For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
The burning remains of my childhood home crackled behind us.
Damien still held the phone.
I stared at him.
“What did she say?”
He didn’t answer.
“Damien.”
His jaw tightened.
“She said not to trust you.”
My heart sank.
“Victoria?”
He nodded.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“No.” I stepped closer.
“You don’t understand.
She said my name?”
“Yes.”
“Then she’s alive.”
Damien looked at the burning house.
“Or someone wants us to believe she is.”
A chill ran through me.
The phone rang again.
Both of us froze.
The screen still displayed:
MOTHER
Damien answered.
“Who are you?”
Static.
Then the woman’s voice returned.
“Come to the archives.”
Damien’s face hardened.
“Who are you?”
“You already know.”
“No, I don’t.”
A soft laugh came through the speaker.
“Your father knew.”
The call ended.
I stared at Damien.
“The archives.”
He nodded.
“We’re going.”
The drive was silent.
The black key sat between us in the center console.
Neither of us touched it.
I watched the city pass outside the window.
My childhood home was gone.
My father was dead.
Victoria was supposedly dead.
Sebastian was dead.
And somehow, someone was still pulling strings from the shadows.
I finally looked at Damien.
“Do you believe I killed your father?”
He glanced at me.
“No.”
“Do you believe I know more than I’m telling you?”
A pause.
“I think you know less than you think.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He sighed.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
I looked away.
“That hurts.”
“I know.”
“You’re supposed to trust me.”
“I do.”
“Then why did you look at me like that after the phone call?”
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Because Victoria knew your name.”
“She knew my name because she knew my father.”
“Maybe.”
“And because someone is trying to make us distrust each other.”
“Exactly.”
I looked at him.
“So trust me.”
His eyes met mine.
“I do.”
This time, I believed him.
The Presidential Archives stood behind layers of security.
No ordinary person could simply walk inside.
Damien showed an identification card.
The guards stepped aside.
I stared at him.
“You have government clearance?”
“Vale Enterprises has contracts with the government.”
“Of course it does.”
We entered.
The building was almost completely empty.
A security officer led us through a long corridor.
“Your appointment was requested by Mr.
Vale?”
“Yes,” Damien said.
The officer nodded.
“Someone left instructions for you.”
“What instructions?”
He pointed toward the elevator.
“Basement level.”
I frowned.
“There’s a basement?”
“Three.”
Damien looked at me.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The elevator descended.
Level one.
Level two.
Level three.
The doors opened.
Cold air rushed over us.
There were rows of locked cabinets.
Old documents.
Government records.
Historical evidence.
The officer handed Damien an envelope.
“That’s all I was told to give you.”
Then he left.
Damien opened it.
Inside was a single card.
ROOM 317.
We followed the corridor.
Room 317 was at the very end.
The door had no handle.
Only a small black keyhole.
Damien looked at me.
“The key.”
I handed it to him.
He inserted it.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a tiny room.
One table.
One chair.
One recorder.
And a photograph.
My father.
I stopped breathing.
Damien picked up the photograph.
On the back was another message.
FOR AMARA.
My hands trembled.
I took it.
There was a recording device beneath it.
I pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then my father’s voice.
“Amara.”
My eyes immediately filled with tears.
“If you’re hearing this, then the people I feared have finally found you.”
I covered my mouth.
Damien stood beside me.
My father’s voice continued.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
A pause.
“But there’s something you must understand.”
The recording crackled.
“Richard Vale was not the target.”
I frowned.
Damien stiffened.
“What?”
My father’s voice continued.
“Neither was I.”
My heart pounded.
“The person they wanted was you.”
Silence.
I looked at Damien.
He looked just as shocked.
“Me?” I whispered.
The recording continued.
“Amara, there is a reason your mother never told you about the Vale family.”
I froze.
“My mother?”
“She changed her name before you were born.”
Damien stepped closer.
“Why?”
My father’s voice answered.
“Because your mother was once a Vale.”
The room went silent.
I couldn’t breathe.
No.
That wasn’t possible.
My mother was a Bell.
She had always been a Bell.
My father’s wife.
My sister’s mother.
My mother.
The recording continued.
“Her real name is—”
The audio suddenly cut out.
I stared at the recorder.
“No.”
I pressed the button again.
Nothing.
“No!”
I hit it harder.
Damien grabbed my shoulders.
“Amara.”
“My father was about to tell me.”
“I know.”
“Who is my mother?”
“We’ll find out.”
“How?”
A sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Damien immediately turned.
Someone was coming.
He pulled me behind him.
The door opened.
A woman stepped inside.
She wore a long black coat.
Her face was hidden beneath a hood.
Damien raised his gun.
“Stop.”
The woman lifted her hands.
“Put the gun down, Damien.”
His face went pale.
I knew that voice.
We both did.
The woman slowly lowered her hood.
Long dark hair.
Pale face.
A familiar scar beneath her eye.
My breath caught.
“Victoria?”
Damien’s gun lowered slightly.
His entire body went rigid.
“No.”
Victoria smiled sadly.
“Hello, son.”
I couldn’t move.
Victoria walked toward us.
“You need to leave.”
Damien stared at her.
“You’re dead.”
“Yes.”
“You were murdered.”
“Yes.”
“Then how are you standing here?”
Victoria looked at me.
“Because the woman who died wasn’t me.”
My blood turned cold.
“What?”
She looked at Damien.
“Someone was murdered in my place.”
“Who?”
Victoria’s eyes filled with tears.
“Your mother.”
I stared at her.
“What did you say?”
She looked directly at me.
“Amara…”
Her voice broke.
“Your mother was the woman who died tonight.”
The world tilted.
“No.”
Victoria stepped closer.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“My name isn’t Victoria Vale.”
I backed away.
“Then who are you?”
She reached into her coat.
Pulled out an old photograph.
She handed it to me.
I looked down.
Three young women stood together.
One was Victoria.
One was my mother.
And the third—
I knew her.
She was the woman who had been standing beside my father in the photograph from years ago.
The woman I had never been able to identify.
Victoria whispered:
“We weren’t sisters.”
She looked at Damien.
“We were something much worse.”
Then the lights went out.
A gunshot echoed through the archives.
Damien grabbed me.
And in the darkness, Victoria screamed—
“RUN!”