of you."

Richard's hands started shaking. He gripped the edge of the table to hide it. "The deal. The five hundred million—"

"Was always mine to give or take away." Adrian finally looked at Isabella. Really looked at her. "How does it feel? Sitting here? Realizing everything you thought you knew was a lie?"

Isabella couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. The baby inside her felt like a weight, like proof of every terrible decision she'd ever made.

"This isn't real," she whispered. "You're not real. You can't be."

"Five years," Adrian said. "Five years I lived in your house. Slept on your floor. Cleaned your shoes. And you never once asked yourself if there might be more to me. You just accepted that I was worthless because it was easier than thinking."

Kyle's livestream was still running. Two hundred thousand viewers now. The comments section had exploded into chaos.

Brandon stood up on shaking legs. "I'm leaving. This is insane. You're all insane."

"Sit down." Adrian didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to. "You're not going anywhere until we discuss exactly how much you've stolen. And what I'm going to do about it.”