The message stayed on my screen long after the elevator doors opened.
HE KNOWS WHERE THE LEDGER IS.
I read it again.
Then again.
My fingers tightened around my phone.
If that was true, then Damien had lied to me.
But why?
I stepped out of the elevator and walked through the lobby, barely noticing the receptionist’s greeting.
Outside, the evening air hit my face.
I stopped on the pavement.
The city moved around me—cars honking, people rushing, lights flashing across glass buildings—but I felt strangely detached from all of it.
My father’s last words echoed in my head.
Find the black ledger.
Five years.
I’d spent five years believing those words belonged to a dying man’s desperation.
Now I knew the ledger existed.
And Damien knew where it was.
My phone buzzed again.
I looked down.
Unknown Number:
You have until midnight.
My heart jumped.
I typed:
Until midnight for what?
The reply came immediately.
To decide whether you want the truth.
I stared at the message.
Then another appeared.
Come alone.
A location followed.
An abandoned railway station on the edge of the city.
I should have deleted the message.
I should have called the police.
Instead, I ordered a cab.
Because apparently, curiosity had replaced common sense somewhere along the way.
The station had been abandoned for years.
At least, that’s what Google said.
The cab stopped several streets away because the driver refused to go farther.
“You sure this is the place?”
I looked through the window.
Broken streetlights.
Overgrown weeds.
A rusted iron gate.
“Yes.”
The driver frowned.
“Miss, I don’t think—”
“I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t look convinced.
Neither was I.
I got out.
The cab disappeared down the road.
Silence settled around me.
I walked through the gate.
My heels clicked against cracked concrete.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I pulled out my phone.
No signal.
Of course.
“Wonderful.”
I continued toward the old station building.
The front doors were already open.
I stepped inside.
Dust covered everything.
Broken chairs.
Old posters.
A ticket booth with shattered glass.
Then I heard footsteps.
I froze.
Someone was behind me.
I turned.
A man stepped out of the darkness.
Tall.
Black coat.
His face was partially hidden beneath a hood.
“Amara Bell?”
My body went rigid.
“Who are you?”
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“You told me to.”
“I wanted to know if you’d listen.”
I took a step backward.
“You know about my father.”
“Yes.”
“You know about the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me where it is.”
He laughed quietly.
“You’re exactly like him.”
“Like who?”
“Your father.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew him?”
“I knew enough.”
“Then you know he was innocent.”
The man’s expression changed.
For the first time, I saw something that looked like regret.
“Yes.”
My breath caught.
Five years.
Five years of being called a murderer’s daughter.
Five years of watching my mother cry when she thought nobody was looking.
Five years of my sister refusing to speak about him.
And this stranger said it so easily.
Yes.
My father’s innocent.
I stepped closer.
“Who killed Richard Vale?”
The man looked toward the door.
“We don’t have much time.”
“Who?”
“Victoria Vale.”
My heart stopped.
I knew it.
I’d seen the photograph.
But hearing the name aloud made the truth feel real.
“How?”
“Your father discovered what she was doing.
Richard found out too.
He planned to expose her.”
“And she killed him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why was my father blamed?”
“Because someone needed to take the fall.”
“Who?”
The man didn’t answer.
Instead, he reached inside his coat.
I tensed.
He pulled out a small black envelope.
“This belongs to you.”
I took it.
There was no name on it.
Only a single gold symbol.
A crown surrounded by thorns.
My father’s handwriting.
I recognized it instantly.
My hands began shaking.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your father gave it to me.”
“When?”
“The night he died.”
I looked up.
“You were at the prison?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
He stepped closer.
“He knew he wouldn’t survive.”
My throat tightened.
“What did he tell you?”
The man opened his mouth.
A sound came from outside.
A car door slammed.
The stranger’s face changed.
“We have to go.”
“Wait!”
He grabbed my arm.
“Don’t trust anyone at Vale Enterprises.”
“Damien?”
His grip tightened.
“Especially Damien.”
Then headlights flooded through the broken windows.
The man shoved me behind the old ticket booth.
“Stay here.”
“What—”
He disappeared.
Three men entered the station.
I crouched behind the booth, barely breathing.
One of them spoke.
“She came here.”
Another answered.
“Find her.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I covered my mouth.
Footsteps approached.
Closer.
Closer.
Then a hand covered my mouth.
I nearly screamed.
“Don’t.”
The voice was low.
Familiar.
My eyes widened.
Damien.
He pulled me against him and kept one finger against his lips.
His body shielded mine.
I could feel his heartbeat.
Fast.
Almost as fast as mine.
The footsteps came closer.
Damien’s arm tightened around my waist.
We were pressed together in the darkness.
I could smell his cologne.
Feel his breath against my temple.
For a moment, I forgot about everything else.
The men passed the booth.
One of them stopped.
I held my breath.
Damien’s hand remained over my mouth.
The man looked around.
Then walked away.
A door slammed.
Silence.
Damien waited several seconds before removing his hand.
“What are you doing here?”
I turned toward him.
“What are you doing here?”
His jaw tightened.
“I asked first.”
“I received a message.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“You came alone?”
“Yes.”
His expression darkened.
“Are you insane?”
“I wanted answers.”
“You could have been killed.”
“So could you.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Then what is?”
He stared at me.
“You don’t understand what you’re involved in.”
“I know about the ledger.”
His expression changed.
There.
For the first time, I saw fear.
Not anger.
Not irritation.
Fear.
“You shouldn’t know about that.”
“But I do.”
“How?”
“Someone told me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
He stepped closer.
“What did they tell you?”
“That my father was innocent.”
Silence.
Damien looked away.
“You believe them?”
“I believe my father.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“After five years?”
“Yes.”
Something softened in his expression.
“Good.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“I said good.”
“Why?”
“Because he was.”
My heart stopped.
“You knew?”
Damien closed his eyes briefly.
“I suspected.”
“Suspected?”
“I’ve spent five years investigating my father’s death.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know who I could trust.”
“And you thought I was trustworthy?”
“No.”
His answer hurt more than it should have.
“Then why hire me?”
He looked directly at me.
“Because I knew you would investigate.”
I stared at him.
“You hired me as bait.”
“At first.”
“At first?”
His silence answered the question.
I stepped back.
“You used me.”
“Yes.”
The honesty stunned me.
Then he added quietly:
“But that changed.”
My anger faltered.
“When?”
“The first day.”
“Why?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Because you weren’t what I expected.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
I shook my head.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“You knew my father was innocent.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew about the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Victoria was involved.”
His face hardened.
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He looked away.
And that was enough.
“You do know.”
“Amara—”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Then who does?”
He didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“Damien.”
His eyes met mine.
For a second, something passed between us.
Something neither of us understood.
Then he reached into his coat.
My heart jumped.
He pulled out a photograph.
I recognized it immediately.
The same photograph I’d received.
My father.
Victoria.
The knife.
But Damien turned it over.
There was writing on the back.
I read it.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, TRUST THE BOY.
I frowned.
“Who is the boy?”
Damien looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“Me.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“My father wrote that.”
I stared at him.
“Richard trusted you?”
“He was my father.”
“He knew you were investigating?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you expose Victoria?”
Damien’s expression broke.
For the first time, I saw the grief underneath the cold exterior.
“Because I was seventeen.”
My anger disappeared.
“My father died in front of me.”
I couldn’t speak.
“He was bleeding on the floor,” Damien continued.
“My mother was screaming.
The police were everywhere.
And before they took him away, he looked at me.”
His voice cracked.
“Do you know what he said?”
I shook my head.
“He said, Protect your mother.”
My chest tightened.
“And you did.”
“Yes.”
“Even if she killed him?”
His eyes closed.
“I didn’t know.”
“But now you do.”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
The silence between us became unbearable.
I whispered, “How long have you known?”
“Three months.”
My eyes widened.
“Three months?”
“I found the first piece of evidence three months ago.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I needed proof.”
“You could have told me.”
“I didn’t know if you’d believe me.”
“I would have.”
He gave me a sad smile.
“You didn’t even believe your own father.”
That hurt.
Because he was right.
I looked away.
The station suddenly felt colder.
Then Damien reached for my hand.
I froze.
His fingers closed gently around mine.
“I am sorry.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“For what my family did to yours.”
My throat tightened.
“You didn’t do it.”
“No.”
He paused.
“But I’ve spent five years benefiting from the silence.”
I didn’t know what to say.
He stepped closer.
Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body.
His eyes dropped to my lips.
Mine did the same.
The world seemed to stop.
Then—
A gunshot exploded outside.
Damien immediately pulled me against him.
“Run.”
We ran.
We barely made it through the back entrance before another shot shattered the window behind us.
Damien grabbed my hand.
“Stay with me.”
We sprinted through the alley.
My heels broke.
I stumbled.
Damien caught me before I hit the ground.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He looked toward the road.
A black SUV was waiting.
“Get in.”
I hesitated.
“Damien—”
“Amara, now.”
I got inside.
He followed.
The vehicle sped away.
I looked back through the rear window.
The abandoned station disappeared into the darkness.
My hands were still shaking.
Damien noticed.
He reached over and covered them with his.
“You’re safe.”
I looked at him.
For some reason, those two words scared me more than the gunshots.
Because for the first time since I met him…
I believed him.
And that was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
My blood ran cold.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED.
Then another message appeared.
NOW DAMIEN WILL DIE TOO.