The billionaire's wife died twice

THE BILLIONAIRE'S WIFE DIED TWICE

CHAPTER ONE

The Woman Who Entered Her Own Funeral

The first time Nadia Williams saw a dead woman, she was six years old.

The second time, she was twenty-four.

But the third time?

The woman was standing right in front of her, wearing a white dress, smiling as if nothing terrible had ever happened.

And that was when Nadia realized that some nightmares did not end when you woke up.

They waited for you.

---

Rain poured over the city of Westbridge as Nadia stood outside the enormous gates of Blackwood Mansion.

She clutched the strap of her handbag and stared at the golden letters engraved on the gate.

BLACKWOOD ESTATE.

She had heard the name countless times.

Adrian Blackwood was one of the richest men in the country. He owned hotels, shopping malls, private hospitals, and a company so powerful that even government officials treated him carefully.

But wealth was not the reason people whispered about him.

Three years earlier, his wife, Isabella Blackwood, had died under mysterious circumstances.

Some claimed she had fallen down the staircase.

Others said she had been sick for months.

A few people whispered that the billionaire himself knew more about her death than he had ever admitted.

Nobody could prove anything.

Her funeral had taken place on a rainy Thursday morning. Hundreds of people had attended, including politicians, celebrities, and business executives.

Her grave was sealed.

Her death certificate was signed.

And Adrian Blackwood had never spoken publicly about her again.

Now, three years later, Nadia was standing at his front gate, applying for a job as a housekeeper.

She desperately needed the money.

Her mother's hospital bills had swallowed nearly all their savings, and the small shop Nadia had been managing had closed after its landlord increased the rent.

She had applied for dozens of jobs.

This was the first place that had invited her for an interview.

Nadia pressed the intercom.

A woman's voice answered.

"Who is there?"

"My name is Nadia Williams. I'm here for the housekeeping position."

There was a pause.

"Wait there."

The intercom went silent.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Nadia was beginning to wonder whether she should leave when the gates finally opened.

A tall woman in a grey uniform stood on the other side.

"I'm Mrs. Eleanor Hayes, the head housekeeper," she introduced herself. "Come with me."

Nadia followed her through the gates.

The mansion was breathtaking.

Tall windows glowed with golden light. Carefully trimmed gardens stretched along a winding driveway, and a black luxury car stood beneath the covered entrance.

Everything looked perfect.

Almost too perfect.

As they entered the house, Nadia noticed something strange.

There were no family photographs in the hallway.

Not one.

There were paintings of landscapes, expensive sculptures, and a large clock, but no pictures of the man who owned the mansion or the woman who had once been his wife.

"Mrs. Hayes," Nadia asked carefully, "may I ask something?"

The older woman did not look at her.

"That depends on the question."

"Why are there no family photographs?"

Mrs. Hayes stopped walking.

For a moment, Nadia thought she had offended her.

Then the woman turned.

"Listen carefully, Miss Williams. This house has rules. You will not enter the west wing. You will not open any locked doors. You will not ask Mr. Blackwood questions about his wife."

She paused.

"And if you hear a child crying at night, you will pretend you heard nothing."

Nadia stared at her.

"A child?"

Mrs. Hayes's expression hardened.

"Do you want this job or not?"

Nadia thought about her mother's hospital bills.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Then forget what you heard."

Mrs. Hayes continued walking.

But Nadia could not forget.

A child?

Adrian Blackwood had no children. At least, that was what the newspapers said.

---

Twenty minutes later, Nadia stood inside a luxurious sitting room, facing the man who would decide whether she got the job.

Adrian Blackwood was even more intimidating in person.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, and his expression was so cold that Nadia felt as if every word she said was being measured against an invisible standard.

He glanced at her application.

"Nadia Williams. Twenty-four years old. Previous experience in hotel housekeeping."

"Yes, sir."

"Why do you want to work here?"

"Because I'm hardworking, sir, and I need a stable job."

"Everyone needs a job."

Nadia swallowed.

"I understand, sir. But I promise I will do my work properly."

He finally looked up.

His eyes were dark, tired, and strangely familiar.

For one uncomfortable second, Nadia felt as though she had met him before.

She could not remember where.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Then you know my wife died three years ago."

Nadia hesitated.

"Yes, sir."

"People come into this house looking for money, information, or a chance to sell stories to the newspapers. Which one are you?"

"None of them, sir."

"Good. I have no patience for dishonest people."

He closed her application.

"You're hired."

Nadia blinked.

Just like that?

"You may begin tomorrow morning. Mrs. Hayes will explain your duties."

"Thank you, sir."

She turned to leave.

"Nadia."

She stopped.

"One more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

Adrian studied her face for a long moment.

"Have we met before?"

Her heart skipped.

"I don't think so, sir."

He looked unconvinced.

"Neither do I."

But when Nadia left the room, Adrian remained perfectly still.

Because there was something about her face he could not explain.

Something that reminded him of a promise he had made three years earlier.

A promise to a woman who was supposed to be dead.

---

That night, Nadia returned home with good news.

Her mother, Margaret, was resting on the sofa when she entered their small apartment.

"Mummy! I got the job!"

Margaret sat up.

"Thank God!"

She reached for Nadia's hands, smiling with relief.

"Where will you be working?"

"Blackwood Mansion."

The smile disappeared from Margaret's face.

Nadia noticed immediately.

"Mummy?"

Margaret released her hands.

"Which mansion did you say?"

"Blackwood Mansion. The billionaire's house."

For several seconds, Margaret said nothing.

Then she stood so quickly that the blanket slipped from her lap.

"No."

Nadia frowned.

"What do you mean, no?"

"You cannot work there."

"Mummy, please. I need this job."

"I said no!"

The sudden anger in her mother's voice frightened Nadia.

She had never seen Margaret react this way to a job.

"Why?" Nadia asked. "What is wrong with that family?"

Margaret's eyes filled with tears.

"Promise me you won't go back there."

"Mummy, I don't understand."

"Promise me!"

Nadia stared at the woman who had raised her.

Then, quietly, she asked the question that changed everything.

"Mummy, do you know Adrian Blackwood?"

Margaret's lips trembled.

Before she could answer, someone knocked on the apartment door.

Three slow knocks.

Margaret froze.

The colour drained from her face.

"Go to your room," she whispered.

"What?"

"NOW, NADIA!"

Another knock came.

Then a man's voice sounded from the other side of the door.

"Margaret, I know you're in there."

Nadia had never heard the voice before.

But her mother clearly had.

She stumbled backward, shaking her head.

"No. No, no, no. You were never supposed to find us."

Nadia stared at her.

"Who is outside?"

Margaret grabbed her daughter's wrist.

"If he asks you about your childhood, tell him you remember nothing. If he asks about the night you were born, tell him your mother died before you could speak."

Nadia's mouth fell open.

"But you're my mother!"

Margaret began to cry.

"I know, my child. I know."

The man knocked again.

"Margaret, open this door. We need to talk about Isabella."

At the mention of that name, Margaret made a sound Nadia had never heard from her before.

Pure terror.

Then the man slipped an envelope beneath the door.

His footsteps retreated down the corridor.

Neither woman moved until the building became silent.

Nadia picked up the envelope.

Inside was a photograph.

It showed a beautiful woman in a white dress standing beside a black car.

Nadia stared at the woman's face.

Her own face stared back.

The same eyes.

The same lips.

The same small scar above the left eyebrow.

Nadia touched her eyebrow with trembling fingers.

She had carried that scar since childhood.

On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date and a message.

OCTOBER 29 — THREE YEARS AGO.

ISABELLA BLACKWOOD DID NOT DIE THAT NIGHT.

Nadia looked up at her mother.

Margaret had collapsed onto the sofa, covering her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

"Mummy," Nadia whispered. "Who is this woman?"

Margaret looked at the photograph.

Then she looked at her daughter.

And the words that left her mouth shattered Nadia's entire world.

"That woman is your real mother."

Nadia stumbled backward.

"No. You're my mother."

Margaret wept silently.

"I raised you. I loved you. But the night you were born, someone took you from Isabella Blackwood."

Nadia could barely breathe.

"Then who am I?"

Margaret reached for her hand.

"You are the reason a dead woman has been trying to come home."

Suddenly, Nadia's phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

One message.

WELCOME HOME, ISABELLA.

A second message appeared before she could respond.

YOUR HUSBAND KNOWS YOU ARE ALIVE. AND HE HAS BEEN WAITING THREE YEARS TO BURY YOU PROPERLY.

Nadia dropped the phone.

Outside, a black car pulled up beneath the streetlight.

A woman stepped out.

She wore a white dress.

She had Nadia's face.

And she was looking directly at their apartment window.

TO BE CONTINUED…