Chapter 4 The Drug Lord's Daughter

# Chapter 4: The Drug Lord's Daughter

The whisper of silk against her skin felt foreign after a week of Phil's intensive "education." Tracy stood in front of the full-length mirror in her new bedroom—a guest suite in Phil's penthouse that had been transformed into her personal space. The emerald gown hugged her curves perfectly, a strategic choice by Phil's stylist to ensure all eyes would be on her tonight.

Tonight. The Metropolitan Museum Gala. Her debut as Phil Tyler's fiancée.

A soft knock on the door preceded Phil's entrance. He paused in the doorway, his gaze traveling slowly from her expertly styled hair down to her stiletto heels. His expression revealed nothing, but the slight tightening of his jaw spoke volumes.

"You'll do," he said simply, though his eyes lingered a moment too long.

Tracy raised an eyebrow. "Just 'do'? After you spent a small fortune on this dress and three hours with your team of stylists?"

A ghost of a smile touched Phil's lips. "Fishing for compliments isn't becoming, darling." He stepped closer, adjusting the diamond pendant at her throat—another gift from his seemingly bottomless vault of jewelry. "But if you insist... you look absolutely ravishing. Lillian will be livid."

"Is that all that matters? Making Lillian jealous?"

Phil's fingers stilled against her collarbone. "Tonight, yes. This is our opening move—establishing you as a serious threat. Every camera will be focused on us, every gossip columnist speculating about how I could have abandoned the Todd heiress for her disgraced replacement."

Tracy met his gaze in the mirror. "And what exactly is our story about how we met?"

"We stick to the truth, mostly. We met at the Valentine's charity gala in February. You were still a Todd then. We connected, began seeing each other secretly. When your true parentage was revealed, I stood by you—proving my love wasn't for your fortune but for you."

"Very romantic," Tracy said dryly. "And why was I breaking into your apartment if we were already involved?"

Phil's smile turned wolfish. "Perhaps you like to spice things up. Or maybe you were leaving me a surprise." His hand slid from her necklace to her bare shoulder. "The public doesn't need to know every detail of our... arrangement."

Tracy stepped away from his touch. After a week of his calculated nearness—casual touches during etiquette lessons, his hand at her waist while teaching her to dance, his breath against her ear as he whispered the names of New York's elite—she had developed an immunity. Or at least, she pretended she had.

"Are you armed?" Phil asked abruptly.

Tracy stared at him. "Armed? Where exactly would I hide a weapon in this dress?"

Phil reached into his tuxedo jacket and removed a small clutch purse. He opened it to reveal a sleek, miniature pistol nestled among designer makeup.

"This is a Beretta Pico. Six rounds, virtually undetectable through standard security." He snapped the clutch closed and handed it to her. "You won't need it, but I'd feel better knowing you have it."

Tracy accepted the purse reluctantly. "Is this really necessary?"

"You've seen what Lillian is capable of." Phil's voice hardened. "Tonight, we're walking straight into the lion's den. Every powerful member of New York society will be there, including Eleanor Todd and her murderous 'daughter.'"

A chill ran down Tracy's spine despite the warmth of the penthouse. "What if she tries something public?"

"She won't," Phil assured her. "Lillian values her reputation too much. But she'll be watching, assessing. And after tonight, she'll start making moves against you. That's when the real game begins."

The limousine ride to the Metropolitan Museum was silent, Tracy lost in thought as she mentally rehearsed their carefully constructed backstory. Phil spent the time on his phone, occasionally glancing at her with an unreadable expression.

As they neared their destination, he finally put his phone away and took her hand. "Remember, from this moment on, you're madly in love with me. And I with you."

Tracy nodded, squeezing his hand with more force than necessary. "I remember all your lessons, Professor Tyler."

He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. "And I remember how quickly you learn, Miss Not-Todd."

The car stopped. Outside, a frenzy of camera flashes illuminated the night as celebrities and socialites made their way up the iconic steps. Phil's driver opened the door, and suddenly they were exposed to the world.

Phil exited first, then extended his hand to help Tracy from the car. The moment she emerged, a wave of whispers rippled through the photographers. Then came the shouts:

"Phil! Over here!"

"Is that Tracy Todd?"

"Phil, what about your engagement to Lillian?"

Phil's arm slid possessively around Tracy's waist, pulling her close against his side. He smiled for the cameras, turning her slightly to showcase the dramatic back of her gown.

"Shall we give them something to talk about?" he murmured, his lips close to hers.

Before Tracy could respond, his mouth captured hers in a kiss that was both gentle and commanding. She felt herself responding automatically, her body arching slightly toward his as the cameras went wild around them. When he finally released her, his eyes held a gleam of satisfaction.

"Perfect," he whispered. "You're a natural."

As they ascended the steps, Tracy spotted familiar faces from her former life—friends who had gone silent after her fall from grace, business associates of the Todds who now pretended not to see her. But with Phil Tyler's arm around her waist and his lips occasionally brushing her temple, their coldness seemed to matter less.

They were halfway up the steps when Tracy saw her. Eleanor Todd, regal in midnight blue, standing near the entrance. And beside her, Lillian, resplendent in crimson, her expression darkening as she spotted the approaching couple.

"Showtime," Phil murmured, steering Tracy directly toward them.

Eleanor saw them first, her perfectly composed face faltering for just an instant. "Philip," she greeted him coolly. "This is... unexpected."

"Eleanor," Phil replied with practiced charm. "You look lovely as always."

Eleanor's gaze shifted to Tracy, a complex mixture of emotions flickering across her features. "Tracy. I didn't expect to see you here."

Tracy felt Phil's hand press supportively against her lower back. "Hello, Eleanor," she said, surprising herself with the steadiness of her voice. "It's been a while."

"Not long enough," Lillian cut in, her smile vicious. "I see you've found a new meal ticket. Impressive rebound time."

Phil's arm tightened around Tracy. "Actually, Lillian, Tracy and I have been seeing each other since February. I was planning to tell you privately, but—"

"February?" Lillian's voice rose slightly, drawing attention from nearby guests. "You were with me in February."

"Not exclusively," Phil replied smoothly. "You never asked for exclusivity until you pressured me into that hasty engagement."

Eleanor placed a warning hand on Lillian's arm. "This isn't the place for this discussion."

"I quite agree," Phil said. "Tracy and I simply wanted to say hello. We should all have dinner soon, catch up properly."

He guided Tracy past them, but not before she caught Lillian's venomous whisper: "Enjoy him while you can, impostor. You won't have him—or anything else—for long."

Once inside the gala, Phil immediately procured champagne for both of them. "You did wonderfully," he said, clinking his glass against hers. "The look on Lillian's face was priceless."

Tracy took a long sip, needing the liquid courage. "She threatened me. Right at the end."

"Of course she did," Phil replied, unconcerned. "That's exactly what we wanted. Now she'll be focused on you, not on covering her tracks. Speaking of which—" He nodded subtly toward a waiter approaching with a silver tray of hors d'oeuvres. "That's Marcus, my security guy. If you need anything or notice anything suspicious, signal him."

Tracy glanced around the opulent space, suddenly aware of how many people were watching them—some openly staring, others pretending not to notice the scandal unfolding in their midst.

"Everyone's talking about us," she murmured.

"Good." Phil's hand came to rest possessively on the small of her back. "The more public our relationship, the harder it will be for Lillian to make you disappear without questions being asked."

The evening progressed in a blur of introductions, champagne, and carefully orchestrated intimacy. Phil kept Tracy close, his hand rarely leaving her body—a protective gesture that doubled as a public declaration of possession. To anyone watching, they appeared to be a couple deeply in love, unable to keep their hands off each other.

It was nearing midnight when Phil's security man, Marcus, appeared at their side with a fresh glass of champagne for Tracy.

"There's something you should see," he said quietly, his words meant only for Phil. "Southeast corner, near the Egyptian exhibit."

Phil's expression remained pleasant, but Tracy felt him tense beside her. "Interesting guests?"

Marcus nodded almost imperceptibly. "Very. Including one with a direct flight from Bogotá this morning."

Phil turned to Tracy, his smile never wavering. "Darling, would you mind if we took a brief tour of the Egyptian collection? I've always wanted to show you the Temple of Dendur."

Tracy understood immediately that this was part of the mission. "Of course, sweetheart. You know how I love ancient history."

They moved casually through the crowd, Phil nodding at acquaintances but not stopping to chat. As they approached the Egyptian wing, he guided her behind a massive column, partially concealing them from the main hall.

"Look naturally toward the temple," he instructed quietly. "The group of men in the corner. Recognize anyone?"

Tracy glanced in the direction he indicated. Four men stood in close conversation, their expensive suits marking them as part of the elite crowd. But there was something different about them—an alertness, a hardness around the eyes that seemed out of place among the socialites.

And then she saw him—the man at the center of the group. Older, distinguished, with silver-streaked dark hair and a commanding presence. She had seen his face before, in the files Phil had shown her.

"That's Alejandro Vega," she whispered. "Lillian's uncle."

"Yes," Phil confirmed grimly. "The man responsible for my sister's death. And look who's joining them now."

Lillian glided into the group, kissing her uncle's cheek with obvious familiarity. The men immediately included her in their circle, their body language deferential despite her gender and youth.

"She's not just connected to them," Tracy realized. "She's part of the leadership."

"Exactly. And now we have photographic evidence of her meeting with known cartel members at a public event." Phil discreetly tapped his cufflink. "My security team is recording everything."

Tracy watched as Lillian laughed at something one of the men said, her entire demeanor transformed from the brittle socialite of earlier to a confident woman among equals. It was chilling to witness.

"We should go," Phil murmured. "Before they notice us watching."

But as they turned to leave, Lillian looked up, her gaze locking directly with Tracy's across the room. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. She whispered something to her uncle, whose head turned sharply in their direction.

"Too late," Tracy breathed. "They've seen us."

Phil's hand tightened around hers. "Walk normally. Head for the main hall."

They had only taken a few steps when two of the men from Vega's group peeled away, moving to intercept them. Phil's security man materialized at their side, his hand inside his jacket.

"Change of plans," Phil said under his breath. "We're leaving. Now."

He guided Tracy toward a service door half-hidden behind a display case. Marcus moved ahead, opening the door and checking the corridor beyond before nodding to Phil.

"This way," Phil urged, ushering Tracy through the door. "Quick and quiet."

The service corridor was stark and brightly lit after the dim elegance of the exhibition hall. They moved rapidly, Tracy struggling to keep pace in her heels.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Secondary exit," Phil replied tersely. "Car's waiting."

Behind them, the door crashed open. Tracy glanced back to see one of Vega's men entering the corridor, his hand reaching inside his jacket.

"Run!" Phil commanded, shoving her forward.

They sprinted down the hallway, Tracy's stilettos echoing loudly on the concrete floor. Ahead, Marcus had already reached another door, holding it open for them.

"Go, go, go!" he urged as they raced through.

They emerged into a loading area at the rear of the museum. A black SUV with tinted windows idled nearby, its driver alert and ready. Marcus directed them toward it, positioning himself between them and the door they had just exited.

The vehicle's door opened automatically as they approached. Phil practically lifted Tracy inside before jumping in after her. The door had barely closed when the driver accelerated away, tires squealing on the asphalt.

"Are you alright?" Phil asked, his eyes scanning Tracy for injuries.

She nodded, breathing hard, her heart pounding in her chest. "What just happened? Why did we run?"

"Those weren't ordinary cartel soldiers," Phil explained, checking his phone. "The one who followed us is Antonio Diaz, Vega's head of security. He only appears when there's killing to be done."

Tracy's blood ran cold. "They were going to kill us? At the Metropolitan Museum Gala?"

"Not there, no. They would have forced us into a vehicle, taken us somewhere private." Phil's expression was grim. "We've accelerated the timeline. I didn't expect Vega himself to be here."

"What does this mean for the plan?"

Phil was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping rapidly on his phone. "It means Lillian is more dangerous than even I anticipated. And it means we need to move faster."

He showed Tracy his screen—a message from one of his security team still at the gala: "L headed to private room with ETodd. Looked angry."

"Eleanor is with Lillian," Tracy said, worry creeping into her voice despite her complicated feelings toward her adoptive mother. "If Lillian is angry..."

"Eleanor is safe for now," Phil assured her. "Lillian won't risk harming her in public. But we need to warn her somehow, make her understand the danger she's in."

Tracy leaned back against the leather seat, the adrenaline of their escape beginning to fade. "I found it," she said suddenly.

"Found what?"

"What you said I needed to find. Evidence that Lillian is the daughter of a drug lord." Tracy met Phil's questioning gaze. "I saw it in her face when she was with them. The way she carried herself, the way they deferred to her. She's not just connected to the cartel—she was raised in it. It's in her blood."

Phil nodded slowly. "Yes. And now you understand why this is so dangerous. The woman who has taken your place is not just a social climber or an opportunist. She's cartel royalty, trained since childhood to eliminate obstacles and seize power."

Tracy looked out the window at the city lights flashing by. "Then we'll have to be smarter than her." She turned back to Phil, a new determination in her eyes. "And I think I know where to start."

"Where?"

"Eleanor's private study. There's a safe behind the Monet—I've known the combination since I was sixteen. If Harold kept any records about what really happened twenty years ago, that's where they'd be."

Phil studied her with new respect. "You're suggesting we break into the Todd mansion?"

Tracy's lips curved into a smile that matched his own predatory expression from earlier. "I'm suggesting we find out exactly what Lillian is hiding. And then we use it to destroy her."

The SUV sped through the night, carrying them back to the relative safety of Phil's penthouse. But Tracy knew the real danger was just beginning. She had seen the enemy up close now, understood what they were facing.

Lillian wasn't just the woman who had stolen her identity. She was a drug lord's daughter, trained in violence and deception. And Tracy had just publicly challenged her claim to everything she wanted.

The game had changed—and the stakes were now life or death.