The old Bell house had been empty for five years.
Yet when I pushed open the rusted gate, it felt as though the house had been waiting for me.
Damien parked behind me.
I stepped out of the car.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The house stood at the end of the overgrown driveway, hidden beneath trees.
The windows were dusty.
The paint had peeled from the walls.
The garden my mother once loved had become a wilderness.
I swallowed.
“This was home.”
Damien looked at the house.
“I know.”
I turned to him.
“You’ve been here before?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Before your father died.”
My heart tightened.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Richard sent me here.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
“To deliver something.”
“What?”
“A message.”
“What message?”
Damien’s expression darkened.
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I was seventeen, Amara.”
He looked toward the house.
“And my father told me never to speak about that night.”
I studied him.
“Yet you came.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because I think your father left something here for me.”
My breath caught.
“For you?”
He nodded.
“And I think he left something here for you too.”
The front door opened with a loud creak.
Dust filled the air.
I coughed.
Damien switched on his flashlight.
The beam moved across the hallway.
Everything was exactly where I remembered it.
The old grandfather clock.
The wooden staircase.
My mother’s paintings.
The small table where Dad used to leave his keys.
I walked slowly toward it.
My fingers brushed the surface.
Memories came rushing back.
Dad laughing.
Mum shouting from the kitchen.
Nadia running through the hallway.
Me hiding behind the curtains because I’d broken a vase.
For five years, I’d convinced myself I didn’t miss this place.
I’d been lying.
Damien stood behind me.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t believe me.
He never did.
I walked toward my father’s study.
The door was locked.
I tried the handle.
Nothing.
“Dad always locked this room.”
Damien stepped forward.
“Move.”
He examined the lock.
“You don’t have the key?”
“No.”
He pulled something from his pocket.
A thin metal pick.
I stared.
“You carry lockpicks?”
“You’d be surprised what I’ve had to learn.”
Within seconds, the lock clicked.
I looked at him.
“You’re terrifying.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
We entered.
The room smelled like old paper.
Books covered every wall.
My father’s desk stood near the window.
I walked toward it.
The drawers were empty.
The shelves had been searched.
Someone had been here.
“Damien.”
He turned.
“Someone already came looking.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“How?”
He pointed toward the floor.
A faint muddy footprint crossed the carpet.
Fresh.
My blood ran cold.
“Someone is still here.”
Damien immediately moved in front of me.
“Stay behind me.”
We searched the room.
Nothing.
Then we heard it.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Damien looked at me.
“Don’t move.”
He drew a gun.
My eyes widened.
“You have a gun?”
“Unfortunately.”
He disappeared through the doorway.
I waited.
One minute.
Two.
Then—
A crash.
“Damien!”
I ran upstairs.
I found him standing in the hallway.
A man was unconscious at his feet.
I stopped.
“Who is that?”
Damien crouched beside him.
“I don’t know.”
I stared at the stranger.
Then noticed something in his hand.
A photograph.
I picked it up.
My father’s face.
And beside him—
Damien’s father.
Richard Vale.
But they weren’t alone.
There was a third person.
A woman.
I recognized her immediately.
My mother.
I stared at the photograph.
“What is my mother doing with them?”
Damien took it from me.
His expression changed.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because this photograph was taken six months before your parents met.”
I frowned.
“What?”
He turned it over.
There was a date written on the back.
Six months before my parents’ wedding.
Before I was born.
Before anyone had ever told me my parents knew the Vales.
I looked at Damien.
“They lied.”
“Yes.”
“Both our families lied.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the unconscious man.
“Who is he?”
Damien searched his pockets.
He pulled out an identification card.
Then froze.
“What?”
He handed it to me.
I read the name.
SEBASTIAN CROSS.
My heart stopped.
“That can’t be.”
Damien looked at the unconscious man.
Then at the hospital.
“Sebastian is dead.”
I stared at the stranger.
“Then who is this?”
The man’s eyes suddenly opened.
He smiled.
And whispered—
“You finally came home, Amara.”
My blood ran cold.
He knew my name.
Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist.
Damien pulled him away.
“Who are you?”
The man laughed.
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
“What question should I ask?”
He looked at me.
“Ask your mother why she changed her name.”
Silence.
My entire body went cold.
“My mother never changed her name.”
The man smiled.
“She did.”
Damien tightened his grip on him.
“Where is the key?”
The stranger’s smile widened.
“You’re too late.”
“For what?”
He looked toward the hallway.
Then whispered:
“The door is already open.”
A loud sound came from downstairs.
BOOM.
The house shook.
I screamed.
Smoke began filling the hallway.
Damien grabbed my hand.
“Run!”
We raced downstairs.
Fire was spreading across the curtains.
Someone had set the house on fire.
I coughed.
“My father’s study!”
Damien grabbed me.
“No.”
“The key could be there!”
“Amara, we need to get out!”
“I can’t leave it!”
I pulled away.
Ran toward the study.
The heat hit me instantly.
Smoke filled my lungs.
I searched the desk.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
Dad’s old clock.
I ran toward it.
Behind the clock was a small compartment.
Inside was a black key.
I grabbed it.
Then something else caught my eye.
A folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
My father’s handwriting.
IF YOU FOUND THE KEY, YOU ARE READY FOR THE TRUTH.
Below it was an address.
Not Vale Manor.
Not the Bell house.
Somewhere else.
I read the final line.
COME WITH DAMIEN.
TRUST NO ONE ELSE.
A beam fell from the ceiling.
I screamed.
Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around me.
Damien.
He carried me through the smoke.
“Hold on!”
“Put me down!”
“No!”
He kicked open the front door.
We stumbled outside.
I collapsed onto the grass, coughing.
Damien dropped beside me.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He looked at me.
Then at the burning house.
“What did you find?”
I opened my hand.
The black key rested in my palm.
His eyes widened.
“You found it.”
I nodded.
Then handed him the note.
He read it.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He turned the paper toward me.
I looked at the address.
My heart stopped.
I knew that place.
Everyone in the city did.
It was the most heavily guarded building in the country.
THE PRESIDENTIAL ARCHIVES.
Damien stared at me.
“Why would your father hide evidence there?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked toward the burning house.
Then back at me.
“Maybe your father wasn’t hiding the truth.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
He closed his fingers around the key.
“Maybe he was hiding it from the people who were supposed to protect it.”
Behind us, the house windows exploded.
I jumped.
Damien instinctively pulled me against him.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked down at me.
His hand remained around my waist.
“You’re shaking.”
“So are you.”
“I know.”
I looked into his eyes.
“Damien?”
“Yes?”
“If we find the truth…”
He waited.
“What happens to us?”
His expression softened.
“I don’t know.”
“And if the truth destroys everything?”
He leaned closer.
“Then we’ll deal with it together.”
My heart skipped.
“Together?”
“Yes.”
Before I could answer, a phone began ringing.
Not mine.
Not Damien’s.
We both turned.
The unconscious stranger was gone.
On the grass where he’d been lying was a phone.
Damien picked it up.
The screen showed one incoming call.
MOTHER.
Damien froze.
Victoria Vale was dead.
Yet her phone was calling.
He answered.
“Hello?”
Static.
Then a woman’s voice whispered:
“Damien.”
His face went pale.
I grabbed his arm.
The voice continued.
“Don’t trust Amara.”
Then the line went dead.
Damien slowly lowered the phone.
I stared at him.
“What did she say?”
He looked at me.
And for the first time since I’d met him…
I saw doubt in his eyes.
Not about the truth.
About me.
And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.