The Billionaire's Secret Daughter

“No.”

The word tore out of my throat, raw and jagged. It didn't feel like my voice. It sounded like an animal that had just been struck by a car.

“No, no, no,” I repeated, spinning around, my modest navy dress swirling around my ankles. I looked wildly at the massive, heavy oak doors of the ballroom, as if my six-year-old twins might suddenly come bounding through them in their pajamas.

Trevor took a step forward, his face twisting in genuine shock. “What do you mean they’re gone? I hired a bonded agency sitter! She had stellar reviews!”

“You hired her?” I screamed, turning on my husband with a ferocity that made him flinch physically. The timid, accommodating wife he had manipulated for a decade was dead. I grabbed the lapels of his expensive tuxedo, twisting the dark silk in my fists. “Who did you hire, Trevor? Who has my babies?!”

“I don’t know!” Trevor cried, putting his hands over mine, not to push me away, but trembling with his own sudden panic. “Her name was Jessica! Brittany recommended her agency! She said it was the best in the city for VIP clients!”

I let go of Trevor’s tuxedo as if the fabric were covered in poison. I turned slowly to face Brittany.

Brittany was already backing away, her hands raised in defense. Her mascara was running down her cheeks in dark, jagged lines. “I… I didn’t know this would happen! I swear to God, Naomi, I didn't know!”

“Who is Jessica?” Charles demanded. He didn't move fast, but his presence was suffocating. He stepped into Brittany’s personal space, towering over her. “If you lie to me now, I will ensure you spend the rest of your natural life in a federal penitentiary.”

“She’s my younger sister!” Brittany sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “Jessica is my sister! She has a mountain of gambling debt. Arthur Sterling told me we needed leverage. He said if your father found out about the forged deed, we needed an insurance policy to negotiate our way out of the embezzlement charges!”

The floor seemed to drop out from beneath me.

My babies. My sweet, sensitive Leo, who was terrified of the dark. My brave, fierce Maya, who couldn't sleep without her battered stuffed rabbit. They were being used as bargaining chips by corporate thieves.

“Lock down the hotel,” Charles barked to his lead security guard. “No one enters, no one leaves. Shut down the elevators. Pull the fire alarms if you have to. I want a perimeter on every exit within a three-block radius.”

“Dad, we have to go up there,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it physically hurt. “I have to see the room.”

“We’re going,” Charles said, placing a firm, protective hand on the small of my back. He pointed at Trevor and Brittany. “Restrain them. If they try to move, break their legs.”

The two massive security guards roughly grabbed Trevor and Brittany, forcing them into the gilded ballroom chairs.

I didn't look back at the man I had married. I didn't care about the stolen trust fund, the fake marriage, or the ten years of lies. All that mattered was getting to the fourteenth floor.

My father and I rushed to the private VIP elevator. The ride up felt like an eternity. The mirrored walls of the elevator reflected my pale face, my wide, terrified eyes, and the elegant but simple dress I had carefully chosen just hours ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed since I put it on.

When the doors slid open on the fourteenth floor, the hallway was eerily quiet.

Two of my father’s suited security guards were standing outside Suite 1402. The heavy wooden door was propped open.

I pushed past them and sprinted into the room.

The suite was a disaster. The expensive lamps were overturned. The coffee table was pushed aside. On the floor near the sofa lay the babysitter, Jessica. A hotel medic was already kneeling beside her, waving a smelling salt packet under her nose.

I ran straight to the adjoining bedroom.

The two twin beds were empty. The covers were thrown back.

On Maya’s pillow rested her stuffed rabbit. She never went anywhere without it.

I fell to my knees beside the bed, grabbing the worn stuffed animal and pressing it to my face. It smelled like her—like lavender baby shampoo and crayons. A ragged, agonizing sob tore out of my chest.

“Naomi,” Charles said softly, kneeling beside me despite his tailored suit. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me as I shook. “I will find them. I swear on my life, I will tear this city apart brick by brick until they are back in your arms.”

“Why didn't I just tell him the truth?” I wept, clutching the rabbit. “If I had just been the billionaire’s daughter, maybe Trevor wouldn’t have felt the need to steal. Maybe he wouldn't have brought these monsters into our lives!”

“Do not blame yourself for a thief's greed,” Charles said firmly, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to look him in the eye. “Trevor chose his path. Brittany chose hers. You chose to protect your children by raising them with grounded values. You are a good mother.”

From the living room, a groan interrupted us.

I stood up instantly, dropping the rabbit, my maternal instinct overriding the panic. I marched out of the bedroom.

The medic was helping Jessica sit up. She was a younger, messier version of Brittany. She was holding the back of her head, groaning in pain.

I didn't care that she was hurt. I grabbed her by the collar of her blouse and hauled her upward.

“Where are they?!” I screamed in her face.

Jessica blinked, her eyes unfocused. “I… I don't know. He hit me.”

“Who hit you?” Charles demanded, stepping up behind me.

“The man,” Jessica stammered, tears springing to her eyes. “I was supposed to take them down to the service elevator. I was supposed to bring them to Arthur Sterling’s car in the alley. But when I opened the door… a man was standing there. He was wearing a hotel maintenance uniform, but he had a gun.”

My blood ran cold. “A gun?”

“He hit me with it,” Jessica cried, pointing to the bleeding knot on the back of her skull. “He said Arthur Sterling owed a lot of money to the wrong people, and the Harrison kids were just the payday he needed to settle the debt.”

This wasn't a corporate hostage situation anymore. This wasn't Brittany and Arthur trying to negotiate a white-collar crime.

A loan shark had hijacked their kidnapping plot. Violent criminals had my children.

Before the sheer terror of that realization could paralyze me, I noticed my large leather purse sitting on the console table by the door. It had been tipped over in the struggle. My wallet, keys, and makeup bag were scattered across the carpet.

And lying among the debris were two small, yellow plastic tubes.

My children's EpiPens.

Both Leo and Maya had severe, life-threatening peanut allergies. We never went anywhere without their auto-injectors.

I dropped Jessica, rushing over to the floor and snatching up the yellow tubes.

My breath caught in my throat. I stared at them in absolute horror.

The safety caps had been removed. The needles were deployed, the small glass windows empty.

Someone had intentionally discharged both EpiPens into the carpet. They were completely empty. Useless.

And at the bottom of the pile of my spilled belongings lay a small, crumpled piece of paper. It was a child’s drawing of a house—Maya’s drawing.