While My Husband Cheated, I Married His Powerful Brother

The door slammed so hard the pictures on the wall rattled.

Veyra stood in the middle of her bedroom, staring at the closed door, her ears ringing. Dorian had snatched the ruined phone from her hand and stormed out without a word. His footsteps faded down the hallway. Then silence.

She let out a breath she did not know she had been holding.

Her heart was still pounding. Not from fear, but from anticipation.

She had seen his face when he looked at the photograph of Lily in that cage. The rage. The fury. The way his hands had shaken as he crushed the phone.

He was going to find whoever did this.

Veyra walked to the window. The garden was dark. The moon was hidden behind clouds. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and thought.

The kidnapper had sent those messages from a phone. An unknown number. If that number was registered under a real name, Dorian would be able to trace it. He had hacked into the municipal surveillance system like it was nothing. A phone number would be easy for him.

But if it was a burner phone. Untraceable. Prepaid. Bought with cash.

Then finding the mastermind would be much harder.

She closed her eyes. Eleanor was not stupid. She had planned this carefully. The crowd at the café. The kidnappers. The remote location. She had covered her tracks.

But she had also made mistakes.

The photograph. The messages. The timing. Eleanor had been in the house when Lily was taken. She had been in the living room when Veyra got the call. She had not been at the café. She had not been anywhere near the kidnappers.

But she had been watching from her window when they brought Lily home.

Veyra opened her eyes. She would wait. Dorian would investigate. He would find something. He had to.

She just needed to be patient.

She hated being patient.

An hour passed.

Veyra had changed into dry clothes. Jeans. A soft sweater. Thick socks. She had brushed her hair and pinned it back from her face. She had sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the wall.

Then a knock came at the door.

"Mrs. Thorne." The maid’s voice. Soft. Nervous. "Mr. Thorne requests your presence in the living room. The family is gathering."

Veyra’s heart jumped. "I’ll be down shortly."

She stood up. Looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale. Her eyes were tired. But her chin was firm.

She walked downstairs.

The living room was full.

The Old Madam was in her wheelchair by the fireplace. Beatrice and Harold sat on the sofa. Phillip stood by the window. Celeste was in a chair near the door. Marcus was beside her.

And Eleanor.

Eleanor was sitting in the center of the room. Her arms were crossed. Her face was composed. She looked calm and so confident.

But Veyra saw the tightness around her eyes. The way her fingers dug into her own sleeves.

She was nervous.

Good.

Dorian stood by the television. His arms were crossed. His gray eyes moved around the room, taking in every face, every expression.

He looked like a prosecutor about to deliver a closing argument.

Veyra took a seat in the corner. Away from everyone. Close enough to see but far enough to breathe.

The Old Madam spoke first. "We’re all here. What is this about, Dorian?"

Dorian did not answer immediately. He let the silence stretch a d let everyone squirm.

Then he said, "The kidnapper has been interrogated."

Eleanor’s eyes flickered. Just for a second.

"He hasn’t confessed to anything," Dorian continued. "He claims he doesn’t know who hired him. He claims he was just following orders."

Eleanor’s shoulders relaxed. Almost imperceptibly.

Phillip Thorne spoke up. His voice was impatient. "Then why are we here? The woman lost the child. She’s the one who should be interrogated, not the kidnapper."

He pointed at Veyra. Everyone waited for Dorian to respond.

Dorian said nothing. He just stood there, his gray eyes moving from face to face.

The silence was heavy.

"No confession," Eleanor said. She sighed dramatically. "What a shame. I suppose we’ll never know who actually did this."

She looked at Veyra. Her smile was sharp.

"The kidnapper he’s lying," Veyra said.

Everyone looked at her.

"Of course you’d say that," Phillip said. His voice was sharp. "You’re trying to deflect attention from yourself."

"I’m not deflecting anything. I’m stating a fact. Someone hired him,” Veyra said.

"I guess some people are just lucky. They lose a child, then they find her. They almost kill an old woman, then they save her. It’s almost like they’re orchestrating the whole thing," Eleanor said out aloud.

The room murmured.

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. "What are you implying, Eleanor?"

"I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying it’s very convenient. For someone like her." Eleanor waved her hand in Veyra’s direction. "Someone with her background. Her education. Her... history."

Veyra felt the weight of their stares. The hostility. The disdain.

She had saved the Old Madam’s life. She had saved Lily’s life. She had swum across a lake in the dark and put a gun to a kidnapper’s head.

And still, they looked at her like she was nothing.

Because she was not one of them. Because she had dropped out of high school. Because she had married Caspian. Because she was carrying Dorian’s child and they resented her for it.

She lifted her chin.

"Eleanor Thorne," Veyra said. Her voice was calm. Steady.

Eleanor’s smile faltered. "Excuse me?"

"Are you absolutely certain that your own involvement won’t be exposed?"

The room went quiet.

Eleanor’s face went red. Then white. Then red again.

"How dare you," she said. Her voice was low and so dangerous. "How dare you accuse me in front of my family."

"I’m not accusing you. I’m asking a question."

"You’re implying—"

"I’m implying nothing. I’m asking if you’re certain. That’s all."

Eleanor stood up. Her hands were shaking. Her composure was cracking.

"How dare you," she said again. Her voice was louder now. "I have been a member of this family for decades. I have given everything to this family. And you—you, a stranger, a nobody—dare to sit in my home and accuse me?"

She turned to Dorian.

"I demand a thorough investigation," Eleanor said. "I want you to investigate every phone call. Every message. Every lead. I want you to prove to everyone that I had nothing to do with this."

Dorian looked at her. His gray eyes were cold.

"I will," he said.

His voice was quiet. But it cut through the room like a blade.

Eleanor’s bluster evaporated. Her mouth opened, closed and opened again like a fish. She sat back down. Her face was pale. Her hands were shaking.

Dorian turned to face the room.

"I have been investigating," he said. "Since the moment Lily was taken. I have reviewed surveillance footage. I have interviewed witnesses. I have traced every phone number associated with the kidnappers."

He paused.

"And I have found something."

He picked up a remote control from the table. He pointed it at the television mounted on the wall.

"I want to show everyone a photograph," he said.

Everyone leaned forward. Wondering what it could be.

The television screen flickered. Then an image appeared.

The room gasped.

Beatrice cried out. Her hand flew to her mouth. Harold put his arm around her.

The Old Madam’s face went pale.

It was Lily. Confined inside a dog cage. Her knees pressed against her chest. Her arms wrapped around herself. Her face contorted with terror.