SECRETLY The Billionaire Tycoon

GOODBYE, ISABELLA

Brandon's finger hovered over his phone screen, frozen between defiance and terror. "Embezzling? You're insane! I'm a senior VP at Sterling Industries! My family built that company!"

Adrian nodded to Ryker. The tablet screen went dark, then blazed to life again—but this time projecting onto the massive glass wall behind Adrian, turning the city view into a canvas for Brandon's crimes.

Transaction records filled the glass. Dates, amounts, routing numbers. Money flowing from Sterling Industries accounts into a web of offshore companies. Two million dollars over eighteen months, broken into chunks small enough to avoid triggering automatic audits but large enough to fund Brandon's lifestyle.

Brandon's face drained of color until he looked like a corpse. "How... where did you even get those? Those accounts are encrypted. Triple-layered security. There's no way—"

"I told you I own the bank you used." Adrian's voice was casual, like discussing the weather. "Providence International. My subsidiary. Did you really think your accounts were private? Every keystroke, every transfer, every late-night transaction you thought was hidden—I've been watching it all."

Margaret shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against marble. "This is fake! You're not fooling anyone with this circus! You probably hired some hacker to create forgeries!"

"Ryker," Adrian said. "Show them the ownership documents for Silverline Corporation."

The projection changed. Legal documents appeared—corporate filings, stock certificates, board resolutions. The ownership structure of Silverline Corporation laid bare, each shell company peeling away like layers of an onion, all leading back to one name at the center: Kane Global Enterprises. CEO: Adrian Kane.

Isabella's hands started trembling. She gripped the edge of the table to steady them. "That's not possible. You were a delivery driver. You drove a ten-year-old Honda. You wore the same three shirts on rotation."

"I was the heir to the Kane Empire." Adrian stood, walked to the window, looked out at the city he owned. "I chose to live as a commoner for five years. My father's test for all his heirs. Could I endure humility? Could I survive with nothing? Could I resist the temptation to reveal myself when faced with cruelty?"

Richard Thornton spoke for the first time, his voice barely a whisper. "The test. Vincent Kane's famous test. I read about it in Forbes years ago. They said it was a myth."

"Not a myth." Adrian turned back to face them. "Very real. And all of you were my examination. Every insult, every moment you treated me like dirt, every time you made me kneel or serve or bow—you were teaching me what I needed to learn."

"What's that?" Isabella's voice cracked.

"That most people are exactly as shallow as they appear."

Kyle's livestream had exploded. Fifty thousand viewers now, the comments section scrolling too fast to read. Someone had already screen-captured the financial documents. Brandon's embezzlement was going viral in real-time.

Margaret recovered, some of her old fire returning. "So what? You passed some test? You proved you could play dress-up as a poor person? That doesn't change anything! You still want Isabella! That's why we're here, isn't it? You're trying to win her back with this big reveal!"

Adrian laughed. The sound was wrong—cold, hollow, and frightening. It echoed through the empty restaurant like something breaking. "Want her? Want the woman who bedded another man in our marriage bed? The woman who couldn't even wait until the divorce was finalized before spreading her legs for him?"

Isabella flushed crimson. "You were useless! You gave me nothing! I needed a real man, someone who could provide, who could—"

"And now you're carrying his child." Adrian gestured at Brandon. "Congratulations. I hope his embezzled money covers diapers. Although it won't, since Sterling Industries is about to press charges."

Brandon lunged. Actually lunged across the table at Adrian, hands reaching for his throat, face twisted with rage and panic. He made it halfway across before Ryker moved—one fluid motion and Brandon was face-down on the table, arm twisted behind his back, Ryker's knee in his spine.

"Don't." Ryker's voice was conversational. "I spent ten years in the Marines. I know seventeen ways to break your arm from this position."

"Let him go," Adrian said. Ryker released Brandon, who slumped back into his chair, cradling his arm. "You're not worth the assault charges."

Adrian walked back to his seat. Sat down. Folded his hands on the table like they were discussing a business merger. "The Silverline deal is cancelled. Effective immediately. Your company has thirty days to repay the five hundred million dollar loan that Titan Properties extended to Thornton Enterprises last year."

Margaret's knees gave out. She collapsed into her chair, her hand clutching her chest. "Five hundred million? We don't have that kind of cash! We'd have to liquidate everything! We'd be bankrupt!"

"Yes," Adrian agreed. "You would."

"You can't do this!" Margaret's voice rose to a shriek. "We'll sue! We'll go to the press! We'll tell everyone you're targeting us because of some petty revenge over a failed marriage!"

"Go ahead." Adrian pulled out his phone. Showed them the screen. Kyle's livestream, still running, the viewer count now at seventy-five thousand. "Your son has been broadcasting this entire conversation. The world already knows. And what they'll see is a family that treated their son-in-law like a slave, only to discover he owned everything they thought they'd built."

Kyle's phone slipped from his shaking hands. Clattered on the floor. The livestream kept running, the camera now pointing at the ceiling, but the audio still crystal clear.

Richard buried his face in his hands. "I tried to tell you. All of you. I said we should treat him better. That there was something about him—"

"Shut up, Richard!" Margaret turned on him, vicious. "This is your fault! You should have investigated him! You should have known!"

"How?" Richard looked up, and there were tears on his face. "How was I supposed to know? He lived like us. Talked like us. He was—" He looked at Adrian. "You were perfect at it. The disguise."

"I had good teachers," Adrian said. "All of you."

Isabella stood on shaking legs. Walked around the table toward Adrian. Her hand went to her stomach—that practiced gesture—and something in her eyes had changed. Calculation. Desperation.

"Adrian." Her voice had gone soft, pleading. "I made a mistake. I see that now. I was blind, I was stupid, I didn't understand—"

"Don't even try." Adrian's voice cut like a blade.

"Please. Just listen. We can fix this. We can start over. The baby—it doesn't have to matter. We can say it's yours. We can tell everyone it's yours. Brandon will disappear, I'll make him disappear, and we can—"

"Stop talking."

But Isabella kept coming, kept pleading, her voice rising with panic. "You loved me! I know you did! Five years you stayed, five years you endured everything because you loved me! That doesn't just disappear! Give me another chance! Please! I'm begging you!"

Adrian stood. Walked toward the elevator. Ryker fell in beside him.

Isabella's voice cracked into a scream. "Wait! Adrian! Please! I made a mistake! Just one mistake! You can't throw everything away over one mistake!"

Adrian paused at the elevator. Didn't turn around. His hand hovered over the button.

"You had five years of chances," he said quietly. "Every day I stayed was another chance. Every time I came home to you, every meal I made, every moment I hoped you might see me as something more than a servant—those were all chances. And you chose to give them all to him."

The elevator doors opened. Adrian stepped inside.

"Adrian!" Isabella ran toward him, her heels clicking frantically on marble. "Don't do this! Don't leave me! I'll do anything! Anything you want!"

The doors started to close. Adrian looked at her one last time—really looked at her, at the desperation in her eyes, at the baby she carried that would never be his, at the woman he'd loved enough to endure five years of hell for.

"Goodbye, Isabella."

The doors closed on her face, mid-scream, her hands hitting the steel just a second too late.