I Married My Ex's Billionaire Father-Chapter 287: Just Call Me Honey

The air in the penthouse was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the lingering, metallic chill of high-powered air conditioning. Honey sat in what had once been Brett’s inner sanctum, a room that felt less like a bedroom and more like a fortress made of mahogany and velvet. She stared at the bank of monitors before her, her eyes burning from hours of watching grainy, digitized ghosts. Without the recent CCTV videos, which had been scrubbed with professional precision, there was no way she could see exactly who had been drifting in and out of the house in the volatile days leading up to Brett’s death. But Honey was a woman who understood that even in a vacuum, there were clues. She had to keep watching, searching for a shadow that didn’t fit or a flicker of movement that betrayed a secret.

"Ma’am," a low, gravelly voice broke her concentration.

Sergei, knocked twice before pushing the heavy door open. He moved with the stiff, practiced caution of a man who knew his employer could be as lethal as she was lovely. "This is all I could find on Brandon Marlowe and Lyse Spade," he said, stepping forward to drop a fairly thick, manila folder onto the desk. The sound of it hitting the wood was heavy, a dull thud that signaled the weight of the secrets inside.

"Thank you, Viktor," Honey said, her voice shifting into that sweet, melodic lilt she used to disarm the world. She didn’t look up from the screen immediately. "Would you be a darling and pour me some coffee? The blackest you can find."

When the coffee was brought to her in a delicate china cup that looked absurdly small in Sergei’s massive hand, Honey waited for him to leave before she flavored the drink. She pulled a flask from her robe, adding a generous splash of whiskey and a thick, amber swirl of honey. She stirred it slowly with a silver spoon. It was going to be a long, grueling night, and she needed all the reinforcements she could get for the task ahead.

She could have delegated this. She had dozens of runners and fixers who would have gladly parsed through the data, but Honey was not stupid. She knew that her very survival depended on finding those deposit box keys, and she was not about to put her life in the hands of a subordinate. A lot of people in this town looked at her puffy blonde hair, her surgically enhanced curves, and her high, bird-like voice and assumed she was a vapid bimbo, a trophy wife who had accidentally inherited a kingdom.

They were wrong. Honey had risen out of the literal trenches of the street, climbing through the ranks of the underworld through pure, unadulterated grit and a refusal to stay down. She had worked too hard to get where she was, and she was not just going to lay down and take whatever the sharks of the Van Doren family wanted to throw at her. That had already happened too many times in her early life, and she had promised herself long ago that she would never be the one under someone else’s heel again.

As she began to flip through the file, her eyes scanning reports of Brandon’s late mother’s debts and Lyse’s struggling atelier, something caught her attention. It was a flyer for a private fashion event taking place that very evening. A huge, wide smile spread across her face, lighting up her features with a predatory sort of glee.

"As it happens, I do love to shop," she whispered to the empty room.

With a sudden burst of energy, she shoved the chair back and walked out of the room to prepare. She was so focused on her new objective that she failed to see the corner monitor on the wall. As the computer processed an older, archived clip from the gate camera, a woman’s face sharp, cold, and hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat was caught clearly by the lens. It was a face that would have explained a lot, but the room was empty, and the clue went unnoticed.

Miles away, in the heart of the city’s fashion district, Lyse was ready to drop to the ground in a dead faint. Her body felt like it was made of lead, and her mind was a blurred mosaic of Brooke’s memorial service and the high-octane stress of her runway show. The transition from the cemetery to the atelier had been jarring, but she’d had no choice. This show was her last stand to save her reputation and her business.

Thankfully, it had been a pretty seamless experience. She had gambled on a novel idea: a "buy-off-the-runway" show. Instead of the usual months of waiting, the models would strut down the runway in her latest designs, and the elite audience would bid in real-time for the pieces they wanted. It had been a staggering success. The energy in the room had been electric, fueled by the thrill of competition and the sheer quality of Lyse’s craftsmanship.

"I just want to get off my shoes and get a very nice foot massage," Lyse groaned as she navigated the backstage chaos. Models were stripping out of silk gowns, and assistants were scurrying with garment bags.

"At least you are definitely not going hungry this entire year," James said, falling into step beside her. He looked as invigorated as she was exhausted, his eyes bright with the thrill of the sales. "The people could not get enough of your clothes, Lyse. I am so glad I was able to at least snag that one velvet skirt; I have a client in London who would die for this aesthetic."

"Thank you so much for coming, James," Lyse said, leaning into him for a brief, weary hug. She knew she would have fainted hours ago if she didn’t have James bringing her energy drinks and yelling at the sound technicians on her behalf.

As they finally retreated into the small back room that served as Lyse’s temporary office, James sank into a plush chair with a huge smile. Lyse was about to follow suit when a soft, polite knock at the door roused her. She sighed, adjusting her hair before opening the door.

Standing there was a petite, striking blonde woman. Lyse recognized her immediately; she was the one who had sat in the second row and bid aggressively, walking away with a significant portion of the collection.

"Oh, hello," Lyse said, her professional mask sliding back into place with a bright, albeit tired, smile. All traces of her exhaustion seemed to flee momentarily in the face of such a high-value patron.

"I just wanted to say thank you for such a beautiful showing before you left," the woman said. Her voice was sweet and light, though there was an underlying firmness to it. "The craftsmanship is truly world-class."

A sudden, loud ringtone from James’s side of the room interrupted them. He looked at the screen with a groan, his face falling into an expression of deep apology as he looked at Lyse.

"I gotta go, Lyse. It’s the gallery, the alarm is tripped," James said, already standing up and grabbing his coat.

"But you are my ride!" Lyse complained, her voice hitting a note of genuine distress. The thought of navigating the city streets alone after the threats she’d received was paralyzing.

"I’m so sorry, babe," James said, heading for the door. "Why don’t you order an Uber Black? Please? I am really, really sorry, but I have to check on the collection."

"Why don’t I drop you off?" the petite blonde asked, stepping forward and looking between Lyse and the retreating James.

Lyse blinked, her skepticism warring with her desperation. "Oh, no, I couldn’t ask that of you. For all we know, we are going in completely opposite directions."

"I really don’t have a problem with it," the woman insisted, her smile warming. "In fact, I am very interested in speaking to you about a custom line for some of my associates. The ride would help us have that conversation without me taking up any more of your time tonight."

Lyse looked at James, who gave her a supportive, frantic nudge. In her state of total depletion, the offer of a safe, private car was too tempting to refuse.

"Okay... fine. Thank you so much," Lyse said, feeling a wave of relief. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"If that is settled, then I have to run!" James shouted as he dashed out of the room, his voice echoing back as he ran toward the exit. "Make sure you call me as soon as you get home!"

"I’ll just wait backstage for you to finish up your things," the blonde woman said, her eyes shimmering with a quiet, calculated intelligence.

"Thank you so much, Ms...?" Lyse asked, realizing she hadn’t even caught the woman’s name during the auction.

"Just call me Honey," Honey answered, her smile widening just enough to be disarming. She stepped out into the hallway, leaving Lyse to gather her belongings, her mind already moving three steps ahead.