I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father

The lobby of the penthouse suite shimmered with soft gold light, casting long shadows against marble floors. Brandon stood by the window, a glass of red wine in his hand, eyes fixed on the city skyline. The darkness outside was vast and glittering, hiding secrets like teeth behind a smirk.

After Levi had stormed the apartment in Lyse’s building, he had gotten a call from Anya. He had been forced to leave and come to his secret apartment hideaway, all the while checking the road to make sure that the old paranoid man had not been following him.

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He was waiting impatiently for Anya’s arrival. He was irritated at her failure and he chastised himself for thinking that she was not going to be another disappointment.

He was just going to have to find a way to deal with her.

The suite door burst open without a knock.

Anya stormed in, her hair wild, one heel broken, blood crusted near her lip. The scent of motel disinfectant and adrenaline clung to her. She didn’t wait for permission—just slammed the door shut behind her and strode across the room like a fury loosed from the underworld.

"He got away," she snapped.

Brandon didn’t turn around. He swirled the wine lazily in his glass, his reflection barely visible in the glass pane.

"I figured."

"He knows," Anya continued, pacing now. "He saw your name on my phone. I tried to stop him, but he was stronger than I thought. He knocked Marcus out cold—there’s blood all over the floor. I had to ditch the camera, the drugs—everything."

Still, Brandon didn’t react. He took a sip of wine and hummed softly, almost thoughtfully.