Chapter 3 - My Ex-Financé Arrived With My Sister, but My New Husband Knew Why They Were Really There
Constantine's townhouse stood behind black iron gates on a quiet street where the houses looked more like embassies than private residences.
Petra had expected luxury. She hadn't expected the atmosphere of a building designed to survive a siege.
Two security cameras watched the driveway. A guard checked her identification before allowing the car through the gate. Another man opened the front door, nodded respectfully to Constantine, and then looked at Petra with the careful curiosity of someone trying to determine whether she was a guest, a liability, or something more complicated.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Drave.”
Petra nearly tripped over the threshold.
Constantine caught her elbow.
“Careful.”
“Don't call it home yet.”
“Would you prefer residence?”
“I'd prefer you warn me before your staff starts calling me Mrs. Drave.”
“I can do that.”
The entry hall opened into a wide living room with tall windows, dark furniture, and a fireplace large enough to stand inside. Nothing looked personal. No family photographs. No souvenirs. No clutter.
It was beautiful in the way an expensive hotel was beautiful.
Petra set down her suitcase.
“Do you live here alone?”
“Usually.”
“Usually?”
“My security team comes and goes. Elena has a room upstairs when she works late. Owen handles the house and my schedule.”
“Any other wives I should know about?”
Constantine looked at her.
“No.”
She had meant it as a joke, but his serious expression made her uncomfortable.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “That was unnecessary.”
“You're allowed to ask questions.”
He led her up a staircase to a guest suite overlooking a small garden. A sitting room connected to a bedroom, and the wardrobe was already stocked with new clothes in her size.
Petra stopped.
“How did you know my size?”
“Elena asked for your measurements from the tailor who altered your work suits.”
“That sounds unsettling.”
“It was meant to be convenient.”
“Next time, ask me first.”
Constantine considered that.
“Fair enough.”
He moved toward the door.
“Dinner is at seven. You can eat with me or have something brought upstairs.”
“I'll eat downstairs.”
“Good.”
He paused before leaving.
“There's one rule in this house.”
Petra folded her arms.
“Only one?”
“Don't enter the west office without me or Owen.”
“Why?”
“Because there are documents and equipment that could put you at risk.”
She thought of Rafael's phone call.
“Does that have anything to do with Daniel Cross?”
Constantine's expression hardened.
“Who told you that name?”
“Rafael Aguilar called me.”
For the first time since she had met him, Constantine looked genuinely alarmed.
“When?”
“While I was packing.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I should ask you what happened to Daniel Cross.”
Constantine turned toward the window. For several seconds, he said nothing.
“Rafael should not have your number.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No, it isn't.”
“Then give me one.”
He faced her.
“Daniel Cross was an accountant who worked for one of my companies. Three years ago, he disappeared after reporting irregularities in a shipping subsidiary. His car was found near the river. No body was recovered.”
Petra felt a chill move down her spine.
“Was he murdered?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you think Rafael killed him?”
“I think Rafael knows more about his disappearance than he admits.”
“Why would he call me?”
“Because he wants you to believe I'm responsible.”
“And are you?”
Constantine's eyes remained on hers.
“No.”
She searched his expression, looking for the smallest sign of hesitation.
She found none.
“Then help me understand what happened.”
“I will. But not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because if Rafael knows you're asking questions, he'll assume you've already found something. I need to know what he has access to before we give him another opportunity.”
Petra disliked the answer, but she understood the logic.
“Fine. Tonight.”
At seven, they ate dinner in a dining room large enough to seat twenty people. Only two places had been set.
Petra tried not to think about how absurd it was to sit across from a man she had married less than a day earlier.
Constantine asked about her work. She explained how forensic accountants traced hidden assets, identified fraudulent transactions, and followed money through layers of shell companies.
He listened closely.
“Do you enjoy it?”
“I enjoy discovering the truth.”
“Even when it hurts people?”
“Especially when people are hurting others and using money to hide it.”
He set down his fork.
“That could make you enemies.”
“It already has.”
“Who?”
“My sister, apparently.”
Constantine didn't smile.
“Tell me about her.”
Petra described Cecily's childhood competitiveness, her habit of borrowing clothes without asking, and the way their parents had praised them for being identical while quietly comparing their achievements.
As children, they had shared a bedroom. As teenagers, they had shared friends. As adults, they had learned to keep certain parts of their lives separate.
Petra had believed that distance was normal.
Now she wondered whether Cecily had spent years resenting the things Petra had never realized she wanted.
“Marcus always said she was jealous of me,” Petra admitted. “I defended her. I told him she was insecure, not malicious.”
“Why did you defend her?”
“Because she's my sister.”
Constantine looked at her for a long moment.
“Family is not a free pass to hurt someone.”
The words were simple, but Petra felt them settle somewhere deep inside her.
Before she could answer, Owen appeared in the doorway.
“Sir, Mr. Bell has arrived.”
Petra's stomach tightened.
“Marcus?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Constantine rose.
“Did he make an appointment?”
“No.”
“Then he can leave.”
“He says he needs to speak with Mrs. Drave.”
Petra stood.
“I'll see him.”
Constantine turned toward her.
“You don't owe him a conversation.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I want to hear what he says when he knows I'm not waiting for him anymore.”
Constantine studied her expression, then nodded.
“I'll be in the next room.”
The doors opened a minute later.
Marcus entered wearing the navy suit Petra had helped him choose for the wedding. His hair was perfectly arranged, his expression carefully wounded.
Cecily followed him.
She wore a cream coat and carried a handbag Petra recognized immediately. It had been a birthday gift from their mother, a gift Cecily had once claimed was too old-fashioned to use.
Petra looked at the bag, then at her sister.
“You brought that?”
Cecily glanced down.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Marcus stepped forward.
“Petra, thank God. I've been trying to reach you.”
“You're blocked.”
“I know. I used another phone.”
“Then you understood the message.”
He looked at Constantine, who stood near the doorway.
“Who is this?”
“My husband.”
Marcus laughed.
It was a brittle, disbelieving sound.
“Your husband?”
“Yes.”
“You've known him for what, a day?”
“Less than that when I agreed.”
“This is insane.”
“Maybe.”
“You can't marry a stranger because you're angry with me.”
Petra looked at him.
“Why not? You kissed my sister because you wanted to.”
Cecily flinched.
Marcus's expression changed.
“You don't understand what happened.”
“Then explain it.”
He glanced at Cecily.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
Petra noticed.
“Why are you looking at her?”
“Because this is complicated.”
“No. It's actually very simple. I saw you kissing her. I left. I married someone else. What part requires a committee?”
Marcus stepped closer.
“Petra, we were under pressure. Cecily was upset, and I was trying to comfort her.”
“By putting your tongue in her mouth?”
Cecily gasped.
“Petra!”
“Don't.”
The single word silenced her sister.
Petra had never spoken to Cecily like that before. Even when Cecily had broken her favorite necklace, borrowed money she never repaid, or told their friends a private story Petra had asked her to keep secret, Petra had always found a way to soften the confrontation.
Not this time.
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“After the wedding.”
Petra stared at him.
“You were going to marry me and tell me afterward that you wanted my sister?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
Cecily suddenly began to cry.
“Petra, I never wanted this to happen.”
“Then why did you kiss him?”
“I love him.”
The room fell silent.
Petra felt the words land with the weight of a physical blow.
Cecily wiped her face.
“I tried to fight it. I really did. But Marcus and I have been talking for months.”
Months.
The word made Petra's ears ring.
Marcus looked furious.
“Cecily, that's enough.”
“No,” Petra said. “Let her finish.”
Cecily's tears continued.
“We were going to tell you after the wedding. We didn't want to ruin everything.”
Petra almost laughed.
“You didn't want to ruin my wedding, so you planned to let me marry a man who was in love with my sister?”
“It wasn't that simple.”
“It was exactly that simple.”
Marcus's expression hardened.
“You're making a scene.”
Petra looked around the room.
“This is my husband's house. If anyone is making a scene, it's the two people who came here without an invitation.”
Marcus turned toward Constantine.
“Whatever she's told you, you need to understand that she's emotional. She does things impulsively when she's hurt.”
Constantine's face remained unreadable.
“And you are?”
“Marcus Bell. Petra's fiancé.”
“Former fiancé,” Petra corrected.
Marcus ignored her.
“I have known her for years. I understand her.”
Constantine took one slow step forward.
“You knew her well enough to betray her. That doesn't mean you understand her.”
Marcus's face flushed.
“You don't know anything about us.”
“No,” Constantine replied. “But I know what a man looks like when he mistakes a woman's patience for permission.”
The words silenced the room.
Cecily looked at Constantine with sudden interest.
“Petra, what is he? Some kind of businessman?”
“Something like that.”
Marcus laughed again.
“You have no idea who you're married to, do you?”
Petra felt a warning stir in her chest.
“What does that mean?”
Marcus glanced at Constantine, then back at her.
“Ask him about the Drave family. Ask him how many people have disappeared after crossing him.”
Constantine's expression turned dangerous.
“Careful, Bell.”
Marcus swallowed.
For a moment, his confidence faltered.
Then he recovered.
“I'm trying to help her.”
“No,” Petra said. “You're trying to make yourself feel better because you can't stand that I stopped waiting for you.”
Marcus stared at her.
“You'll regret this.”
“Maybe. But at least the regret will be mine.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Cecily took his arm.
“Let's go.”
Marcus didn't move.
He looked at Petra one last time.
“You'll come back. When you discover what he's really like, you'll come back to me.”
Petra shook her head.
“You still think I'm the woman who will forgive you because you ask nicely.”
She stepped aside, leaving the path to the door clear.
“Goodbye, Marcus.”
He left with Cecily.
The door closed behind them.
Petra stood motionless until she could no longer hear their footsteps.
Then her knees began to shake.
Constantine was beside her before she could reach for the nearest chair.
“Sit down.”
“I don't need—”
“Petra.”
Something in his voice made her stop arguing.
She sat.
He brought her a glass of water and placed it in her hands without touching her fingers.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Finally, Petra whispered, “I defended her for years.”
Constantine sat across from her.
“I know.”
“She used to tell me I was the only person who understood her.”
“People can love someone and still resent them.”
“Does that excuse what she did?”
“No.”
Petra looked at him.
He spoke without hesitation.
“No explanation makes betrayal harmless. Understanding why someone hurt you doesn't mean you have to let them do it again.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Why are you being kind to me?”
Constantine seemed surprised by the question.
“Because you deserve kindness.”
“You barely know me.”
“That's not a requirement.”
She stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, she began to cry.
Not the elegant tears she had imagined shedding in private after the engagement ended. These were ugly, exhausted sobs that left her unable to speak. She covered her face, ashamed of the sound.
Constantine did not tell her to stop.
He did not promise to make everything better.
He simply stayed.
When her breathing finally steadied, she wiped her cheeks.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“Falling apart in your living room.”
“It's a living room. People are allowed to fall apart here.”
She let out a weak laugh.
He stood and offered his hand.
“Come on. I'll show you something.”
He led her through a corridor into a small room at the back of the house. Unlike the rest of the townhouse, this room was filled with books, old photographs, and a collection of worn wooden toys.
A framed picture sat on a shelf.
It showed a young boy standing beside a woman with dark hair and a gentle smile. The boy looked so much like Constantine that Petra recognized him immediately.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She was beautiful.”
“She was.”
Constantine picked up the frame.
“She used to tell me that the most dangerous people were the ones who convinced themselves they were entitled to whatever they wanted.”
Petra thought of Marcus.
“And did you believe her?”
“I do now.”
He returned the frame to the shelf.
“My mother died when I was young. My father spent the rest of his life treating grief as a weakness. I learned to do the same.”
“I'm sorry.”
“So am I.”
He looked at her.
“That's why I don't want you to mistake my silence for indifference. Sometimes I don't know what to say.”
Petra nodded.
For the first time, she saw something beneath his intimidating exterior that had nothing to do with power or money.
Loneliness.
It didn't make him harmless.
It made him human.
Her phone vibrated.
An unknown number had sent a photograph.
Petra opened it.
The image showed her father standing outside a warehouse, speaking to a man whose face was partially visible.
The message beneath it read:
Your new husband knows what happened to your father. Ask him why he let Daniel Cross disappear.
Petra's blood ran cold.
She looked up.
Constantine had noticed her expression.
“What is it?”
She turned the phone toward him.
The moment he saw the photograph, every trace of warmth disappeared from his face.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone just sent it.”
He took the phone carefully, studying the image.
Then he looked at Petra.
“Your father wasn't supposed to be there.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
Constantine returned the phone to her.
“Petra, I need you to listen to me. Your father died in a car accident five years ago, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Was the accident ever investigated beyond the initial report?”
“I was told there was no evidence of foul play.”
He looked at the photograph again.
“Then someone lied.”
Petra felt the floor vanish beneath her feet.
Her father's death had been the one tragedy she had never questioned. He had been a cautious man, a retired accountant who loved old jazz records and complained about people who spent more money than they earned.
He had died on a rainy Tuesday night while driving home from work.
She had never imagined his death had anything to do with Constantine Drave.
“Tell me everything,” she said.
Constantine's jaw tightened.
“I will.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning. With Elena present.”
“No. Now.”
“Petra, the information in that photograph could put you in danger.”
“I'm already in danger. You married me into it.”
The words struck him.
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
He reached for his phone and called Elena.
“Come to the house,” he said. “Bring the Cross files.”
He ended the call.
Petra stared at him.
“What are the Cross files?”
May you like
Constantine looked toward the dark windows.
“The reason someone just sent you that photograph.”
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