"What?" I shot to my feet, not believing what I'd heard. "Anthea Carter?"
Olei jerked back, startled by my reaction. "Dad, what's wrong?"
I didn't answer. My heartbeat was deafening.
That name I'd screamed in countless sleepless nights—how could it be here? Anthea died six years ago. I sent countless people to verify it. Every single one told me the same thing.
Her ashes hung around my neck.
"Look at me, Olei." I locked eyes with him. "Are you sure? What did this teacher look like?"
"She has blonde hair. Her eyes are the same color as mine."
Something exploded in my brain. If this was a coincidence, God was fucking with me in the cruelest way possible.
"Okay. Got it." I forced myself to calm down and ruffled his hair. "Go rest. Get ready for dinner."
Olei nodded and trotted obediently toward his room. I yanked out my phone and called Marco.
"Find someone. Now." My breath came fast. "The new art teacherin Olei's class. I want everything on her. On my desk in thirty minutes."
"Yes, Pakhan."
I hung up and walked to the window, staring out at the darkening sky. New York's lights flickered in the distance like a false galaxy.
The pain of my heart slamming against my ribs made it hard to stand. These six years, I'd been a walking corpse. I'd expanded territory, slaughtered enemies, pushed the Thorne family to heights it had never seen—but I felt nothing except pain.
But now, something more terrifying than pain was waking up. Hope. I'd already accepted that Anthea was dead. If this person wasn't her, I'd have to accept her death all over again.
Could it be her? My hand moved on its own, touching the cold chain at my chest.
What if Anthea had been alive this whole time? What if she was alive but never tried to reach me? An emotion more complex than rage churned inside me. I didn't know what it was. Fear? Maybe.
Twenty minutes later, Marco's message arrived. I opened the attachment. A passport photo filled the screen. Blonde hair, amber eyes, and that face I'd replayed in countless sleepless nights.
The woman in the photo looked more mature than six years ago. Less innocence in her eyes, less naivety. More resolve, more composure. Her skin had turned a healthy honey tone, no longer the pale-almost-translucent I remembered.
It was her. My Anthea.
My hands started shaking. She was alive. She'd been alive this whole time. Who? Who faked that death certificate and made me live in a lie for six years?
Two faces surfaced in my mind—my father and Vanessa. Father was dead. Vanessa was locked in my dungeon. But I knew Vanessa wouldn't give me the truth easily. Even locked away, she'd never thought to trade this information for her life. That crazy bitch—she'd rather die than stop watching me suffer.
I called Marco immediately and told him to dig again.
Without anyone blocking the investigation, traces that had been deliberately erased finally surfaced. Marco quickly found leads.
Most of the people involved back then had died in "accidents," but one survived—a low-level grunt who'd been tasked with getting rid of Anthea. He'd been seriously ill in the hospital at the time and escaped being silenced. Marco found him.
Half an hour later.Interrogation room. The man was tied to a chair, trembling.
"Six years ago, what did you do?" I stood in front of him, toying with a combat knife. "What happened to Anthea Carter?"
"I-I don't know what you're talk—"
I waved impatiently. The knife drove into his thigh with precision. Screams filled the room.
"You've got one more chance." My voice was terrifyingly calm.
