The Phantom Heiress And Her Fake Lover

Elodie pressed her body flat against the cold stone of the third-floor balcony.

The midnight wind whipped around the Lyons Estate, biting through the thin, black nanofiber of her tactical suit. She didn't shiver. She controlled her breathing, forcing the air in and out of her lungs in slow, measured counts.

She raised her left wrist. A faint blue holographic interface projected from her watch, mapping the estate's security grid.

On the screen, the red dot representing the patrol guard moved at exactly 1.5 meters per second. The data matched her simulations perfectly. Good. She hated surprises.

A red dot pulsed on the screen, moving past the corner of the west wing. The patrol guard.

She had exactly one hundred and twenty seconds.

Elodie unclipped a micro-bot from her utility belt. It was the size of a coin, shaped like a spider. She pressed it against the reinforced glass of the master bedroom window.

The bot deployed eight microscopic legs. It spun in a perfect circle, a silent laser cutting through the glass. It attached a suction cup to the center and pulled the circular pane free.

Elodie slid the glass out and set it on the stone deck.

She slipped through the opening. Her boots made zero sound as they touched the hardwood floor.

The room was pitch black, heavy with the silence of a sleeping house. The only sound was the slow, steady rhythm of a man breathing.

Elodie moved toward the massive canopy bed.

Moonlight spilled through the window, cutting across the mattress. It illuminated the sharp, angular jawline of the man sleeping there.

Elwyn Lyons IV.

Even in his sleep, his dark eyebrows were pulled together, a permanent crease of tension between them.

Elodie didn't step any closer. She stayed three feet away, raising her wrist again.

She tapped a button. An invisible laser grid fanned out from her device, washing over Elwyn's body.

Numbers scrolled across her holographic screen.

Heart rate: 62. Blood pressure: 115/75. Oxygen saturation: 99%. Respiratory rate: 16 breaths per minute.

Elodie stared at the data. Her stomach tightened.

The rumors were a lie. The entire city whispered that the heir to the Lyons empire was sickly, bedridden, and dying. But the man lying in front of her was in peak physical condition.

She needed to be absolutely sure.

Elodie adjusted the frequency dial on her wrist. The laser shifted, penetrating deeper, scanning his skeletal and muscular structure.

A yellow warning icon flashed on her screen.

She tapped it. The scan highlighted his left shoulder. An old, healed fracture. The bone had been shattered and pinned back together years ago.

The air vanished from Elodie's lungs.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a violent, physical thud that made her chest ache.

It was the exact same injury. The exact same shoulder.

Ten years of searching. Ten years of dead ends. The boy she had pulled from the wreckage all those years ago was the man she was currently being forced to marry.