The Jilted Heiress: Her Secret Billionaire Life

The rain intensified, turning from a drizzle into a downpour. Water dripped down Dylan's neck, sliding under her collar like ice fingers. She pulled her hood up, shivering slightly.

Her phone rang. The screen lit up: Grandpa Firman.

She answered instantly, her voice softening, shedding the hardness she wore like armor. "Hi, Grandpa."

"Dylan?" Firman's voice was weak, wheezing. The sound of his breath rattling in his chest made her grip the phone tighter. "Are you here?"

"I'm... close," she lied. "Just got held up."

"Glyn says you're stuck in traffic," Firman said. "The food looks wonderful, Dylan. Glyn is having the steak. I wish you were here to taste it."

Dylan looked through the massive glass window of the first floor. She couldn't see the Penthouse, but she could imagine them. Glyn laughing. Lydia critiquing the wine. Beside them, her grandfather would look pale, a full plate of untouched food sitting before him as he nursed a glass of water.

"Yeah, traffic is bad," she said, forcing a lightness into her tone. "Don't wait for me."

"I missed you, sweetheart," Firman whispered. "I wanted us all together. Just once."

Dylan swallowed the lump in her throat. It tasted like bile. "We will be. Soon."

"Are they treating you well, Grandpa?" she asked, needing to know.

"Oh yes. Best suite. Glyn really went all out for you. He said this was to celebrate your return."

The lie stung. It burned. Glyn was taking credit for Chet's generosity, for her influence.

"That's... good of him," she choked out.

Firman coughed violently. It sounded wet, deep in his lungs. "I have a gift for you. Later."

"Rest, Grandpa. I'll see you at the house."

She hung up, her face wet with rain and suppressed tears.

Inside, the dinner wrapped up. Glyn signed the bill-which was zeroed out, thanks to Chet-with a flourish, leaving a pitifully small tip for the waiter.

They walked out of the revolving doors ten minutes later. Manager Franks was there, holding a massive umbrella over Belle and Lydia, protecting their blowouts.

They didn't see Dylan in the shadows at first.

Firman was in a wheelchair, being pushed by a private nurse. He looked frail, his skin like parchment paper.

Dylan stepped forward from the pillar. "Grandpa."

The family froze. Glyn's smile vanished instantly.

Belle wrinkled her nose, looking Dylan up and down. "Ew. Look at her. Like a drowned rat."

Firman's eyes lit up. He tried to lift his head. "Dylan!"

He tried to stand, his hands gripping the armrests, but he was too weak. He sank back down.

Dylan rushed to him, ignoring the disgust on her aunt's face. She knelt beside the wheelchair, taking his hand. It was cold. Too cold.

"Grandpa," she said softly.

Glyn stepped in between them. He shoved Dylan's shoulder. "Don't touch him with those dirty hands."