CHAPTER 17: THE NIGHT I SAW HIM CRY

I had never imagined that a man like Alexander Blackwood could cry.

It was almost three in the morning when I woke to the sound of thunder. Rain tapped against my bedroom windows, and the wind moved through the trees outside.

I reached for my phone, hoping to check the time, but noticed a thin line of light beneath my bedroom door.

Someone was awake.

I slipped out of bed, pulled a cardigan over my nightdress, and opened the door.

The hallway was quiet.

At first, I thought the light came from the library. But as I walked farther down the corridor, I noticed it was coming from Alexander's private office.

The door was slightly open.

I should have returned to my room.

Instead, I heard a sound that made me stop.

A man's voice.

Low. Broken.

“I'm sorry, Evelyn.”

I froze.

I moved closer, careful not to make a sound.

Through the narrow opening, I saw Alexander sitting behind his desk. His suit jacket was hanging over the back of his chair, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar.

A glass of untouched water sat beside him.

In his hand was a photograph.

Evelyn.

He stared at it for several seconds before lowering his head.

Then I saw it.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

He quickly wiped it away, but another followed.

I stood completely still.

This was the man who could silence an entire boardroom with one look. The man who made powerful people nervous. The man who never seemed to lose control.

And he was sitting alone in the dark, crying over a woman he had lost fifteen years ago.

I gently knocked on the door.

His head lifted immediately.

“Who's there?”

“It's me.”

His expression changed as soon as he saw me.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard something.”

“Go back to bed.”

I remained by the doorway.

“Alexander—”

“I said go back to bed, Amelia.”

His voice was sharp.

I noticed him quickly turning the photograph face down.

“I didn't mean to disturb you.”

“Then you shouldn't have come in.”

He stood, pushing his chair back.

His eyes were red, but his expression had become cold again.

“Did you see anything?”

I hesitated.

“Yes.”

His jaw tightened.

“Wonderful.”

He turned away and walked toward the window.

“You can tell the entire household tomorrow. Perhaps Sebastian will find it entertaining too.”

“I'm not going to tell anyone.”

“You don't know that.”

I frowned.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because people love finding weaknesses in others.”

He faced me again.

“And now you've found mine.”

I looked at him quietly.

“I didn't come here looking for a weakness.”

“Then what did you come looking for?”

“I heard you.”

He gave a bitter laugh.

“You heard nothing.”

“Alexander, I saw you crying.”

His face hardened.

“Don't.”

I stopped speaking.

He looked down at the desk, his fingers curling against its edge.

“I don't need your pity.”

“I'm not offering pity.”

“Then what are you offering?”

I didn't have an answer ready.

I simply walked into the room and sat in the chair opposite his desk.

“Nothing,” I said. “I'm just sitting here.”

He stared at me as if he couldn't understand why I hadn't left.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Rain continued to fall against the windows.

Eventually, he sat down again.

His eyes moved toward the photograph.

“She hated thunderstorms,” he said quietly.

I looked at him.

“Evelyn?”

He nodded.

“She used to complain that the noise made it impossible to sleep. Whenever it rained, she would come into my room and demand that I stay awake until the storm passed.”

A small smile touched his mouth, but it disappeared quickly.

“She was very stubborn.”

“I think I would have liked her.”

“You probably would have.”

He looked at the photograph again.

“She was always asking questions. About my father, about the company, about the people around us. She never accepted easy answers.”

“Was that why she became involved in what happened?”

His expression changed.

“Maybe.”

He leaned back, rubbing his forehead.

“She found something. I still don't know exactly what it was, but she was frightened. She came to me more than once, asking me to look into it.”

“And you didn't?”

“I thought she was being paranoid.”

His voice became rougher.

“My father had just died. The company was falling apart, Sebastian and I were fighting over everything, and I was trying to prove I could handle the business without anyone's help.”

He looked down at his hands.

“She told me I was too busy protecting the family name to notice what was happening inside the family.”

I remembered the recording.

Don't trust your brother.

“Did she ever mention Sebastian?”

Alexander's fingers went still.

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

“That he knew more than he admitted.”

My heart began to beat faster.

“What did you do?”

“I confronted him. He denied everything. I believed him because I wanted to believe him.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

“Three days later, Evelyn disappeared.”

I swallowed.

“Did you search for her?”

“For years.”

His voice was quiet.

“I hired investigators. I questioned people. I followed every lead. Nothing. Her family refused to speak to me after a while. The police eventually closed the case.”

“And you never believed she was dead?”

“I tried to.”

He looked at me.

“But you can't bury someone when nobody can show you where they are.”

I felt something tighten in my chest.

For the first time, I understood that his coldness wasn't simply arrogance. It was also a wall built around a wound he had never allowed anyone to touch.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

He looked away.

“Don't be.”

“I know you don't want my pity, but you shouldn't have had to carry that alone.”

His eyes returned to mine.

“Being alone is easier.”

“Is it?”

He didn't answer.

I glanced at the photograph lying on the desk.

“Perhaps she's still alive.”

His expression became distant.

“I've spent fifteen years hoping for that. Hope can become another kind of punishment.”

I understood more than he knew.

My father had been dead for years, yet I was still searching for answers about his final days. Every new discovery brought more questions, not peace.

“Sometimes,” I said, “not knowing is worse than hearing the truth.”

He studied me.

“Is that why you're still looking into your father's death?”

I nodded.

“I want to know who he really was. And why people are so afraid of me finding out.”

Alexander's expression grew serious.

“Your father may have been involved in something dangerous.”

“I know.”

“And if you continue looking, you may discover things you won't be able to forget.”

“I'd rather know than spend the rest of my life wondering.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he reached for the photograph and placed it carefully inside the wooden box.

“You should go back to bed.”

I stood.

“Will you be all right?”

He gave me a faint, tired smile.

“I've survived worse nights.”

I walked toward the door, but his voice stopped me.

“Amelia.”

I turned.

He was looking at me differently now. The anger had disappeared, leaving something uncertain in its place.

“What happened tonight stays between us.”

“I understand.”

He hesitated before speaking again.

“I need you to promise me something.”

I waited.

“Promise me you'll never use this against me.”

The words were quiet, almost uncomfortable for him to say.

I looked at the man who had once frightened me, the man who had offered me money and rules instead of trust.

Tonight, I had seen something he had hidden from the entire world.

“I won't, Alexander.”

His eyes searched my face.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he nodded.

I returned to my room and closed the door softly.

Sleep did not come easily.

I lay beneath the covers, listening to the rain and thinking about the tears I had seen on his face.

I remembered his broken voice when he apologized to Evelyn. I remembered the way he had held her photograph, as if letting go of it would mean losing her all over again.

And I remembered the question he had asked me the night before.

If another man offered you a better life, would you leave?

I had once believed Alexander Blackwood was simply a powerful man who wanted to control everything around him.

Now I was beginning to see the frightened man beneath that control.

I still didn't trust all his secrets. I still didn't know whether his family was responsible for my father's death. And I hadn't forgotten the contract that had brought me into his mansion.

But something had changed.

I was beginning to care about him.

And that frightened me more than any anonymous message ever could.

Because the man I was starting to care about might be connected to the very secret that had destroyed my family.