NOW DAMIEN WILL DIE TOO.
I read the message three times.
Then I looked at Damien.
He was sitting beside me in the back of the SUV, his jaw tense, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
He had seen the message.
He didn’t ask what it said.
He already knew.
“Who is it?” I whispered.
“Someone who wants you frightened.”
“They shot at us.”
His eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
“And you’re not even surprised.”
“No.”
That answer frightened me more than anything else.
I turned toward him.
“How long has this been happening?”
He didn’t answer.
“Damien.”
His gaze returned to the window.
“Too long.”
“Someone has been threatening you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Warnings.”
I stared at him.
“Warnings?”
“First, they warned me to stop investigating my father’s death.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Then they threatened me.”
His eyes hardened.
“That’s why I told you to stay away.”
“You didn’t tell me anything.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“By lying to me?”
“By keeping you alive.”
The words silenced me.
The SUV turned onto a private road.
Tall iron gates opened before us.
I stared through the window.
“Where are we?”
“My house.”
“I thought you lived in the city.”
“I do.”
“This isn’t your apartment.”
“No.”
The gates closed behind us.
The estate was enormous.
A stone mansion stood at the end of a long driveway, surrounded by dark trees and perfectly trimmed gardens.
It looked less like a home and more like a fortress.
I turned to him.
“Why are we here?”
“Because whoever followed us won’t find you here.”
“Won’t they?”
“No.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
The SUV stopped.
Damien got out first.
He came around and opened my door.
I stepped down.
My broken heel nearly gave way again.
His hand immediately caught my waist.
“Careful.”
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
He didn’t let go.
For one dangerous second, neither of us moved.
His hand was warm against my waist.
My heart betrayed me.
Again.
He released me first.
“Come inside.”
The moment we entered the house, a woman appeared from the hallway.
She was elegant, older, and dressed in a cream-colored silk blouse.
Her expression changed when she saw me.
“Who is she?”
Damien’s body stiffened.
“Mother.”
My stomach dropped.
Victoria Vale.
The woman from the photograph.
The woman who may have murdered her husband.
She looked at me.
Then at Damien.
“You brought her here?”
“This isn’t the time.”
Victoria’s gaze returned to me.
“You’re Jonathan Bell’s daughter.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
Something unreadable crossed her face.
Fear?
Recognition?
Then it disappeared.
“Of course.”
She smiled.
It was beautiful.
And completely cold.
“I’ve heard so much about you.”
I forced myself not to look at her hands.
The hands that might have held the knife.
“I can’t say the same.”
Damien glanced at me.
Victoria’s smile widened.
“You have your father’s temper.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Damien,” she said quietly, “may I speak with you?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
“Not tonight.”
“You can’t bring her into this house and expect me to—”
“She’s staying.”
Silence.
Victoria looked between us.
Then her eyes settled on my hand.
The black envelope.
I had forgotten I was still holding it.
Her face went completely white.
My heart stopped.
She knew.
She knew exactly what it was.
Damien noticed too.
His eyes moved to the envelope.
Then to his mother.
“Mother?”
Victoria recovered quickly.
“What is that?”
I tightened my grip.
“Nothing.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Nothing?”
Damien stepped between us.
“Go upstairs.”
Victoria looked at her son.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“You don’t.”
She lowered her voice.
“Your father made the same mistake.”
Damien went still.
I watched him carefully.
“What mistake?” I asked.
Victoria looked at me.
For a second, something almost murderous flashed in her eyes.
Then she smiled.
“Trusting the wrong people.”
She turned and walked away.
I waited until she disappeared.
Then whispered,
“She knows about the envelope.”
“Yes.”
“She knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“She knows about the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still protecting her.”
Damien looked at me.
“No.”
“Then why is she here?”
“Because this is her house too.”
“And if she killed your father?”
His expression hardened.
“Then I’ll make sure she pays for it.”
I searched his face.
I believed him.
That scared me.
He took me upstairs.
My room was bigger than my entire apartment.
I stood in the doorway.
“You expect me to sleep here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s safe.”
“Your house has a suspected murderer living in it.”
His mouth twitched.
“You’re not wrong.”
I looked at him.
“You’re not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
For the first time that night, I almost smiled.
Then I remembered the photograph.
The warning.
The gunshots.
My smile disappeared.
“Damien.”
He stopped.
“Why did you really bring me here?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he stepped closer.
“Because when they shot at us tonight, I realized something.”
“What?”
“I can’t protect you from a distance.”
My breath caught.
“You don’t have to protect me.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
His gaze dropped to my lips.
When he looked back at me, something had changed.
“Because I want to.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
I swallowed.
“That’s dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“For both of us.”
“I know.”
Neither of us moved.
He lifted his hand.
His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face.
My entire body went still.
“Damien…”
He stopped.
His thumb lingered near my cheek.
“I won’t kiss you.”
I blinked.
“Why?”
“Because if I do, I’ll forget why I brought you here.”
“And why did you bring me here?”
“To keep you alive.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“And I’m not willing to confuse that with something else.”
He stepped back.
The loss of his warmth was immediate.
“Goodnight, Amara.”
He turned.
“Damien?”
He stopped at the door.
“I believe you.”
He looked over his shoulder.
“About my father.”
His expression softened.
“Thank you.”
Then he left.
I closed the door.
Locked it.
And leaned against it.
My heart was pounding.
I touched my cheek where his fingers had been.
This was a mistake.
A huge one.
I was beginning to trust him.
Worse…
I was beginning to want him.
I didn’t sleep.
At two in the morning, I opened the black envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
My father’s handwriting covered it.
Mara,
If you’re reading this, I’m already dead.
My eyes filled with tears.
I continued.
I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth.
I was afraid they would come after you.
The ledger contains everything.
Names.
Payments.
Accounts.
Every secret Richard Vale discovered before his death.
My hands shook.
But the ledger is not the only evidence.
I read the next line.
Then froze.
Trust Damien.
I stopped breathing.
No.
I read it again.
Trust Damien.
My father’s final words had been clear.
The boy.
Damien.
My father had trusted him.
But why?
I turned the page.
There was one final sentence.
He didn’t know what his mother had done.
A sound escaped my lips.
A sob.
My father had known.
He had trusted Damien.
And Damien had spent five years trying to uncover the truth.
I wiped my tears.
Then noticed something written at the bottom of the page.
A name.
Sebastian Cross.
My blood ran cold.
I remembered the first day.
The charming smile.
The warning.
Don’t go through files that don’t belong to you.
My phone suddenly vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
Your father trusted the wrong man.
Another message appeared.
So are you.
Then a photograph loaded.
My heart stopped.
It showed Damien and Sebastian standing together outside the Vale mansion.
The date was five years ago.
The night Richard Vale died.
But that wasn’t what terrified me.
In the background stood my father.
And he was handing something to Sebastian.
Something black.
Something small.
Something that looked exactly like—
the ledger.
I stared at the photograph.
My father’s final words echoed in my head.
Trust Damien.
But suddenly, I didn’t know what to believe.
Because if Sebastian had the ledger…
then why had Damien been searching for it for five years?
And if my father had given it to Sebastian…
what had Sebastian done with it?
Outside my bedroom door, the floor creaked.
I froze.
Someone was standing in the hallway.
Then three soft knocks sounded against my door.
I held my breath.
A familiar voice whispered from the other side.
“Amara?”
Damien.
I reached for the door.
Then stopped.
Because behind me, my phone lit up with one final message.
DON’T OPEN THE DOOR.
I stared at it.
Another message appeared.
IT ISN’T DAMIEN.