Chapter 2. The Man Who Knew My Father's Secret

“Your father didn't die in an accident.”

For several seconds, I couldn't understand the words that had just come out of Adrian Blackwood's mouth. They were simple words, but my mind refused to accept them, as though rejecting them could somehow return the world to the way it had been yesterday.

My father died in a car accident.

That was the truth I had grown up with.

It was the story that appeared in the newspapers, the one our relatives repeated, and the one people mentioned in hushed voices whenever someone spoke his name. Sixteen years ago, Lucas Hart had lost control of his car on a wet road and died before reaching the hospital. My mother had shown me the police report. She had taken me to his funeral. She had held my hand while we cried beside his grave.

There had never been another version.

Until now.

I looked at Adrian through my veil, barely aware that the priest was trying to continue the ceremony around us.

“What did you just say?”

Adrian's expression remained controlled, but his eyes had changed. The cold confidence he had displayed throughout the morning was gone, replaced by something darker.

“I said your father was murdered.”

My fingers tightened around the bouquet.

The cathedral suddenly seemed too small.

“You're lying.”

“No.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

Adrian held my gaze.

“I expect you to ask questions.”

My chest rose and fell rapidly beneath my wedding dress.

“What happened to him?”

Adrian glanced at the hundreds of people watching us.

“Not here.”

I almost laughed.

“Of course. Not here. You never answer anything when people are around.”

His jaw tightened.

“Evelyn.”

“No. You can't say something like that and then ask me to wait.”

His eyes remained fixed on mine.

“Then survive the ceremony first.”

Those words should have sounded cruel.

Instead, they frightened me.

Because Adrian Blackwood didn't look like a man trying to frighten his new wife. He looked like a man who knew something terrible was coming and had no idea how to stop it.

The priest cleared his throat.

“Mr. Blackwood, the ceremony…”

“I know,” Adrian replied.

He looked at me again.

“For the next ten minutes, play the role everyone expects you to play.”

“And afterward?”

“I'll tell you what I can.”

What he could.

Not everything.

I already knew that.

Still, I turned my attention back to the priest.

The ceremony continued, but I barely heard a word. My mind had returned to one sentence.

Your father was murdered.

When Adrian slipped the ring onto my finger, his hand remained steady.

Mine didn't.

When he leaned toward me for the photographs, the cameras began flashing around us.

To everyone watching, we looked like newlyweds in love.

No one could see the hatred behind my smile.

No one could see the question tearing me apart inside.

Who killed my father?

And why had Adrian Blackwood waited sixteen years to tell me?

The moment we entered the limousine, I removed my veil.

“Talk.”

Adrian sat across from me, his face expressionless.

“You're angry.”

“I'm furious.”

“I expected that.”

“Then start explaining.”

The limousine pulled away from the cathedral as we drove through streets crowded with reporters and curious onlookers. Outside, people were still celebrating our marriage. Inside, I felt as though I had just stepped into an entirely different life.

Adrian watched me for several seconds.

“Your father discovered something shortly before he died.”

“What?”

“I don't know exactly what he discovered.”

I stared at him.

“You just told me he was murdered.”

“Yes.”

“And you don't know why?”

“I know why he was attacked. What I don't know are all the details of what he discovered.”

I leaned forward.

“Then how do you know he was murdered?”

His eyes hardened.

“Because I was there.”

My breath caught.

“What?”

“Not at the accident.”

He looked out the window.

“I was there during the weeks leading up to it.”

His answer only created more questions.

“How did you know my father?”

Adrian fell silent.

“Adrian.”

“Your father was one of the first people who helped me.”

“Helped you with what?”

“My business.”

I almost laughed.

“Do you expect me to believe my father was secretly working with you?”

“He was.”

“Why did I never know?”

“Because he didn't want you to know.”

I shook my head.

“That makes no sense.”

“It will someday.”

“Stop saying that.”

He looked at me.

“Saying what?”

“That everything will make sense later. Everyone has told me the same thing my entire life. My mother, my relatives, and now you. Every time I ask a question, someone decides it's better that I don't know the answer.”

His expression softened.

“You were a child.”

“I'm not a child anymore.”

“I know.”

“Then treat me like an adult.”

For the first time, Adrian looked directly into my eyes without that cautious expression he always carried.

“That is exactly what I'm trying to do.”

The limousine slowed as we approached the gates of Blackwood Estate.

I looked out the window.

The mansion rose behind enormous iron gates, surrounded by perfectly trimmed gardens and ancient trees. I had seen photographs of the property in magazines, but none of them had managed to capture how isolated it felt.

Beautiful.

Expensive.

And strangely cold.

As soon as we entered, several members of the staff approached to welcome us.

“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood.”

The words turned my stomach.

Mrs. Blackwood.

I had become that woman before I had even decided whether I wanted to be Adrian's wife.

Adrian noticed my reaction.

“You'll have your own space here.”

“I don't want your space.”

“You'll have it anyway.”

I glared at him.

“Do you always get what you want?”

“Usually.”

“At least you're honest.”

He almost smiled.

Almost.

Then his expression changed as we reached the staircase.

“There is one part of the house you should avoid.”

I stopped.

“Which part?”

“The east wing.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

I let out a humorless laugh.

“That isn't an answer.”

“No.”

He looked at me.

“It isn't.”

That should have been the end of the conversation.

Instead, curiosity took hold of me immediately.

“There's a locked room there, isn't there?”

His eyes narrowed.

“How do you know?”

“I don't. I guessed.”

For the first time, I had managed to surprise him.

He recovered quickly.

“Stay away from it, Evelyn.”

The way he said my name sent an uncomfortable shiver through me.

Not because he sounded threatening.

But because he sounded afraid.

That night, I sat alone in the bedroom Adrian had assigned to me and stared at the wedding ring on my finger.

My mother once told me that a ring represented a promise.

I wondered what mine represented.

My family had been saved from financial ruin.

My mother had lost the control she thought she had over my future.

And I had married the man I believed had slept with her.

Yet the person who had frightened me the most that day wasn't Adrian.

It was my mother.

I picked up my phone and stared at her name.

For months, I had wanted to confront her.

Now I didn't know whether I wanted to hear her explanation or was simply afraid of discovering it.

Before I could call her, my phone vibrated.

It was an unknown number.

I opened the message.

You married the wrong man.

My stomach tightened.

Another message arrived.

Ask Adrian what happened the night your father died.

I immediately typed:

Who are you?

The message showed as read.

There was no reply.

I stared at the screen.

Then I remembered Adrian's warning.

The east wing.

I left my room.

The mansion was silent. Most of the lights were turned off, and only the wall lamps dimly illuminated the corridors. I told myself I was only going to look.

I wasn't going to open anything.

I wasn't going to enter a locked room.

But when I reached the east wing, I saw the door immediately.

Dark wood.

A silver lock.

And something carved into the center.

I moved closer.

My heart stopped.

It was my name.

EVELYN.

I reached out and touched the letters.

They had been carefully carved into the wood, as though someone had been waiting for me to find them one day.

“How long have you known me?”

The question escaped my lips before I could stop it.

“For longer than you imagine.”

I spun around.

Adrian stood several steps behind me.

He had removed his tie, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his forearms. He looked less like the untouchable billionaire the world knew and more like a man who had just walked into a nightmare he had spent years trying to avoid.

My hand was still resting against the door.

“You knew I'd find this.”

“No.”

“Then why is my name here?”

He didn't answer.

I took a step toward him.

“What's inside?”

“Nothing you should see tonight.”

“That isn't for you to decide.”

“It is if seeing it puts your life in danger.”

My anger faltered.

“My life?”

Adrian looked at the door.

Then back at me.

“You still don't understand what your father was involved in.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I can't.”

“Why?”

His eyes darkened.

“Because the moment I tell you everything, whoever killed your father will know that you know too.”

A shiver ran through my body.

“You think he's still alive?”

“I know he is.”

I stared at him.

For the first time, the mansion didn't feel like a strange house I had just entered.

It felt like a fortress.

Or a prison.

Then Adrian stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“There is something in this house your father left for you.”

My heart began beating faster.

“What?”

“A truth.”

“What truth?”

His gaze shifted toward the locked door.

“The truth about the last person who saw your father alive.”

I swallowed.

“Who was it?”

Adrian looked at me.

And his answer made my blood run cold.

“Your mother.”