The Billionaire’s Secret Bride: When the Fake Pregnancy Exposed a Five-Year Nightmare

The storm had knocked out the main municipal power grid, forcing the estate to rely on secondary generators.

Julian and Victoria slipped through an underwater drainage culvert that led directly into the subterranean wine cellars beneath the main chateau.

They moved through the shadows like phantoms, Julian neutralizing two perimeter guards with silent chokeholds before stripping them of their tactical gear.

Victoria took one of the handguns, checking the magazine with practiced precision.

“You know how to use that?” Julian asked in a low whisper.

“My father taught me how to shoot skeet when I was twelve,” Victoria replied coolly. “I doubt Marcus moves as fast as a clay pigeon.”

They climbed the stone spiral staircase leading up to the estate’s private executive library.

The smell of burning paper and sweet cedar filled the hallway.

Through the double mahogany doors, the glow of an oversized fireplace illuminated the cavernous room.

Marcus Sterling stood before the hearth, tossing thick bundles of legal documents and medical records into the roaring flames.

“You’re burning the wrong evidence, Marcus,” Victoria said, stepping out of the shadows with her weapon raised and steady.

Marcus spun around, a glass of bourbon in one hand and a heavy leather dossier in the other.

His face registered sheer, disbelieving shock before twisting into a hideous sneer.

“You really are like a cockroach, Victoria,” Marcus laughed, his voice echoing in the vast room. “You just refuse to stay dead.”

“Drop the files,” Julian commanded, stepping beside Victoria, his rifle trained on his brother’s chest. “It’s over, Marcus. The FBI convoy just breached the lower gates.

”

Chap 20

The thunder shook the high stained-glass windows of the library, sending vibrations through the marble floor.

Outside, the faint wailing of federal sirens began to rise above the howl of the coastal wind.

Marcus slowly set his bourbon glass down on the antique desk, keeping the leather dossier pinned under his left arm.

“You won’t shoot me, Julian,” Marcus taunted, taking a slow step toward the hearth. “You spent your whole life playing the noble soldier. You couldn’t even pull the trigger on Harrison.”

“Harrison was a coward who took a plea deal,” Julian replied coldly. “You’re a rabid dog.”

Marcus smiled, but his eyes were calculating the distance between himself and the heavy mahogany desk.

“Do you know why I picked you, Victoria?” Marcus asked, turning his gaze toward her with sickening intimacy.

“Out of all the heiresses in this rotten city?”

“Because you were too weak to build an empire of your own,” Victoria answered without flinching, keeping her sight aligned with his chest.

“Because you were pure,” Marcus spat, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Your father never played the dirty corporate games my family played. Your blood was clean. And I needed that clean blood to wash away three generations of Sterling rot.”

Marcus suddenly whipped his right hand from his pocket, pulling a compact ceramic pistol.

“Julian, look out!” Victoria screamed.

A gunshot cracked through the library, sharp and deafening.

Julian lunged forward, tackling his brother to the floor as a bullet shattered the priceless oil painting behind them.

The leather dossier flew from Marcus’s grip, sliding across the polished floor toward the edge of the fireplace.

Victoria dove forward, sliding on her knees across the marble, catching the edge of the leather folder just as the flames licked the corners of the paper.

She pulled it to safety, clutching the legal documents against her chest.

Behind her, Julian and Marcus wrestled violently on the floor, their fists crashing against each other with primal, brutal hatred.

Marcus managed to drive an elbow into Julian’s wounded shoulder, breaking free and scrambling toward the fallen ceramic pistol.

“Die, you miserable bastard!” Marcus roared, raising the weapon to point it at Julian’s head.

Victoria didn’t hesitate.

She raised her firearm with both hands, squeezing the trigger just as her father had taught her so many years ago.

The shot hit Marcus squarely in the right shoulder, spinning him around and sending the gun clattering into the burning embers of the fireplace.

Marcus collapsed against the marble mantelpiece, clutching his bleeding arm, his face pale with agony and shock.

“You… shot me,” Marcus wheezed, staring at Victoria with wide, horrified eyes.

“Consider it a mother’s warning,” Victoria said, her voice freezing the air in the room.

Julian rose to his feet, wiping blood from his split lip, and kicked Marcus onto his stomach, pinning his hands behind his back with heavy zip-ties.

The heavy library doors burst open, and a team of federal tactical agents flooded the room, their weapon lights piercing the smoky gloom.

“Drop your weapons! Federal agents!” the lead agent commanded.