CHAPTER 2 — THE PERFECT FIANCÉE
CHAPTER 2 — THE PERFECT FIANCÉE
By sunrise, Julian Hale had stopped believing in coincidences.
He had spent the entire night in his father's study.
The photograph lay on the desk.
The envelope beside it.
His phone face down.
He had not slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mother struggling in the pool.
Every time he opened them, he saw Bianca standing behind the glass doors.
Smiling.
At six forty-five in the morning, Julian finally picked up his phone.
There were eleven missed calls.
Nine from Bianca.
Two from his mother’s doctor.
There was also a message from Bianca.
I know last night was frightening. Please let me explain.
A second message followed.
Your mother needs help, Julian. I hope you understand that now.
Julian stared at the screen.
Then deleted neither message.
Instead, he took screenshots.
He had learned something during the last twelve hours.
Evidence was more useful than anger.
He opened the photograph again.
His father.
Victor Laurent.
And Bianca.
A girl who should have been a stranger.
A girl who had apparently known his family since childhood.
Julian turned the photograph over.
SHE KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED.
Who was “she”?
Bianca?
Martha?
Someone else?
He needed answers.
And there was only one person he trusted enough to begin with.
His mother.
At 7:30, Julian returned to the hospital.
Martha was awake.
She was sitting upright, staring through the window.
When Julian entered, she turned.
“You found it.”
Julian stopped.
“You knew about the photograph?”
Martha closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid you would go looking for answers before you were ready.”
“I found Bianca in our backyard last night.”
Martha looked at him.
“I know.”
“She tried to kill you.”
“I know.”
“And you're still protecting her?”
Martha shook her head.
“No.”
“Then tell me everything.”
Martha hesitated.
Julian pulled a chair beside the bed.
“No more secrets.”
His mother looked at him for a long time.
Then she nodded.
“Your father met Victor Laurent twenty-two years ago.”
“Why?”
“Business.”
“What kind?”
“Real estate. Hotels. Private investments.”
Julian frowned.
“My father told me he never partnered with the Laurents.”
“He lied.”
The word hit harder than Julian expected.
“Why?”
“Because the partnership ended badly.”
“How badly?”
Martha's fingers tightened around the blanket.
“Someone stole money.”
“How much?”
“Forty-seven million dollars.”
Julian stared.
“From my father?”
“From several investors.”
“And Victor blamed Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Did Dad steal it?”
“No.”
Martha looked directly at him.
“Your father discovered where the money had gone.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
“Into an account controlled by Victor Laurent.”
Julian stood.
“So Victor stole it.”
“We don't know.”
“You just said—”
“I said your father believed Victor did.”
Julian paced toward the window.
“What does Bianca have to do with this?”
Martha's voice became quieter.
“Everything.”
He turned.
“Explain.”
“Bianca was twelve when the partnership collapsed.”
“And?”
“She disappeared with her father.”
“Where?”
“Europe.”
Julian's brow furrowed.
“When did she come back?”
“Three years ago.”
He stopped.
Three years.
Not eleven months ago.
Not when he met her.
She had been in the country for years.
Waiting.
“What was she doing?”
“I don't know.”
“Mom.”
“I truly don't.”
Julian returned to the chair.
“Then how did she meet me?”
Martha's expression changed.
“That is the question you need to ask.”
At nine o'clock, Julian made a decision.
He would not confront Bianca.
Not yet.
He would let her believe she still controlled the situation.
He called her.
She answered on the first ring.
“Julian?”
Her voice sounded fragile.
He almost admired how quickly she could change it.
“I want to see you.”
There was a pause.
“Of course.”
“Tonight.”
“Where?”
“The house.”
Another pause.
“Is your mother there?”
Julian noticed the question.
Not Is your mother okay?
Not How badly was she hurt?
Instead:
Is your mother there?
“No.”
Bianca exhaled.
“Okay.”
“Seven o'clock.”
“I'll be there.”
Julian ended the call.
Then he sent one message.
To a private investigator his father had once used.
I need everything you can find on Bianca Laurent. No police. No contact. I want her complete history.
The reply came ten minutes later.
Understood. Give me forty-eight hours.
Julian stared at those words.
Forty-eight hours.
He hoped he had that long.
At noon, Julian returned to the mansion.
He found Bianca in the kitchen.
She had let herself in.
She was standing beside the marble island wearing a cream sweater and white trousers.
Her hair was tied loosely behind her head.
A vase of flowers stood beside her.
She looked devastated.
Perfectly devastated.
Julian stopped in the doorway.
Bianca turned.
Her eyes immediately filled with tears.
“Julian.”
She crossed the room.
He didn't move.
She stopped.
“I've been calling you.”
“I know.”
“I was terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Your mother.”
He studied her.
Bianca swallowed.
“I know how this sounds.”
“Yes.”
“But I swear I never pushed her.”
Julian said nothing.
“She fell.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you tell her nobody would believe her?”
Bianca froze.
Only for half a second.
But Julian saw it.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
She looked away.
“I don't remember saying that.”
“You don't remember?”
“No.”
Julian smiled without humor.
“That's interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom remembers every word.”
Bianca's expression hardened.
“She isn't well.”
“Stop saying that.”
“She needs treatment.”
“Stop.”
“Julian—”
“I said stop.”
Silence.
Bianca's tears disappeared.
For one brief moment, the woman standing before him looked completely different.
Cold.
Controlled.
Almost bored.
Then the mask returned.
“I know you're angry.”
“You have no idea.”
“I love you.”
Julian stared at her.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me something.”
“What?”
“Where were you twelve years ago?”
Bianca blinked.
“What?”
“Twelve years ago.”
“I was in school.”
“Where?”
“New York.”
“No.”
Her expression changed.
“I was in Switzerland.”
Julian's heart tightened.
“Which is it?”
She smiled nervously.
“I don't remember.”
“You don't remember where you lived?”
“Julian, this is ridiculous.”
“Who is Victor Laurent?”
The room went silent.
Bianca's face became completely blank.
Then she whispered:
“Who told you that name?”
Julian knew.
He had his answer.
He stepped closer.
“Why were you standing beside my father in that photograph?”
Bianca's lips parted.
For the first time since Julian had known her, she looked genuinely afraid.
Then she whispered:
“Where did you find it?”
“Answer me.”
She backed away.
“Julian…”
“Answer me.”
Her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Then at him.
She declined the call.
A second later, it rang again.
This time, she answered.
“Hello?”
She listened.
Her face drained of color.
“What?”
Julian watched.
She whispered:
“That's impossible.”
Then she hung up.
“Who was that?”
“No one.”
“Who?”
Bianca grabbed her handbag.
“I need to leave.”
Julian blocked the doorway.
“Not until you tell me the truth.”
She looked up at him.
And suddenly, she smiled.
It was a tiny smile.
Almost invisible.
“You really think you're investigating me?”
Julian's jaw tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you're asking the wrong question.”
“What question should I ask?”
Bianca leaned closer.
“Ask your mother why she lied to you about your father's death.”
Then she walked past him.
Julian didn't stop her.
Because he had heard enough.
That evening, the private investigator called.
Julian answered immediately.
“What did you find?”
The investigator was silent for several seconds.
“Mr. Hale, I'm going to send you a file.”
“Just tell me.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The file arrived.
Julian opened it.
The first page contained Bianca Laurent's name.
Date of birth.
Education.
Employment.
Addresses.
Travel history.
Bank records.
The information looked ordinary.
Too ordinary.
Then he reached page fourteen.
His blood ran cold.
BIANCA LAURENT — SURVEILLANCE HISTORY
Three years before Julian met her, Bianca had rented an apartment less than two miles from the Hale family mansion.
Two years before their engagement, she had visited Hale-owned properties seventeen times.
Sixteen months before Julian met her, she had attended a charity event hosted by his company.
The investigator had attached a photograph.
Julian opened it.
There she was.
Bianca.
Standing across the room.
Watching him.
Julian remembered that night.
He had attended the event alone.
He remembered seeing an unfamiliar blonde woman near the bar.
He had thought nothing of it.
But the photograph showed something else.
Bianca wasn't looking at the guests.
She was looking directly at Julian.
The investigator sent another message.
There's more.
Another file appeared.
This one was a bank transaction report.
Julian opened it.
A payment had been made to Bianca.
Five thousand dollars.
Then another.
Ten thousand.
Then twenty-five thousand.
All from the same anonymous company.
Larkspur Holdings.
Julian searched the name.
Nothing.
The investigator sent another message.
Larkspur is a shell company. But its registered attorney is connected to Victor Laurent.
Julian stared at the screen.
His phone rang.
The investigator again.
“Mr. Hale.”
“Yes?”
“I found something you need to know.”
“What?”
“There are records showing Bianca received instructions before she met you.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you find out?”
“I can try.”
“Try harder.”
The investigator hesitated.
“There's one more thing.”
“What?”
“Your mother was right.”
Julian went still.
“About what?”
“Bianca's previous relationships.”
He opened another file.
Three names.
Three men.
Three engagements.
And beside each name:
Financial dispute.
Civil lawsuit.
Sudden withdrawal of assets.
Julian felt sick.
The investigator continued.
“One of them is still alive.”
“Where?”
“New Jersey.”
“Get me his address.”
“I already have it.”
Julian stared at the screen.
“Send it.”
The man's name was Daniel Reeves.
Julian found him the next morning in a small apartment overlooking a highway.
Daniel opened the door using a cane.
He was forty-two.
Thin.
Pale.
His left leg dragged slightly behind him.
Julian introduced himself.
Daniel looked at him.
Then laughed bitterly.
“You're the Hale kid.”
Julian's stomach tightened.
“You know me?”
“I know your fiancée.”
Daniel stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The apartment was modest.
Nothing like the world Bianca had shown Julian.
No designer furniture.
No expensive art.
No luxury.
Just a battered sofa, books, medical equipment, and framed photographs.
Daniel poured coffee.
“Bianca told you I was crazy, didn't she?”
Julian said nothing.
Daniel smiled.
“She always does that.”
“What happened between you?”
Daniel looked toward the window.
“I loved her.”
Julian sat down.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
“Did you propose?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She asked me to put my company into a trust.”
“Why?”
“She said it would protect us after marriage.”
Julian felt a chill.
“What did you do?”
“I refused.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Three weeks later, I crashed my car.”
Julian stared.
“Accident?”
Daniel laughed.
“No.”
“Who did it?”
“I never found out.”
“Did Bianca leave you?”
“She disappeared.”
“Then why do you think she did it?”
Daniel's eyes became hard.
“Because three days before the crash, she told me something.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘If you don't give me what I want, you'll lose everything.’”
Julian said nothing.
Daniel leaned forward.
“Julian, listen carefully.”
“What?”
“Bianca doesn't marry men.”
Julian frowned.
“She marries their assets.”
The sentence stayed between them.
Then Daniel continued.
“You're not her first.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Daniel shook his head.
“You don't.”
He reached for a folder.
Inside were photographs.
Bianca with Daniel.
Bianca with another man.
Bianca with another.
Different years.
Different cities.
Different lives.
But the same smile.
The same hand resting possessively on each man's arm.
Daniel whispered:
“Three men before you.”
Julian looked at the photographs.
“Three?”
Daniel nodded.
“And there was one before me.”
“Who?”
Daniel's expression changed.
“Your father.”
Julian froze.
“What?”
Daniel pointed toward an old photograph.
Bianca was barely eighteen.
Standing beside Julian's father.
And beside them—
Victor Laurent.
Julian stared.
Daniel said quietly:
“Bianca's family has been planning this for a very long time.”
Julian's phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
You are getting closer.
Then another.
But you still don't know who Bianca really is.
Julian looked at Daniel.
“Who sent this?”
Daniel shook his head.
Then the phone vibrated again.
A photograph appeared.
Julian opened it.
His blood ran cold.
It was Martha.
Leaving the hospital.
Alone.
The timestamp was from five minutes earlier.
Underneath the photograph was a single sentence:
Your mother is going home.
Julian immediately stood.
He called Martha.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
He called the hospital.
The nurse answered.
“Mrs. Hale was discharged this morning.”
“Who signed her out?”
There was a pause.
“Her son.”
Julian froze.
“I didn't sign anything.”
The nurse sounded confused.
“Someone did.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Julian hung up.
Daniel stood.
“What happened?”
“My mother is missing.”
Daniel's face went pale.
“Then you need to go home.”
“Why?”
“Because Bianca knew exactly where she was.”
Julian stared at him.
Daniel's voice dropped.
“And if Bianca wanted your mother gone…”
He looked toward the window.
“She wouldn't have left her at the hospital.”
Julian ran for the door.
Outside, his phone vibrated one final time.
A video.
He opened it.
The screen showed Martha sitting in a chair.
Alive.
Terrified.
And standing behind her was Bianca.
She leaned toward the camera.
Her smile was gentle.
Almost affectionate.
“Julian,” she whispered.
“Come home.”
The video ended.
Then a final message appeared.
Bring the photograph.
Julian stopped walking.
Because he suddenly understood.
Bianca didn't want him to find the truth.
She wanted him to bring it to her.
And somewhere inside his house, his mother was waiting for him.
But this time, Julian wasn't walking into Bianca's trap blindly.
May you like
He was going to find out who had built it.
And why his father had been trying to warn him for more than a decade.
