Chapter 24
Kiara carefully pushed the door open, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She glanced left and right down the hallway, making sure no maids were watching. The coast was clear.
She slipped inside and closed the door softly behind her. The click sounded impossibly loud in the silence.
Kiara walked toward Zyan’s massive desk. There were three drawers on the left side and three on the right. She started with the left.
She opened them one by one. Files. Different phones. Multiple laptops.
Why does he need so many gadgets? she thought, shaking her head.
She moved to the right side and pulled open the first drawer. Her entire body went still.
A gun.
A sleek, black handgun lay casually in the drawer, as if it were a pen or a stapler.
Kiara stared at it for a long moment. Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to exhale.
He’s a billionaire CEO with powerful enemies. He probably needs it for protection.
She closed the drawer and moved to the second one.
Her hand froze on the handle.
Lying face-down inside was a picture frame.
Kiara swallowed hard. Her palms were suddenly slick with sweat. She reached in, carefully lifted the frame, and turned it over.
“Oh,” she breathed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “It’s just the couple he talked about.”
She recognized the kind faces of the couple from the files Alex had found. But why had Zyan lied and said they were pictures of Grandfather?
She frowned, studying the photograph more closely. Her eyes drifted to the little girl standing between the couple, holding her mother’s hand.
Kiara’s breath caught.
The little girl’s face looked oddly familiar. The shape of her jaw, her eyes, and their color... She looked exactly like Kiara in one of her own childhood photos, only younger.
Then it clicked.
Her hands began to tremble violently, and the frame rattled in her grip.
That’s me.
At that exact moment, the office door swung open.
“Kiara...” Zyan said, his voice low.
Kiara looked up at him, all color drained from her face. Her expression was filled with shock, and she could barely move. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Kiara, I can explain—”
The picture frame slipped from her trembling fingers.
It hit the hardwood floor with a sharp crack. The glass shattered into dozens of jagged pieces, scattering across the floor.
The sound snapped Kiara out of her trance. Her eyes were wide, glistening, and unfocused.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “I just... I need a moment to think.”
She turned and started walking toward the door.
“Kiara, wait—” Zyan stepped forward to stop her, his eyes dropping to her feet. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
She was wearing thin, soft indoor slippers that offered almost no protection. The shattered glass glittered across her path like tiny knives.
Kiara didn’t listen. She didn’t even look down.
She walked straight across the broken glass.
Zyan heard the faint, sickening crunch beneath her slippers, but Kiara’s expression didn’t change. She walked past him without a glance, her eyes fixed on nothing, and disappeared into the hallway.
Zyan stood frozen in the doorway. His chest felt as though it had been caved in.
A maid who had heard the crash came rushing up the stairs. She peeked into the office and saw Zyan standing there, looking like a man who had just lost the most important thing in his world. Then her eyes fell on the shattered glass, and her hand flew to her mouth.
“Clean this up,” Zyan instructed, his voice flat and hollow. He turned away. “And bring me a first aid kit.”
He walked to the center of the floor and carefully picked the photograph out of the broken glass. A few tiny shards had scratched the surface, but the faces were still intact. He gently placed it back in the drawer.
A few minutes later, the maid returned with the first aid kit. Zyan took it without a word and headed toward Kiara’s bedroom.
He knocked and tried the handle.
Locked.
“Open up, Kiara,” he said. His voice was thick with emotion, but not harsh. It was gentle and pleading.
There was no response.
He knocked again, harder this time.
“Open up, Kiara, or I will break this door down.” His voice grew serious, carrying the weight of an absolute promise.
A few seconds of silence passed.
Then came a soft click.
Zyan pushed the door open.
Kiara was curled up on the floor beside the door, her knees pulled tightly against her chest. Her face was buried in her arms. And her feet—her bare feet—were bleeding. Thin cuts lined her soles, with small beads of blood dotting her pale skin where the glass had pierced through her slippers.
Zyan let out a long, shaky sigh. His heart ached so deeply that it physically hurt.
He sat down on the floor in front of her. Without asking, he gently took her feet and placed them in his lap. He opened the first aid kit and carefully cleaned the wounds with antiseptic.
“I told you to be careful,” he murmured, his voice rough with guilt.
Kiara didn’t respond. She remained curled up, her knees still pressed against her chest, staring blankly at the wall.
A few minutes passed in heavy, suffocating silence. The only sound was the soft rustle of bandages.
Then, finally, Kiara spoke. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Zyan looked up at her. Her eyes were red, and her face was streaked with dried tears. But now, she was looking directly at him, searching for answers.
“I wanted to confirm it first,” Zyan said quietly, his hands still gently wrapping a bandage around her foot. “I was hoping we weren’t just speculating. And I knew... I knew you would react exactly like this.”
“But still,” she said softly, her voice cracking.
Zyan finished bandaging her foot. He closed the first aid kit, set it aside, and stood up. Without a word, he scooped Kiara into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently.
He sat beside her, close enough for their shoulders to touch.
“Tell me what you know,” Kiara said, turning to face him. Her voice was steady now. She was ready to listen.
Zyan took a deep breath.
“The couple in the picture were named Thomas and Evelyn Reed.” He paused, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “They are your biological parents.”
Kiara’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt.
“After they were killed, the Vales came. They claimed to be distant relatives. They took you in and raised you as their own.”
Kiara frowned deeply and shook her head. “But I can’t remember them. I don’t remember anything about them. How is that possible?”
Zyan studied her face carefully. “Do you remember anything from your early childhood at all?”
Kiara thought for a long moment, her brow furrowed.
“No. I don’t. I remember waking up in a hospital once when I was six. I didn’t know what had happened to me, but I was told I had fallen and injured my head. The doctors said my memory would probably come back eventually.”
She trailed off, her eyes widening as the pieces fell into place.
Why didn’t I ever find that strange? she thought, a chill running down her spine. A six-year-old with no memories from before that age, and nobody questioned it? Nobody took me to a specialist?
It all made sense now. Every single piece.
They had killed her parents, taken her in, and used her as free labor, a corporate weapon, and a disposable tool to build their empire. When she was no longer useful, they had thrown her away like trash.
A small, bitter laugh escaped Kiara’s lips. It wasn’t a happy sound. It was the sound of something inside her snapping.
She had always known the family treated her differently. She had always felt like an outsider in her own home. The only person who had ever treated her like a human being was her grandmother, and she had died years ago.
Kiara had cried for weeks after her grandmother passed away. She was the only person in that entire house who had ever loved her.
And now I know why, Kiara thought, her eyes hardening into chips of ice. Because Grandmother probably knew the truth.
Zyan’s voice pulled her out of her dark thoughts.
“It was also the Vales who poisoned Grandfather.”
Kiara’s head snapped toward him. “What?!” she yelled, sitting bolt upright.
“What the hell is that family up to?!” Kiara’s voice shook with rage.
Zyan didn’t answer immediately. He simply watched her, his dark eyes following every expression that crossed her face: the shock, the fury, the grief, and finally, the cold determination settling into her features.
He was enjoying it. Not her pain—never her pain. But her fire. Her strength. The way she refused to crumble and instead turned her devastation into a weapon.
“Whatever they are up to,” Kiara said, gritting her teeth, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “they are messing with the wrong person.”
Zyan’s lips curved into a slow, dark, proud smile.
---
Meanwhile, Carrie Vale sat on the cold, hard floor of her locked bedroom. She had been imprisoned there for several weeks. The curtains were drawn shut, blocking out all sunlight, and the air was stale and suffocating.
Her lips were cracked and pale. Her cheekbones jutted out sharply beneath her skin. She was so weak that even standing up made her vision swim with black spots.
She had barely been given any food or water. The only reason she was still alive was that her mother, Helen, had been secretly slipping small scraps of food under the door in the dead of night.
Carrie pulled her knees to her chest, her stomach twisting with a hunger so deep it felt as though her body were eating itself.
How did it come to this? she thought miserably, tears sliding silently down her hollow cheeks. We were the Vale family. We were untouchable.