The Secret Lover He Discarded Is The Real Heiress

"I told you I needed time," I had whispered to Lucian last night, stepping out of his car at a downtown women's shelter. "I can't just marry a stranger for revenge."

"Pride will freeze you to death," he had warned.

He was right. Twelve hours later, Killian's private security guards kicked open the shelter's lobby doors and dragged me out by my arms.

Now, I stood in the center of Killian’s penthouse.

Ivy lounged on the white leather sofa, wearing my favorite silk robe. She traced the rim of a porcelain coffee mug, offering me a saccharine smile.

"You look terrible, Serena," Ivy noted, eyeing my damp, wrinkled clothes.

"Why did your goons drag me here?" I glared at Killian. He stood by the window, adjusting his perfectly tailored cuffs.

"Ivy has a generous heart," Killian stated, not bothering to look at me. "She couldn't bear the thought of you sleeping on a dirty cot."

"So you kidnapped me?" I stepped forward. "Let me leave."

"You aren't leaving." Killian finally turned, his eyes cold and empty. "You stole a two-hundred-thousand-dollar diamond watch from my safe. I filed the police report this morning."

My stomach dropped. "You know I didn't take anything. You gave that watch to your brother!"

"Did I?" Killian feigned ignorance. "My lawyers say you pawned it. Grand larceny carries a heavy sentence."

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice cracking.

Ivy stood up, walking over to him. She rested her hand on his chest. "I want a maid. My family always had servants. Your mother was a fantastic floor scrubber. It’s in your genetics, isn't it?"

"You want me to clean your house." I stared at her, the absurdity making me dizzy.

"I want you to earn your freedom," Killian corrected. "You will serve us. You will clean, cook, and stay out of sight. If you refuse, I call the detective waiting on speed dial. You can have your baby in a prison infirmary."

I touched my stomach. The tiny life inside me was my only anchor. I couldn't risk jail. I couldn't risk losing my child to the foster system.

"Fine," I whispered, the word tasting like rust.

Two hours later, I wore a stiff gray uniform. It scratched my skin.

I carried a heavy silver tray into the dining room. The aroma of roasted chicken made my nauseous stomach churn.

"Set it down gently," Ivy ordered. She sat at the head of the table. The seat that was supposed to be mine.

I placed the tray on the mahogany wood.

"Pour the wine," she commanded.

I grabbed the bottle of Merlot. My hands trembled slightly. I filled her crystal glass.

Ivy smirked. She flicked her wrist, knocking the glass sideways.

Red wine splashed across the white lace tablecloth and dripped onto the expensive Persian rug.

"Look what you did," Ivy sighed, shaking her head. "So clumsy."

"You pushed it," I argued, gripping the empty bottle.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Ivy gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "Killian, she is calling me a liar in our own home."

"Excuse me?" Killian slammed his fork down. "Do not speak to her that way. Clean it up. Now."

"It stains," I said. "I need to get the heavy cleaner."

"Then go get it," Killian snapped. "And scrub it on your knees. Show some respect to the woman who saved you from a jail cell."

"Saved me?" I laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "She stole my life."

"You never had a life," Killian shot back. "You had a delusion. Now get on the floor."

I walked to the supply closet, grabbing a brush and a bucket of harsh chemicals.

When I returned, I dropped to my knees beside Ivy's chair. The fumes burned my nose. My lower back ached, a sharp twinge radiating through my pelvis.

"Scrub harder," Ivy taunted, resting her bare foot on my shoulder. "You missed a spot."

I shoved her foot off. "Don't touch me."

Killian stood up. "One more word of disrespect, Serena, and I make the call."

I bit my tongue. I pressed the brush into the rug, scrubbing until my knuckles ached.

The private elevator chimed. The metal doors slid open.

Lucian Caldwell stepped into the foyer. He wore a sharp navy suit, holding a leather briefcase. His presence immediately shifted the temperature in the room.

"Lucian," Killian greeted, his arrogant tone vanishing. He rushed forward, extending a hand. "You're early. The merger documents aren't fully printed."

"I prefer to be early," Lucian replied. He shook Killian's hand, but his eyes bypassed the men and locked onto me.

I knelt on the floor, holding a dripping brush, surrounded by red wine and chemical foam.

Lucian's jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

"I didn't realize you changed your staffing agency," Lucian noted, his voice smooth but carrying an undeniable edge.

"Oh, we didn't," Ivy laughed, walking over to link her arm through Killian's. "Serena begged for a job. We took pity on her. She's homeless, you know."

Lucian walked past them. He stopped right beside me, staring down at the bucket of chemicals.

"Is it standard practice to expose a pregnant woman to industrial solvents?" Lucian asked, turning his head to look at Killian.

Killian shifted his weight. "She's fine. It's just a small spill."

"Toxins cause severe complications," Lucian stated, his eyes boring into Killian. "I run a hospital, Killian. I know exactly what stress does to a fragile system. A medical emergency in your penthouse would ruin your public image."

"She knows her limits," Killian brushed it off, though his face flushed. "Get up, Serena. Fetch Mr. Caldwell a coffee."

I tried to stand, but my foot caught on the edge of the rug. I stumbled forward.

Lucian reached out instantly. His large hand gripped my elbow, steadying me.

His grip was firm, grounding me. The warmth of his skin seeped through my thin uniform.

"Careful," Lucian murmured.

"I'm fine," I whispered, pulling my arm back.

"Black coffee. No sugar," Lucian instructed, holding my gaze for a second longer than necessary.

As I turned to walk toward the kitchen, Lucian shifted his stance. He stepped slightly into my path, his broad shoulder brushing mine.

I felt a brief pressure against my apron pocket.

"Take your time," Lucian added, his tone conversational, but his eyes held a fierce command.

I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out a small, crisp piece of paper.

I glanced over my shoulder. The kitchen was empty. The muffled sounds of Killian and Lucian discussing contracts drifted through the walls.

I unfolded the note.

The handwriting was sharp and precise.

*Midnight. Service elevator. Say yes.*

The door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.

Ivy marched into the kitchen, her eyes narrowed into vicious slits.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded, marching straight toward me. "Did you steal something else?"

I crumpled the paper in my fist, shoving my hand behind my back.

"Nothing," I said, lifting my chin.

"Show me your hand," Ivy ordered, reaching for my arm. "Show me right now, or I tell Killian to call the cops."