Chapter 2 HIS LAST WILL

VARESSA'S POV

The darkness lasted three seconds. That's it-just three. But in the quiet, I knew someone was right behind me. Not a nervous cop. Not a guard shifting around. It was a slow, steady breath. Way too close.

I froze. "Who's there?"

Nothing.

My hand shot into my bag for my phone. Before I could grab it, the lights flicked on.

The detective, the officers, Sevrin, the guards, Lucien's body. Everyone was there, just as before. But whoever had breathed behind me was gone.

I turned in a slow circle. Nobody.

My heart pounded. I couldn't shake it. Someone had been inches from me. I hadn't imagined it.

"Did anyone leave the room?" The detective's voice was sharper now.

The officers glanced at each other. "No, sir."

"Check the corridor!" he barked.

Two officers bolted outside.

I couldn't make myself move. I just kept staring at the doorway. Someone had been right there. I was sure.

"Mrs. Arden." The detective's voice snapped me out of it.

I looked at him. My stomach was twisting itself in knots.

"You need to come with us."

"Where?" I already knew, but I had to hear it.

"To the station."

"I'm not done here."

"You're a suspect in your husband's murder."

I nodded. "I know."

"Then you understand why you can't stay here."

My gaze went to Lucien. I didn't want to leave him, lying there like that. The thought caught me off guard. Three hours ago, I would've done anything never to see him again. Now I couldn't stomach the idea of leaving him behind.

Sevrin stepped forward. Calm, but stubborn. "She's not going anywhere yet."

The detective frowned. "You're not in charge here."

"No. But you haven't heard all of Lucien's will."

The detective hesitated. "His will?"

"Yes. He asked that I read it with his wife and immediate family present."

"His family isn't here."

"They're on their way." Sevrin's words had barely left his mouth when the front doors swung open. Footsteps echoed, and Isolde Arden-Lucien's mother-swept in. Every stitch of her black dress was perfectly pressed. Her face had gone pale, but her eyes looked dry as dust.

Darian Arden, Lucien's younger half-brother, appeared behind her. I caught his eye. He glanced from me to Lucien's body, and for a second, something-pain, maybe fear-flickered over his face and vanished.

Two more Ardens filtered in, but I barely saw them. My attention stuck to Darian. He moved closer.

"Varessa."

I stepped back, instinctive. "Don't."

His jaw clenched. "I came because-"

"I said don't."

He stopped. I felt his gaze drop to my hands, where dried blood clung to my nails.

"You were here when it happened?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

There was no good answer. I laughed, cold. "You're asking me?"

He stared. "You were his wife."

"And you were his brother."

We both held the silence until Isolde cut through. "Enough." Her voice was sharp enough to slice granite.

She knelt at Lucien's side. I saw her hand shake as she brushed his forehead. For a single moment her mask faltered. Then she looked at me-no grief, just loathing.

"You."

I swallowed. "Mrs. Arden-"

"You were the last person to see him alive."

"I wasn't."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then who was?"

"I don't know."

"You expect us to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe."

Her lips tightened. "You destroyed my son."

Something in me snapped. "I didn't kill him."

"You filed for divorce."

My fingers clenched my bag. "You think leaving a marriage means I murdered him?"

"You hated him."

"Yes." The word slipped out-a confession. Everyone in the room seemed to stop breathing.

I faced Lucien. "Yes. I hated what he did to our marriage." My voice shook. "But I didn't kill him."

Darian looked away. Sevrin cleared his throat. "We should proceed."

Isolde stood. "Then read the will."

The room shifted. The family circled the table. I stayed standing, apart, as I always had. Arden in name, but never in truth-not until tonight.

Sevrin opened the envelope. "The final testament of Lucien Matthias Arden." His voice echoed. Legal jargon droned on-accounts, assets, properties. I wasn't really listening until I caught my name.

"Varessa Noir Arden."

My head jerked up.

"Lucien Matthias Arden leaves to his legal wife, Varessa Noir Arden, all controlling shares belonging to him in Arden International."

The room erupted.

"What?" Isolde shot to her feet.

"No," Darian said, staring at Sevrin.

"That can't be right."

Sevrin pressed on. "Additionally, Mrs. Arden is to receive all personal holdings, investment portfolios, private properties, and liquid assets under his direct ownership."

I just... stared. Everything? He'd left everything to me?

Isolde's voice shook. "Stop. All controlling shares?"

"Yes."

"My son would never-"

"He did. The will was witnessed, notarized, and legally registered six weeks ago."

Six weeks. I remembered. Lucien was quiet then, almost a stranger in our own house. I'd accused him of cheating again, but he just looked at me and said, "You will understand one day." I hated him for that. Now it felt like the ground was sliding out from under me.

"There's a final clause."

The room hushed. Sevrin shifted pages.

"If Lucien Arden's death is classified as murder, his wife must remain the sole controlling beneficiary until the murderer is found."

Darian sprang up. "This is insane."

"No, Darian," Sevrin said, voice like stone. "It's very deliberate."

Isolde rounded on me. "You're not taking my son's company."

I met her glare. "I never asked for it."

"You don't deserve it."

"Maybe not," I said quietly, "but he left it to me."

She sneered. "You think money makes you powerful?"

"No." My eyes went to Lucien's empty chair. "It makes me a target."

Nobody argued. Sevrin set a black envelope on the table. My name was written across it. VARESSA.

My heart raced.

"It's from Lucien?"

He nodded.

My hands shook as I broke the black wax seal. Inside was a single slip of paper. Four lines.

Varessa,

If they tell you I died suddenly, don't believe them.

If they tell you I hated you, don't believe that either.

And if anyone in my family tells you that you are safe, run.

The words blurred. My chest constricted.

Darian's eyes were sharp on me. "What's written there?"

I folded the note. "Nothing."

Isolde moved closer. "Give it to me."

"No."

"You're holding my son's last words."

"I know."

"You have no right to keep them from us."

I stared at her. "Apparently, your son thought I did."

The silence stretched. Sevrin finally spoke. "There is one more thing."

I turned. He looked uneasy.

"Lucien left a private instruction about the investigation."

"What sort of instruction?"

Sevrin nodded to the detective. "He requested that his wife not be arrested for his murder until you've examined his private study."

The detective frowned. "Why?"

Sevrin handed him another envelope. The detective read for a long moment, then looked at me.

"Your husband believed you'd be framed."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

His words were quiet. "He wrote that if evidence pointed to you, we should assume it was planted."

Nobody spoke. My mind raced-Lucien's study, the knife, the fingerprints, the locked door, the blood. Someone wanted me blamed. Why?

Now I wasn't just mourning. I'd inherited a billion-dollar empire. Someone killed Lucien and tried to set me up. Someone had been watching-right before he died.

That's when I remembered the photograph. The one taken in my bedroom. Three nights before Lucien's death.

"Sevrin," I blurted out. He turned.

"Was there anything else in Lucien's study?"

He paused, then shook his head. "No."

He was lying. I recognized it. Lucien had always been a master at using silence. Sevrin had just used the same trick.

I stood. "I want to go back in the study."

The detective got between me and the door. "Absolutely not."

"My husband left something."

"We already searched."

"You didn't find it."

"How do you know?"

"Because if you had, you'd stop asking who killed him."

Before the detective could fire back, a crash shattered the moment above us. Another crash followed-breaking glass. Footsteps, shouting, someone screaming. The officers drew their guns. Darian tore down the hall.

"Stay here!" the detective warned.

Nobody listened. We all rushed upstairs. My bedroom door hung open, and inside-chaos. Clothes everywhere, drawers yanked out, everything tossed.

I ran inside, heart pounding. I scanned the room. Nothing looked missing-until I remembered the black box I'd left on my bedside table. Gone.

I whirled on Sevrin. "Someone took it."

His face went pale. "What was inside?"

"A photograph. And a key. And a recording."

Darian's voice cut through from the doorway. "That's not all."

He held up a small black envelope. My blood ran cold.

"Where did you get that?" My voice came out shaky.

"It was under your pillow," he said, handing it to me.

My hands barely worked as I opened it. Inside-a photograph. Me and Lucien on our wedding day. But someone stood behind us, his face scratched out.

I turned it over.