Hiding The Vengeful CEO's Secret Heir

The doorbell buzzed loudly, a harsh, grating sound that made Harper jump.

She had just finished zipping up Leo's little denim jacket. She turned and unlocked the front door. Kinley Martinez burst into the apartment like a hurricane, holding two large iced coffees from Starbucks.

Kinley slammed the coffees down on the cheap IKEA coffee table. She immediately swooped down and scooped up Leo, who was sitting on the rug playing with his Lego blocks. She planted a massive, loud kiss on his chubby cheek.

"Careful, Kinley, I just combed his hair," Harper sighed, taking the coffees.

Leo giggled, squirming in Kinley's arms and trying to dodge her bright red lipstick.

Kinley set him down and dug into her oversized Birkin bag. She pulled out a thick, black envelope with gold foil lettering. She waved it in front of Harper's face like a magic trick.

Harper squinted at the gold script. When she read the name Burdette Rich, her stomach instantly tied itself into a knot. She took a physical step back, shaking her head.

"No," Harper said immediately.

Kinley shoved the heavy envelope into Harper's hands. "It's Burdette's thirtieth birthday. It's a super VIP party at an exclusive club in SoHo tonight. Half of Wall Street will be there, Harper."

Harper tossed the invitation back onto the coffee table as if it burned her fingers. "Burdette was Gustav's best friend in college. Going to his party is basically walking into a trap."

Kinley grabbed Harper's arm and pulled her down onto the sofa. "Listen to me," Kinley said seriously. "Gustav just landed in New York yesterday. His schedule is packed with board meetings and press conferences. Billionaire CEOs don't have time to go to loud, sweaty club parties on a Tuesday night. He won't be there."

Harper bit her lower lip. Her teeth dug into the soft flesh until it turned white. She looked away, her eyes darting nervously around the room. "I'm running the finance section at the magazine now. I do need to expand my network..."

Kinley saw the hesitation and pounced. "Exactly! You can't hide in this Brooklyn apartment forever just because you have an ex-husband. You're committing social suicide."

Harper looked over at Leo. He was sitting on the floor, carefully aligning his blue Lego blocks in a perfectly straight row. She thought about the daycare bill sitting on her kitchen counter. It was due next week, and her checking account was dangerously low. She needed a promotion. She needed contacts.

"Fine," Harper breathed out, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I'll go."

Kinley let out a deafening cheer. She grabbed Harper's hand and dragged her into the tiny bedroom. Kinley yanked open the small closet door, revealing a row of dull, gray, and black professional suits.

Kinley made a sound of pure disgust. She started pulling the suits off the hangers and tossing them onto the bed. "You dress like a nun. You're a divorced, beautiful woman, Harper, not a widow."

Kinley reached into her own massive tote bag and pulled out a handful of rich, dark fabric. She shook it out. It was a custom-made, burgundy velvet slip dress.

"This," Kinley declared proudly, "is your revenge dress."

Harper stared at the dress. The neckline plunged dangerously low, and the back was entirely open. She shook her head frantically. "Kinley, no. That's way too exposed. I can't wear that."

Kinley ignored her. She practically forced the dress over Harper's head, spinning her around to face the cheap full-length mirror attached to the back of the bedroom door. Kinley zipped it up.

Harper stared at her reflection. The dark red velvet clung to every curve of her body, making her pale skin look luminous. The exhaustion of the past two years seemed to vanish, replaced by the striking, undeniable beauty she used to possess when she lived on the Upper East Side.

Kinley snapped her fingers. "Sit."

She pushed Harper onto the small stool in front of the vanity and opened a massive makeup bag. Harper closed her eyes, feeling the cold tip of an eyeliner pencil glide across her eyelid. Her stomach fluttered with a sickening mix of anxiety and anticipation.

Thirty minutes later, Harper opened her eyes. The woman staring back at her had bold, vintage red lips and sharp, confident eyes. She barely recognized herself.

Night had fully fallen by the time their black Uber pulled up to the curb in SoHo. The street was lined with luxury sports cars. Massive bouncers in black suits stood outside the brightly lit entrance of the exclusive club.

Kinley stepped out first, her ten-inch heels clicking on the pavement. She handed the gold-lettered invitation to the head bouncer.

Harper took a deep breath, her chest rising against the tight velvet. She pushed the car door open and stepped out. Her long, bare legs caught the immediate attention of several men lingering near the entrance.

The cool September night wind brushed against her exposed back. Harper shivered, her skin breaking out in goosebumps. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable.

Kinley linked their arms together. "Shoulders back," Kinley whispered fiercely. "Walk in there like you own the place."

The bouncer checked the list, nodded respectfully, and pulled open the heavy, carved wooden doors. A blast of deafening electronic music and the sharp scent of expensive champagne hit Harper in the face.

She stepped onto the plush red carpet. The massive crystal chandeliers overhead refracted the light, blinding her for a second. She squinted, her heart hammering erratically against her ribs as she scanned the crowded, glamorous room.

Across the dance floor, Burdette Rich spotted them. He held up his drink, his face breaking into a massive grin, and started shouting their names, pushing his way through the crowd toward them.

Harper forced a polite, professional smile onto her red lips. She raised her hand to wave.

But as her eyes tracked Burdette, her peripheral vision caught something in the VIP booth right behind him.

A cold, hard silhouette sitting in the shadows.

Harper's blood turned to ice.