The Billionaire and his Blood-Bride

Chapter Two: Stranger in the Shadows

Lana couldn’t move.

The man in the shadows stood tall, his features carved sharp by the dim light. His tailored suit fit like armor, every inch of him precise, controlled, dangerous. And yet—his eyes.

His eyes were the same haunting grey as the boy in the painting.

And they were staring directly at her.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said, his voice calm but cold, as if he were calculating every breath.

Lana’s fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. “You’re Greyson Thompson?”

A pause. His eyes flicked to the painting behind her, then back to her face.

“I go by Grey,” he said slowly. “No one calls me Greyson anymore.”

There was something unspoken in his tone—something dark and unfinished. Lana took a half step back, her instincts coiling tighter with each word.

“This is… some kind of mistake,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended. “I got a letter. No signature. No explanation. Just an address and a name.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared.

Lana hated silence. Especially the kind that felt like it held answers hostage.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she added, turning slightly toward the door. “This isn’t what I thought—”

“You’re not leaving.” His voice was calm, but the finality in it made her freeze.

“What?” Her heart stuttered.

“You were summoned by guardianship,” Grey said. “That means you’re bound to fulfill the terms of the contract.”

Lana turned back toward him, her confusion boiling into anger. “I haven’t signed a damn thing. I don’t know you. I didn’t agree to any of this. And if you think you can trap someone with a wax seal and a ride in a fancy car—”

“I don’t want this either.” He stepped into the light, and something shifted in his expression. “Trust me.”

It caught her off guard—those last two words. Trust me. As if he already knew she wouldn’t. As if he didn’t expect to be believed.

“I didn’t summon you,” he said. “I was summoned too.”

Lana’s voice dropped. “By who?”

“The people who still pull strings in this family.” His jaw tightened. “They arranged this years ago. We were just children.”

Her mind whirled.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why me?”

Grey stepped closer. His eyes moved over her slowly, like he was seeing something more than what stood in front of him.

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “But I intend to find out.”

Lana’s pulse raced. “So this is real? This whole thing? The marriage, the contract, the mansion—it’s all actually happening?”

He gave a slight nod. “Unless one of us finds a way to undo it.”

Her breath hitched.

A long silence settled between them, broken only by the distant ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway.

Then she asked the question she hadn’t dared voice since entering the house.

“That painting,” she said. “The one in the foyer. Those children. Who are they?”

Grey didn’t answer at first.

He looked past her, toward the hall she’d just come through. Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow of memory, maybe, or a doubt he didn’t want to name.

“I used to think they were portraits,” he said quietly. “But now I’m not sure they aren’t real.”

She blinked. “You mean… us?”

He didn’t nod. He didn’t deny it either.

Lana took a step closer, her voice a whisper. “That girl… she has my eyes.”

Grey met her gaze again. His voice, when he finally spoke, was hollow.

“I noticed.”

The air shifted. For a moment, the mansion seemed to shrink around her, its high ceilings closing in, its elegant walls suddenly oppressive.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

“I don’t belong here,” she said softly.

“Neither do I,” he replied.

They stood in silence. The kind of silence that came before thunder.

Then he turned and motioned toward a side hallway. “You’ll be staying in the east wing. Third floor. There’s staff on call if you need anything.”

“That’s it?” she asked. “You’re just sending me to bed like this is summer camp?”

He didn’t smile. “You’ll need rest.”

“For what?”

“For what comes next.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t over.

As he walked away, Lana stood frozen at the base of the staircase, her mind racing. Her thoughts looped around a single word from the painting’s plaque.

Thompson.

She’d never used that name. Never known anyone with it.

And yet—

Alana Thompson.

Why did that name feel like it had always belonged to her?

She didn’t notice the butler return until he cleared his throat beside her.

“Miss Rey,” he said gently, “your room is prepared.”

She followed him in silence up the long staircase, her hand grazing the carved banister as she climbed. Every step echoed like a countdown.

At the top, he gestured to a massive door with golden inlays. “You will be safe here.”

Safe.

Lana stepped inside, and the door closed softly behind her.

The room was too large, too quiet. Heavy curtains blocked out the moonlight. She moved toward the vanity, touching the edges of old perfume bottles and framed photos that weren’t hers.

In the mirror, she saw her own face.

Then—just for a moment—she saw someone else standing behind her.

A girl.

Same face.

Same eyes.

But younger.

Gone in a blink.