Billionaire's Veins of Deception

reful here: brush bristles whispering against canvas, the faint tick of temperature regulators, the soft sigh of solvents. Elena Cruz thriv

limmered under her gloved fingertips, gold letters spelling a name that smelled of old money and unreachable worlds. She'd been hired to

bout the portra

s. Beside him sat his wife, Vivienne, elegance sharpened to steel. A young boy stood between them, Damian, maybe seven, dark-eyed even then. And in

m. Yellow turned to cream, shadows softened, and beneath the paint a faint,

own mother

beneath. But her mother, María Cruz, had been a nurse, not a painter. And she'd died when Elena

herself. The smell of varnish thickened. Somewhere

chasing logic through shock. She photographed the hidden signature, docum

t work. How ar

s want another round of

ed blood disorder, was the reason she'd taken extra

orrow, those same veins

the bed, her face pale against navy sheets. They need more family markers, s

y need. She swabbed her cheek, sealed the envelope, and forgot abo

s later, th

ation Detected – Con

ang Gen

nd between donor samples (E. Cruz) and archi

ame name etched on the portrait plaque. The same name bene

hone

. Marcus Lang from the genetics institute. You n

are you tal

. If they realize a non-fam

, a distant shout, then n

the city's snow. She felt suspended between two worlds: the simple life she'd bu

galas, mergers, and a son named Damian Devereux, who had inherited the empire after his father's mysterious death five years ago. His pict

browser as if i

e one place that made sense. The museum halls were empty

murmured. And you're

lips, faint blush, then something else caught her eye: the corner of a folded paper wedged between ca

tificate bearing a hospital stamp from Blackst

le – Eleano

s: De

s edges were flecked with dried

ed behind he

nd. You have a visitor, he said carefully. From the Devereu

e cracked. The ex

. They said

ed in silk and shadow. "Miss Cruz." Her accent carried wealth like perfume. I'm Mrs.

dry. Of course. It

studied Elena as one might inspect a reflection too f

ocumentati

est smile. We p

Devereux Foundation would like to extend a private commission. Restor

envelope, fingers

softly, you seem to h

leaving the scent of roses and

ened in her lap. The city hummed below, unaware that her life had just

reux crest, travel arrangements, and a generous a

, a single ha

or awaits your

a chill down her spi

hoto on her phone, M. Cruz, then at the let

red to the

what did

dark heart of Massachusetts, the Devereux estate waited in

ng one name, she'd awakened every ghos