SECRETLY The Billionaire Tycoon

Where Did You STEAL This?!

They summoned him like a defendant to sentencing.

Adrian descended the stairs to find the entire Thornton family assembled in the living room. Margaret perched on the center sofa like a queen on her throne. Isabella beside her, freshly showered, Brandon's arm draped possessively across her shoulders.

Kyle sprawled in the armchair, phone already recording. And in the corner, nearly invisible—Richard Thornton, Isabella's father, the only one who'd ever spoken to Adrian without venom in his voice. Now he just stared at the floor.

"Sit." Margaret pointed to the ottoman. Not the chairs. Not the sofa. The ottoman where they made the dog sit during family photos.

Adrian remained standing.

"Fine. Stand like the help you are." Margaret lifted a manila folder from the coffee table. "We're here to discuss your future. Or rather, your lack of one in this family."

Old man Thornton wheezed from his wheelchair by the window. Gerald Thornton—the patriarch, the man who'd built Thornton Enterprises from nothing, who now spent his days counting the fortune he'd accumulated. "Worst investment we ever made. Five years feeding and housing you. What did we get? Nothing but embarrassment."

"Grandpa's right." Kyle zoomed in on Adrian's face. "Sixty-eight thousand shares already, by the way. Hashtag PathenticHusband is trending nationwide. You're famous, bro!"

Margaret opened the folder. "These are divorce papers. Sign them. Isabella's real husband moves in next week, and we won't have you cluttering up the house when he arrives."

Brandon grinned. Pulled Isabella closer. Kissed her temple while staring directly at Adrian. "No hard feelings, buddy. You were just keeping her warm for me."

Isabella didn't pull away. Didn't even flinch. She looked at Adrian the way someone might look at a stain on the carpet—with mild disgust and the certain knowledge that someone else would clean it up.

"Five years," she said. "Five years and you're still driving for that delivery service. Do you know how humiliating that is? Having to tell people my husband delivers takeout?"

"I got you interviews," Margaret added. "Six different companies. Professional positions that any normal person would've killed for."

"And you failed every single one." Isabella's voice rose. "Because you're worthless. Because you have no ambition, no drive, no value as a human being."

Richard Thornton shifted in his seat. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Stayed silent.

Adrian watched him. The one person in this family who'd shown him basic human decency, and even he couldn't manage a defense now.

"You ate our food." Margaret stood, walked to Adrian, her heels clicking against marble. "Slept under our roof. Used our water, our electricity, our resources. And you couldn't even give us a grandchild worth having."

She pulled something from her purse. A check. Waved it in front of his face.

"Fifty thousand dollars. For your five years of servitude. Take it and disappear. Buy yourself a nice apartment somewhere far away from here. Consider it severance pay for a job you never actually did."

She dropped it at his feet.

The check fluttered down. Landed face-up. Fifty thousand dollars—more money than he'd supposedly earned in five years. Enough to make most people grateful. Enough to make them leave quietly.

Adrian looked at it. Then he bent down, picked it up, and held it between his hands.

The room watched. Waited for the grateful acceptance. The pathetic thank you.

He tore it in half. Then in half again. And again. The pieces fell like confetti around his shoes.

Silence crashed through the living room. Even Kyle's phone lowered slightly.

"Keep your money," Adrian said.

Margaret's face turned purple. "How dare you—"

"I'll sign." He looked at Isabella. Only at her. "On one condition."

Isabella rolled her eyes. "What could you possibly demand?"

"When you finally realize my worth, I won't come back even if you beg on your knees."

The room exploded.

Brandon laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. Kyle nearly dropped his phone. Gerald wheezed something that might have been amusement. Even Richard looked up, confusion and something like pity crossing his face.

"Oh my God." Isabella covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking. "The delusions. Brandon, he's actually serious."

"Buddy." Brandon stood, walked over, clapped Adrian on the shoulder like they were old friends. "The delusions are sad. Just sign the papers and go flip burgers somewhere. Maybe save up for therapy."

Margaret shoved the papers and a pen into Adrian's hands. "Sign. Now. Before I have you removed for trespassing."

Adrian took the pen. Looked at the signature line. Five years of his life reduced to one signature. Five years of believing that love could conquer pride, that patience would win over cruelty, that Isabella would eventually see past the mask to the man beneath.

He'd been wrong.

The pen moved across the paper. Each letter deliberate. Each stroke an ending.

His phone rang.

The name "Ryker" flashed on the screen. His second-in-command. His oldest friend. The man who'd been begging him to end this charade for five years.

Adrian answered. Put it on speaker.

"Prepare everything," he said. "I'm coming home."

Ryker's voice came through, barely containing relief. "Finally, sir. The empire awaits its king."

He ended the call. Set the signed papers on the coffee table. Looked at each face in turn—Brandon's amusement, Isabella's contempt, Margaret's satisfaction, Kyle's gleeful recording, Gerald's dismissive sneer, and Richard's shame.

"Goodbye," Adrian said.

He walked toward the door.

"Wait!" Margaret's voice stopped him. "You forgot your garbage clothes!"

She grabbed a black duffel bag from the closet—his belongings, already packed, as if she'd known this was coming. She threw it at him. The zipper broke. Clothes spilled across the floor.

And something else.

A jade pendant tumbled out. Small, ancient, intricately carved with a symbol that made Brandon pause mid-laugh.

He picked it up. Turned it over. His smile faded.

"Cheap jade?" But his voice wavered. He looked closer at the symbol carved into the stone. "Wait. This seal. This is..." His face went white. "This is the Apex family emblem."

Margaret snatched it from him. Squinted at it. "Apex? You mean those rumors about some shadow empire that supposedly runs half the city?"

"Not rumors." Brandon's voice had lost all its humor. "They're real. My father does business with them. Or tries to. They're so exclusive that most people don't even know who runs it." He looked at Adrian. At the pendant. "Where did you steal this?"

Adrian picked up his clothes. Shoved them back in the bag. Left the pendant on the floor.

"Keep it," he said. "Consider it a souvenir."

He walked out the door. Down the steps. Past the garden where he'd knelt just hours ago.

Behind him, he heard Brandon's voice rising in panic: "No, you don't understand. That seal—it's not something you fake. It's not something you steal. If he has one, if it's real—"

The door slammed shut, cutting off the rest.

Adrian stood on the sidewalk. Pulled out his phone. Texted Ryker: Send the car. And Ryker? Make it obvious.

The response came immediately: With pleasure, sir.