Chapter 3 THE NAME INSIDE THE PHOTOGRAPH

The man whose face my father had scratched out of that old photograph? He was downstairs. Sipping champagne, laughing with my wedding guests like he belonged.

I noticed his watch before I recognised his face-a platinum Devereux, limited edition. Adrian Devereux wore it earlier when he toasted me at the reception and leaned in close, saying, "Some families are more dangerous than they look." Now his watch glinted under the chandelier and I finally understood why my father had written four warning words.

ONE OF THEM IS LYING.

"Who is the fourth man?" I demanded.

Lucien didn't respond right away. He stood next to my guest room, eyes locked on the photograph like he thought it might shatter the life he'd carefully built.

Daniel, lurking behind him, held the black leather glove they'd found outside my door.

"Valentina, give me the photograph," Lucien said.

I pressed it tighter against my chest. "You've asked me twice. I want an answer this time."

"Not here," he said, voice low.

"Then where? Somewhere you can control the questions?"

He narrowed his eyes but didn't answer. I studied the picture again. My father, next to Alexandre Devereux, both facing the camera. Isabella behind them, her hand on a chair. The last man's face was slashed out-someone had dug a dark, ugly scratch right through him.

Nobody had done that by accident. Someone had wanted him gone.

"Did you know this photograph existed?" I pressed.

Lucien's jaw tightened. "No."

"You knew my father and yours worked together?"

"Yes."

"And Isabella?"

He hesitated. "Not until recently."

I forced myself to keep my voice even. "Recently meaning before or after you proposed?"

His silence stretched.

I blinked hard, willing the tears to stay put. All my life people had looked at my father's disappearance like it was just some sad family story, but nothing more. I'd be damned if I let Lucien-the man who married me-bury the truth to protect the family business.

I shifted my attention to Daniel. "Can you tell me who went into the archive?"

He looked to Lucien, who gave a quick nod.

"Someone used Mr. Devereux's credentials," Daniel said calmly. "They logged in remotely. Then we picked up movement in the archive soon after."

"Can you tell who it was?"

"Not yet."

"Then what's the holdup?"

Daniel's face was careful. "The hallway security footage was deleted."

I stared. "Deleted?"

"Someone accessed the server and wiped just the relevant section."

Lucien spun on him. "Why wasn't I told?"

"We only found out minutes ago."

"Who else has admin access?"

"Myself, you, the technology director, and three execs."

I turned to Lucien. "One of six people? Or someone stole a password."

Lucien studied me. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

I almost laughed-it was always "I'm trying." Always me on the outside.

"Figure it out fast, then. Someone broke into my room tonight."

His face went hard. "Daniel has doubled security here. No one's getting through."

"You can't guarantee that," I shot back.

He met my eyes. "I plan to."

Part of me bristled at his certainty, but I couldn't help the flash of relief it sent through me, unwelcome as it was.

I looked away. "I want to see the archive. Myself."

"No," he said, too fast.

"Why not?"

"Because whoever went in might still be in the house."

"Fine. Come with me."

"Valentina-"

I cut him off. "You married an investigator, Lucien. Don't act surprised that I want the truth. Stop treating me like a problem you can lock up."

He held my gaze for a long moment-calculating, weighing.

Finally, he turned to Daniel. "Get the archive ready."

Daniel nodded, "Yes, sir."

Lucien looked back at me. "Stay close. Don't touch anything until I say it's safe."

I squared my shoulders. "I'll be the judge of that."

He almost smiled-something quick and uncertain, gone as fast as it came.

The private archive hid behind a door off the east wing's second floor, always colder than the rest of the house. Cabinets lined the walls, a massive table carved down the center, everything smelling faintly like leather-bound books and polished wood.

The security monitor flashed the access logs. Daniel pointed at a third cabinet when I asked about the Moreau file.

The drawer was already open. Folders stacked tight-one empty slot.

I ran my finger along the labels. "Whoever came in here wasn't after random records. They went straight for it."

Lucien hovered behind me. "How do you know?"

"Look around. No mess. No rummaging. Someone knew exactly what to take. They grabbed a single file and one photograph."

I looked him in the eye. "Someone knows what your father and mine were really involved in."

Lucien's face shut down. "Yes."

His honesty rattled me.

I scanned the remaining folders-old letters, investment reports, financial statements. Then a company name jumped out.

Meridian Holdings.

I pulled the file. Fourteen years ago, Meridian took a string of huge payments from Devereux Holdings. "Consultancy fees," with no invoices to back them up.

Each transfer listed an account number, one I spotted more than once.

"This isn't right."

Lucien stepped closer. "What is it?"

"The payments were split to keep them small, to dodge the internal reports. Someone was hiding the real number."

"Total?"

I jotted it up in my head. "Over thirty million."

Daniel looked shocked. "No way. We audit those accounts."

I met his eyes. "Audits are only as good as the data you show the auditors."

Lucien bent over the file. "Can you trace that account?"

"Not from this copy. I'd need the originals."

He gave me a searching look. "You're sure?"

"I did this sort of work for years."

His tone softened, just for a heartbeat. "I know."

That look in his eyes-it said he knew more about my background than he'd let on.

I turned back to the paperwork. Behind one folder, a small envelope-old, with my father's initials.

E.M.

My hands trembled. "Lucien?"

He glanced over.

I held up the envelope. "You recognise this?"

His face changed. "Where'd you find it?"

"Hidden behind the report."

He reached for it but I moved it away. "Not this time."

"Valentina, the archive's already compromised."

"Then we don't leave it for someone else to steal. We open it now."

I peeled the old seal. Inside, a single slip of paper. Three names: Alexandre Devereux. Étienne Moreau. Adrian Devereux.

Below them, a warning in my father's handwriting. If anything happens to either of us, the other must find the original ledger.

My throat closed up. I read it twice. "Either of us," I whispered.

Lucien took the paper, eyes scanning the words. "My father never mentioned this."

"Maybe he didn't trust you."

He looked up, gaze sharp. "Be careful."

"Why? Does the truth bother you?"

"No. Dangerous guesses bother me."

Before I could reply, Daniel's phone rang. He answered-face tightening with every word.

Lucien asked, "What's wrong?"

Daniel looked up. "Adrian Devereux just arrived."

Lucien frowned. "Now?"

"He heard about what happened. Wants to speak with you."

I glanced at the photograph. The scratched-out man. The platinum watch. The guest quietly waiting below.

"Send him in," I said.

Lucien stiffened. "No."

"He's your uncle. He was at the wedding. He has every reason to be curious about the mess in his own house."

"You don't know what you're inviting in," Lucien snapped.

"Maybe you should explain it to me then."

But before he could, the door swung open.

"Lucien, am I interrupting?"

Adrian Devereux strolled in, not waiting for permission. Evening clothes under a dark robe, silver hair perfect despite the hour. His eyes flicked from Lucien, to me, to the envelope in Lucien's hand.

"Ah, the bride's still wide awake," he said smoothly.

I forced a polite smile. "Seems my wedding night's turning out more eventful than planned."

Adrian chuckled. "Marriage always finds a way to surprise."

His gaze wandered to the open cabinet. "Is something missing?"

Lucien stepped in front of me. "Why are you here?"

"I heard about the attempted break-in. Thought I'd check on the family."

"Security has it under control," Lucien said flatly.

"Of course." Adrian's eyes returned to mine. "Are you settling in, Valentina?"

"Not really," I said.

He laughed-soft, approving. "Honesty. I respect that."

I showed him the photograph. "Recognise them?"

A flicker-his smile slipped, only for a second.

He reached for the photo. "Where did you find this?"

"In the archive."

He studied the scratched face. "Terrible thing, destroying an old photo like that."

"Who's the fourth man?" I asked.

His eyes met mine. "No idea."

Too quick, too smooth.

I moved the photograph into the light. "You're sure?"

"Completely."

"Then maybe you'll explain why my father wrote your name next to his and Alexandre's."

Silence swallowed the room. Lucien's attention finally locked on Adrian.

Adrian clasped his hands behind his back. "Your father sometimes got involved in matters he couldn't fully grasp."

I felt anger rise. "He was a forensic accountant. Understanding the details was his job."

"Profession and judgment are different things."

My hands shook. "Did you know him?"

"Of course. He worked with my brother."

"And Isabella?"

A shadow flickered in his eyes. "Everyone knew Isabella."

I pressed on. "Then you must be glad she's alive."

I saw a crack in his composure. "Alive?"

I nodded slowly, watching every second of his reaction. "Yes. She came back tonight."

He glanced at Lucien, then forced a smile. "Impossible."

Lucien cut in, chillingly steady. "Apparently not."

Adrian gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Well, this is unexpected." He started toward the door. "I suggest you both get some rest. It'd be a shame for these incidents to spoil the marriage before it's even begun."

He paused and looked me dead in the eye. "One piece of advice, Valentina. Your father was clever. But sometimes people don't know the difference between curiosity and courage. Don't make that mistake."

I held my ground. "Is that a warning?"

"Consider it family advice." He left.

We all stayed silent for a long minute.

Finally, I turned to Lucien. "He recognised that photograph. He knew something was wrong before I even mentioned Isabella."

Lucien finally said, "Yes."

"And he lied."

He glanced at the door. "Probably."

I stepped closer. "Then why'd you let him leave?"

"Because it's better he thinks we know less than we do."

For the first time, his answer sounded like a plan.

Before I could say anything else, Daniel hurried over with a tablet. "Sir, there's something else."

Lucien took it. The screen showed a security photo: a woman entering the east wing at 1:41 a.m.