Hazel and Her Billionaire Tower

A missing woman. A search for the truth. And the one person she swore she’d never fall for again.

HAZEL

Finding my birth mom has always felt impossible—until the trail leads me to a tiny hat shop . . . and the last person I ever expected to see again.

Wesley. My ex. The one I walked away from all those years ago.

Now, he’s asking for my help—because someone he cares about has gone missing. A woman who vanished without a trace. And the deeper we dig, the more tangled everything becomes.

I said I wouldn’t let him back in. I meant it.

But working side by side? Some feelings don’t stay buried.

WESLEY

I left The Pact behind years ago. I thought it was over.

But when Rosabel disappears, Duncan’s out for blood—and I can’t sit this one out. Hazel showing up now? Wasn’t part of the plan.

She wants answers. So do I.

But getting them means stepping back into the very world I swore I was done with.

And keeping Hazel close—when I never really stopped loving her—might be the biggest risk of all.

If you like closed-door, suspenseful romance with slow-burn chemistry and powerful men facing the fallout of their pasts, you’ll devour the witty banter, emotional twists, and fairytale feel of this absorbing series.

Read Hazel and Her Billionaire Tower, a Rapunzel retelling with heart-thudding romance and swoony suspense, to continue the Once Upon a Billionaire Series and read The Pact’s conclusion by Catelyn Meadows.

Chapter One
Hazel

He’d failed me yet again.

I’d been working with Mr. S. for a little over two months now, and, supposedly, he’d given every one of his invaluable resources to finding my birth mother. But he’d gotten my hopes up one too many times.

I mean, first of all, what kind of a name was Mr. S.?

That wasn’t his worst indiscretion, however.
The man was entitled to a secretive name, especially in the private investigator business. It wasn’t like I expected him to disclose his real identity when he was dabbling in things like other people’s secrets.

No, my real problem with him was the under-delivery.

Time and time again, he’d contacted me with claims of having found a lead to my absentee birth mother. Each instance elevated my hopes and made me feel as though I were floating with anticipation… only to have his next email reveal a fat lot of nothing sufficient enough to flatten any tire.

He was, in short, not doing his job.

And I was in need of a new P.I.

With a grunt, I pushed away from my desk—and from the furry pink rug on which it and my chair sat—and strode to the windows overlooking Beaver Lake.

Placing a hand on the white trim surrounding one of my tower’s rectangular windows, I stared out beyond Duncan Hawthorne’s rose garden to the luxurious view of the lake surrounded by trees.

Its surface caught gleams of sunlight and momentarily blinded me, turning me back to my thoughts.

Mr. S. had given me the update. The trail he’d been following had died in the same place it had with the previous two investigators.

How could the woman who’d given birth to me just disappear?

I’d never met her. I only knew the story Sandy had told me when I was ten years old. Sandy and her husband had adopted me as an infant and had only two things from my birth mother: a knit blanket and a stylish but dated woman’s hat.

I’d given each detective all the information I could, including the few details the previous man had discovered.

A lot of good it had done me.

“I need an investigator who can live up to his promises,” I muttered, returning to my desk—or, more particularly, the computer on my desk.

Shaking my mouse to waken my computer’s screen, I clicked onto the bureau’s website to search out someone new.

I'd tried hiring someone from the FBI, but those requests had been denied. Working with the Brazilian government had been of no help, either. Brazil was the last known location of my birth mom, but the region I was born in was so remote, the records kept were meager at best.

I twisted my long black hair into a rope over my shoulder and minimized the computer’s screen, returning to the spreadsheet I’d been working on earlier.

I examined this particular client’s marketing strategy for the graphic design tutorial app they were trying to develop. From the look of things, they needed to begin spreading word about the product now, to build buzz before releasing it into the marketplace.

I inserted the pod into my ear, ready to contact the client and give them a walk-through on some starting points when another call beat me to it.

Recognizing my PA’s number on the screen, I swiped.

“Hey, Melanie.”

“Hazel,” Melanie said. “I’ve got a woman named Aaliyah Elir on the line. She wants to discuss a business proposition with you.”

Movement caught my eye through the large window. Not only did the glass offer a view of Beaver Lake, but I also had full vantage of my closest neighbor, Duncan Hawthorne, from here. Before today, I’d often caught sight of his assistant-slash-girlfriend, Rosabel, too.

I wondered when she was going out for her run.

I hadn’t seen her around for a few days.

Several cars slowed and parked in front of his house. That was unusual. Normally, I only saw the black Lexus Duncan’s driver used.

I shook myself and answered Melanie.

“Elir, as in the resort line?” The hotels dotted every continent and country around the world.

“I believe so,” Melanie said. “Shall I patch her through?”

What did Aaliyah Elir possibly need from me? I offered marketing consultations for other businesses—maybe she needed some marketing tips?

While the name “Aaliyah” was pretty, the Elir part of things was hard to ignore. My curiosity was enough to distract me from my earlier frustration.

“Yes, I’d love to talk to her,” I said.

Seconds later, a little clicking noise followed, and then a young woman’s sweet voice introduced herself. Meanwhile, my attention was momentarily captured by the scene outside.

Several handsome men congregated on the grass in front of Duncan’s house. One was tall, blond, and had a killer smile. Another was of a similar height with brown hair and casual complacency. And there was Duncan, dark-haired and scowling as usual, glaring at them as though he was upset with them for treading on his grass.

What was going on over there?