Chapter 46 The Bombshell

Chapter 46 The Bombshell
ALEXANDER

The study was cloaked in silence, except for the soft ticking of the antique clock on the far wall. Shadows danced along the walls from the fireplace as it dimmed, the last embers glowing like dying stars.

I sat alone, hands steepled beneath my chin, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. A glass of scotch sat untouched beside my leather armchair. The decanter was half empty, mirroring the state of my mind—fogged, unsettled, raw.

It was well past midnight. I should've been asleep. Everyone else was—including Elena, who had retired earlier than usual because of the weather and all the rain. But how could I sleep when nothing made sense anymore?

I let out a sigh and tilted my head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling, my eyes tracing invisible cobwebs of old memories. A name had been haunting my thoughts for hours now.

Richard Knight.

I hadn't said that name aloud in years. Not even in the privacy of my own thoughts did I dare dwell on the man for long. But tonight—tonight, ever since Prescott had showed up with those developments on Case X—my conscience had become louder than ever.

I closed my eyes tightly, and the memory returned uninvited. Faint at first, like a whispered breeze… then more vivid than I ever wanted it to be.

Years Ago

The room had smelled strongly of tobacco, aged wood, and leather-bound volumes. The Knight estate was built like a museum—an expensive, timeless, yet worn-out investment.

I'd been younger then, hardly in my late twenties, still new to playing politics with the old-money leagues. Yet there I was, sitting across from Richard Knight—powerful, feared, respected. He was all of that and more.

Richard leaned back in his chair, one arm resting casually along the armrest, his other hand nursing a cigar that glowed like a dying sunset. His smile was warm but knowing, eyes the color of grey steel—piercing yet kind.

"You've got too much fire in you, son," Richard had said, his voice gravelly, slow, knowing. "That's a blessing and a curse. In this world, fire will either light your path or burn everything you love to ash."

I'd laughed awkwardly, unsure if it was a compliment or a warning.

"Isn't that a little dramatic?"

Richard had chuckled.

"Dramatic, yes. But true. Someday, you'll have to choose between loyalty and legacy. Between your ambition and your conscience. I hope, for your sake, you choose wisely."

I remembered the tightness in my chest, the sting of guilt that had already begun to brew.

Because the decision had already been made.

I hadn't chosen wisely.

Or I'd thought I had.

I blinked, and the memory dissipated like smoke. But the taste remained—bitter and cold.

Back then, I'd been reluctant. Everyone on the team had agreed that Richard Knight needed to be taken down. They'd all decided he'd become a threat to national security—or at least, that's what the file had said.

With his involvement with mafia drug barons, it had been easy to set a trap. But deep down, I knew the evidence had been flimsy, the timing too perfect. Richard had been sold out. We'd sold him out for leverage—a scapegoat to cover the atrocities of the rest of the team.

Richard had taken the fall singlehandedly. A sacrificial pawn in a much larger, dirtier game.

And he'd gone down quietly. No resistance. No rage. Just that same calm stare and a quiet:

"I hope you never have to feel this kind of betrayal."

Those haunting words.

The day Richard died, I'd almost lost it. He wasn't supposed to die. Everyone else thought it was the right thing when they heard about his death in prison, but I—

I'd hoped he would eventually gain freedom and hide away from the world. That would have been easier to bear than his actual demise.

I clenched my fists.

But now—now everything was being uncovered. Someone out there was picking off pieces of our past. Silently. Strategically. And it all pointed back to Richard.

They were trying to vindicate him.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

My mind spiraled.

Some woman was trying to uncover my past. John West had been a trigger. They were coming for me—I knew this.

The woman. The one who had infiltrated every crack I'd managed to bury. The ghost I was finding impossible to identify. She had too many convenient coincidences attached to her.

Young—twenty-six, judging by her age. Smart. Dangerous. She'd managed to survive an attack most seasoned agents wouldn't have. Resourceful. Calculated.

And yet, I couldn't figure out who she was.

I already had her records, but no name was mentioned. No birth certificate. No school history. No social security trace before a few years ago.

Which sounded familiar.

It was similar to Elena's case.

I'd asked Prescott to run a background check on Elena, but the name Elena Carter was nowhere to be found. It was like she was a ghost—except I could see and touch her. She was carrying my child.

The name Elena Carter was a dead end. A placeholder. A cover.

Wait—

I stood abruptly, startling even myself. I moved to my desk and opened my laptop, the screen illuminating a cold blue hue across my face. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as the thought lingered.

No. It was probably mere coincidence.

The age similarities. The gap in history. The fact that they...

Without further hesitation, I typed it.

Elena Knight.

Enter.

The loading bar crawled across the screen—maddeningly slow.

But then it hit.

Images. Dozens of them. News articles. Trial transcripts. Photographs.

My breath caught in my throat.

There she was. Barely fifteen, with long dark brown hair and striking hazel eyes I'd become too familiar with. Elena Carter—in the place of Elena Knight.

What the hell?!

I saw dozens of pictures. Ones where she was alone. Ones where she was with people. Much younger, but very much the Elena I knew.

In one photo, she stood beside Richard Knight as he was led out of the courthouse in handcuffs, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her face tucked into his chest, hiding her tears.

In another, she sat on the edge of a hospital bed, clutching his hand while tubes lined his arm. He still wore his prison uniform.

Another showed a much younger version of her beside a woman—presumably her mother—with a face eerily similar to Elena's.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

I clicked through the images, enlarging them one after another, my heart racing.

Elena Carter—the Elena I knew—was not Elena Carter.

She was Elena Knight.

Richard Knight's daughter.

My enemy.

Worse, she was the one trying to uncover my secrets—the one trying to bring my past into the light—and she was currently in my house.

I didn't doubt it was her.

Those were photos of her younger self—but undoubtedly her.

Her face hadn't changed much. She'd matured. Hardened. But the eyes… those hazel eyes… they were the same.

I sat down slowly.

How the hell had I not realized this sooner?

"Elena... Knight," I whispered aloud.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

The attack—I hadn't wanted to dwell on the fact that the same day I'd launched an attack on the criminal who attacked John West was the same day Elena had been attacked in her apartment. But now I realized I should have known. The coincidences were too much to ignore—but I'd ignored them.

That wasn't a coincidence.

It was vengeance.

Richard Knight's daughter was seeking revenge for her father.

I leaned back, eyes wide, staring at the screen. Sweat gathered at my temples despite the cold. A pit grew in my stomach as dread bloomed like rot.

"Dear Lord…" I muttered. "She's his daughter."

I was still coming to terms with it—the fact that the woman pregnant with my child was the daughter of my enemy.

But why was I just finding this out now?

The cursor blinked at the top of the page.

And there, among the related search results, a headline flashed in bold font:

"MISSING DAUGHTER OF DISGRACED TYCOON RICHARD KNIGHT PRESUMED DEAD, BODY NEVER FOUND."

I saw similar reports of her going missing right after her father's passing. Other search results claimed she'd been sold to pay off some of her father's debts.

That had been her escape from the public eye. To the entire world, Elena was dead.

No wonder there weren't any traces of her with that name. She'd grown into someone else—taken on a false identity—and had been operating in the dark, making it seem like Elena Knight was no more.

My fingers hovered above the mouse but didn't click.

My world began to tilt. Everything I thought I knew—everything I'd felt for Elena—was now under a different light. A dangerous, burning light.

Had she known all along?

Had this been her plan—to get close to me and get her revenge?

Had she been laughing at me, for not realizing who she was?

The questions spiraled. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration and let out a sigh.

In that single, suffocating moment, I realized—

I wasn't dealing with a stranger.

I was dancing with a ghost from the past.