I couldn't help but gaze at her sleeping form, nestled peacefully against the bedsheets.
It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that the girl who had been my adversary for as long as I could remember; always sparring, always at odds, was now my wife, resting so vulnerably in my bed.
A blend of familiarity and astonishment coursed through me as my fingers delicately traced the contours of her smooth face,
the warmth of her skin igniting a tumult of emotions within me that I struggled to suppress.
As I looked at her, memories of our heated childhood arguments flashed in my mind, a stark contrast to the love that now bound us together.
Just then, the jarring sound of my phone ringing shattered the tranquil moment.
I snatched it up, the urgency of the call knitting my brow together.
It was my private investigator, Adam, and I braced myself for whatever news he had.
"Good day, Boss. I've got the list of people who murdered your father," he reported, his tone grim and steady.
I had hired him to uncover the truth behind my father's shocking death, the very man who had been brutally gunned down,
leaving a void in my life that felt both heavy and inexplicable.
"Meet me at Everland restaurant. I'll be there in an hour," I instructed, my mind racing with the implications of his words.
The notion that there were actual 'people' after my father, like he was some dangerous criminal, was absurd.
My father was a good man; why would anyone want to harm him?
With a heavy heart, I swung my legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom.
A hot shower washed away the remnants of sleep and the weight of the morning's revelations.
I threw on a relaxed combination of a black Gucci baggy t-shirt and my favorite pair of blue jeans, topping the look off with some sleek sunglasses, an attempt to shield my thoughts from the world outside.
As my eyes flickered towards Amanda, a smirk tugged at my lips; she must have been exhausted from our escapades the night before.
But then again, it couldn't have been entirely my fault; I couldn't resist her challenges, and losing was not in my nature.
I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed Anne, my lifelong nanny.
Since the moment I entered this world, she had been my guiding light, my comforting presence in a whirlwind of parental obligations and responsibilities that had consumed my family.
When I finally insisted she retire in comfort, setting her up in a cozy villa, she had fought me on it, claiming she had no children of her own and I would always be her son.
"Hello, Anne, how are you doing today?" I asked, trying to conceal the tension creeping into my voice.
"I'm just fine, Killy. Would you believe you remembered to call?" Her tone brimmed with that familiar warmth, laced with playful sarcasm.
"Really? Is Killy back in vogue?" I huffed dramatically, only half-kidding.
"Cut it out! You know I've always called you that since you were little, and I won't stop now," she reminded me, her laughter ringing out like a soothing balm.
"Fine. I'll settle for my full name, then," I relented, rolling my eyes even though she couldn't see me.
"So, how's your wife doing?" she ventured gently, the question hanging in the air like a delicate whisper.
I ran my fingers through my hair, a tinge of shame fluttering in my chest as I prepared to confess my lapse in moderation.
"Um… I might have gone a little overboard last night. Could you help nurse her until I return?" I asked, the weight of my indecision weighing heavily on my conscience.
"Oh good heavens! You really must take it easy on her, dear.
Do you think her delicate frame can withstand all that... manly energy of yours?" she cautioned, her voice filled with both amusement and motherly concern.
"I know, I know. I'll be more careful next time," I promised, the hint of a smile creeping into my tone, which made Anne chuckle lightly.
"Just be happy, my dear. I'll be there soon," she reassured me, a sweetness to her voice that added warmth to my crumbling spirits.
"Alright. Thank you, Anne," I said before hanging up and releasing a deep breath, a mixture of relief and apprehension coursing through me.
Not long after, Reid joined me.
His expression was serious, and I could sense he had more troubling news to divulge.
"Who were they?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
"I interrogated one of them. They're Michaelson's bodyguards," Reid informed, his demeanor suggesting this was only the tip of the iceberg.
"Michaelson?" My brow furrowed in confusion.
It didn't make sense; why would Herbert want to harm me?
"I don't think this is Herbert's doing," I muttered, frustration bubbling to the surface as I tried to make sense of the twisted puzzle in front of me.
As I arrived at Everland Restaurant, a prestigious five-star establishment renowned for its lavish décor and exquisite cuisine, my heart raced with a mix of anxiety and trepidation.
I made my way to the VIP suite, my thoughts racing ahead of me.
Adam was already there, darkly dressed in black with a nose mask and sunglasses concealing his identity, an enigmatic figure in this tangled web of deceit.
"Here's everything I've gathered," he said, sliding a photo across the table.
"The one who shot your father was Klein Drakes."
The name sent a chill down my spine.
"Klein Drakes?" I echoed, arching an eyebrow as disbelief settled in. "There's no Klein in the Drakes family."
"Your world is riddled with traitors, Boss. There's so much you don't know," Adam replied, his words resonating with a sense of urgency that anchored me to the spot.
"What do you mean?" I leaned in, drawn closer by the gravity of his revelation.
"Klein is your stepbrother, Boss. Vanessa isn't your real mother. Your father unknowingly signed an agreement that made Klein a member of the Drakes family. This was a long-con conspiracy, and now he is after the Drakes' fortune.
Vanessa has been secretly training him for this very moment, but your father had caught onto their scheme and intended for you to succeed him," Adam explained, setting off a storm of confusion and anger within me.
My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edges of the table, staring in disbelief at the photograph that bore a striking resemblance to the woman I had always believed to be my mother.
"If Vanessa isn't my mother, then who is?" I asked, bracing for what I knew could only be terrible news.
"Your real mother was Yvette Beauchamp from France. She supported your father when the Drakes group was on the verge of bankruptcy. She came from a wealthy family, but when you were only three years old, she suffered from a mental illness and was subsequently confined to a psychiatric hospital," he detailed.
The enormity of those words crashed over me like a tidal wave, leaving me grappling for breath.
"All this while my life has been a façade," I whispered, the realization burning deep within my chest.
My past, my identity, everything I thought I knew was crumbling before me.
The pieces of my life were shifting, revealing a truth I had never anticipated, and I was left standing at the precipice of understanding, ready to confront whatever darkness lay ahead.