CHAPTER THREE #2
My mind ran circles around the surprise inheritance, trying to focus on the tangible details I could control.
For example: who the fuck I could possibly marry, as opposed to the larger, more shadowy things that threatened to unravel me if I focused on them for too long.
I refused to think about who our grandfather was and why our father or his family had never once acknowledged me or Archer from the day we were born.
I’d tried to make peace with it my entire life, and the only outcome was a fear of abandonment and a nasty aversion to liars.
The marriage requirement was, for now, the more palatable problem.
I’d been in love once, but not for long, and that ex was a no-go.
She was happily married to some tech bro on the West Coast, and truthfully, I think I’d been more in love with her as a concept than a person. So that left precisely nobody.
I needed to make it a business deal. A marriage of utter convenience and nothing else.
There were plenty of women in our social circles who could potentially be open to something like this—socialites, business partners' daughters, charity circuit regulars.
Women who might already see a marriage as a possibility for leverage, something transactional.
But there wasn’t anyone I’d met or known over the past decade in elite Manhattan circles who struck me as someone I’d do business with in this sense.
I needed someone different. Someone who could convincingly play the part of a woman in love, or better yet, someone with whom the spark would be undeniable from the start.
Someone like Clara.
The thought hit me like a lightning bolt.
Fucking Clara. The woman who'd once been desperate enough to lie about her entire identity just to escape her problems for one night. The temptress, mistress, and actress all rolled into one. She’d committed the mortal sin—lying—which normally meant I left a person behind and never looked back.
My own father had lied to my mother about his identity, his name, everything—a fact she found out after trying to continue connecting him with his sons after our birth.
He’d given her ten grand and vanished, leaving no way for us to ever find out his true identity.
I hated liars with a quaking, gut-wrenching passion.
But right now, I needed a liar.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling to Marina’s number.
“Why do I feel like you just had a eureka moment?" Archer asked, twisting to look at me from the front seat. God damn the twin connection. He could sense my thoughts sometimes before I even had them.
"Just handling some business." I typed out a quick text to Marina.
NASH: Need you to research someone. Clara Whitehall. Last known job was with Elite Events that catered the office opening. Get me everything - current address, employment history, family, financial situation. Discreetly.
When we pulled up to the Meridian Manufacturing complex, I could see immediately that something was wrong. Construction crews were already on site, and several black SUVs were parked near the main entrance.
"Well, shit," Archer said.
Trojan pulled into a long alley that divided two of the buildings on this block, just under a sign with an arrow that said RECEPTION. As we walked toward the factory, a security guard in all black with an earpiece intercepted us.
"Sorry, gentlemen, this is private property. You'll need to move along."
“We’re here to speak to the owners,” I said, searching him for some indicator of who he was with. Regular factories didn’t usually have guards like this. He looked like he’d stepped off Air Force One.
“We come in peace,” Archer cracked.
"I said you need to move along." The guard’s voice left no room for misinterpretation. “This is private property.”
“I understand. But we’re here for business. This is a place of business, is it not?” I offered my coolest smile, but the guard wasn't having it.
"Sir, you need to leave. Now."
Before any of us could respond, a voice called out from near the main entrance.
"Is there a problem over here?"
Another security guard approached, this one carrying a tablet and looking slightly less militant than our new friend.
"Just some guys trying to get access to the property," the first guard explained.
"Mr. Cross specifically said no unauthorized visitors today," the second guard said, checking his tablet. "Too much going on with the inspection."
A sick wave of realization rolled through my body. Mr. Cross. Archer and I exchanged glances, both of us thinking the same thing.
In the distance, I could see a tall man in an expensive suit standing near the main entrance, talking animatedly with what looked like a construction foreman.
Sebastian Cross. It had to be. The most ruthless developer in the city who gave zero fucks when it came to morality, loyalty, or neighborhood preservation.
"When did Mr. Cross purchase the property?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
The second guard looked up from his tablet, suspicious. "That's not really your business, is it?"
"We were interested in this property ourselves." Archer offered a smile that died as soon as it reached the air.
"Well, you're too late. Now move along before I have to call this in."
Trojan tipped his head toward the car, as though urging us to give it up. “Come on, guys.”
We walked back to the car in strained silence. Before I got into the back seat, I turned back to the main entrance. The first guard watched us steadily, arms crossed.
"Fuck," Archer said once we were back in the car. "Sebastian Cross?"
"Has to be," I said, dread billowing through my gut like a jellyfish coasting through ocean waters. "Which means we're screwed."
There was no mistaking the name Cross in the developer space. Sebastian Cross didn't just build luxury developments—he specialized in massive projects that completely transformed entire neighborhoods. If he'd bought the factory, it meant he had plans for the entire fucking neighborhood.
Plans that would likely price out every working-class family for miles and turn this area into another playground for the wealthy.
"Well, our plan is clear," Archer said as Trojan started the car. "Start buying up the surrounding properties before Cross realizes what we're doing."
“Okay,” I said slowly, the gears turning as I mapped out the neighborhood in my mind.
“Let’s say we scoop up whatever’s currently available.
Twenty properties on factory-facing blocks, if we’re lucky.
Then we’ve maxed out the cash. We don’t have time to liquidate what we need to compete with him on this scale. ”
Archer was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he turned around and looked me dead in the eye. His voice was so quiet I wasn’t sure Trojan could overhear. "Then accept the fucking inheritance and its terms."
I stared out the window at the factory complex, imagining what it would look like in five years. Luxury high-rises. Upscale shopping centers. Nothing that seemed so awful until you thought about all the families nearby who suddenly couldn’t afford rent, who’d be driven out of the city.
“There’s two of us,” I shot back. “Why don’t you take the lead?”
“You were born first,” he growled.
“But you have just as much to gain from doing it as I do,” I reminded him with a slick grin.
Archer glowered at me. “I’m a non-option. There’s only one person I could do that dance with, and she’s…” He inhaled sharply, turning back to face the front. He didn’t need to finish his sentence, and not because I was his twin. I knew who he was talking about and what it meant for his heart.
Archer was right.
"I’ll do it," I said finally.
Even Archer seemed surprised, turning back to face me. “Seriously?”
"We need that money."
I checked my phone to find a response from my assistant.
MARINA: On it. Will have full report by end of day.
I thought back to both versions of Clara: the Clara I’d first met as Scarlett four years ago and the Clara I’d seen the other day at my office.
I didn’t believe in love at first sight, but what I’d felt for Clara the night I’d first met her was as close as I might ever come to that feeling.
That, if nothing else, gave me a little hope that I could pull this off.
She seemed like she might be in a position where a financial boon would be welcome. And I was in a unique situation that required someone who acted like my soul mate.
Just like she’d done for an unforgettable evening.
"Do you have someone in mind?" Archer asked.
"I do," I confirmed. “And I’m pretty sure she’ll agree.”
Now I just had to figure out how to convince Clara Whitehall that marrying her former one-night stand was the best decision she'd ever make.