MasukMy father's name had been dead for twelve years. I had grown up believing that. I had watched my mother struggle through birthdays, holidays, and every ordinary day without him. I had learned not to ask too many questions because every question seemed to reopen a wound she was trying desperately to hide. Thomas Moore had been the man in the old photographs, the father whose face I could barely remember, and the man whose death had shaped my entire childhood. Now Adrian was standing beside me, staring at the photograph on his phone. My father was alive. And he was standing beside my mother. "Elena," Adrian said quietly. I couldn't answer. My fingers were trembling so badly that I had to clasp my hands together. The photograph had been taken inside a private hospital room. My mother was sitting on the edge of a bed, looking exhausted but conscious. And behind her stood a man I had spent twelve years believing was dead. My father. "We're going there," I finally whispered. Ad
My mother's husband was alive. The words followed me all the way down the stairs. I couldn't understand them. My father had died when I was young. My mother had spent years grieving him, raising me alone, and refusing to speak about the past. There had never been another man in our home, never a name that suggested she had married again. So how could Charles Blackwood say that her husband was still alive? "Adrian." He stopped near the entrance and turned toward me. "What?" "Your father said my mother's husband is alive." "I heard him." "Who is he?" "I don't know." I stared at him. "You don't know?" "I didn't even know your mother had another husband." Neither did I. My mind raced through every memory I had of my childhood, searching for something I might have missed. A photograph. A name. A familiar face standing beside my mother. Nothing. Adrian came closer. "Elena, look at me." I did. "Whatever happened before we met, none of it changes what I feel for you." My
I couldn't move. The man standing in the doorway was supposed to have been dead for twelve years. Charles Blackwood. Adrian's father. The man whose death had changed everything. The man whose company had collapsed. The man whose name had become a painful memory in the Blackwood family. Yet he was standing in front of me. Alive. My mother was trembling beside me. Adrian looked as though someone had taken the ground from beneath his feet. "Father?" Charles stared at him. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Charles slowly stepped into the room. "Adrian." Adrian shook his head. "No." His voice was barely a whisper. "No, you're dead." "I know what you were told." "You were buried." Charles's expression tightened. "A body was buried." Adrian's eyes widened. "What?" Richard stepped into the room behind Charles. "Your father couldn't allow the world to know he survived." Adrian turned toward him. "You knew?" Richard smiled faintly. "For twelve years.
The road to the old Blackwood estate seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness. I sat beside Adrian in the back of the car, watching the city disappear behind us. The farther we traveled, the quieter everything became. Tall trees surrounded the narrow road, their branches reaching over us like dark fingers, while the headlights barely illuminated what waited ahead. Adrian hadn't said much since we left. Neither had I. His hand rested between us on the seat, close enough that our fingers occasionally brushed whenever the car moved over a bump. Neither of us mentioned it, but neither of us moved away either. I kept thinking about the message. COME ALONE, ADRIAN. My mother had supposedly sent it. But if she was being held somewhere, why would she ask Adrian to come alone? And why would whoever was behind this want me there too? "You're thinking too much." I looked at Adrian. "How do you know?" "Because you've been staring at the same tree for five minutes." I glanced t
I couldn't speak.Adrian's words kept repeating in my head.My father may have been the one who started all of this.I looked at the photograph in his hand. Two fathers stood beside each other, smiling as though they had trusted one another completely. Yet somehow, twelve years later, one family blamed the other, my father was dead, Adrian's father was dead, and both families had been left carrying wounds nobody understood."You're saying your father was involved?"My voice barely came out.Adrian stared at the photograph."I don't know.""You just said he might have started everything.""I said I don't know."He rubbed his hand over his face, and for once, the powerful billionaire who always seemed to have an answer looked lost.I had never seen Adrian like this."Then tell me what you do know."He looked at me."My father died twelve years ago. Everyone believed his company collapsed because of financial fraud and betrayal from one of his closest partners.""My father?"Adrian nodde
For several seconds, nobody moved.The warehouse was completely silent except for the distant hum of the city outside. Adrian stood in front of me, his body shielding mine, while Daniel remained several feet away with his eyes fixed on the letter I had dropped.My father's handwriting was still burned into my mind.THE MAN YOU MARRIED IS NOT THE ENEMY.I had spent days wondering whether Adrian was the person I should fear.Now my dead father was telling me to trust him.But if that was true, why had he once written, "Do not trust Adrian Blackwood"?I couldn't make sense of any of it."Who is there?" Adrian demanded.No one answered.Then the lights came back on.A man stood on the metal staircase above us.He was dressed in a dark suit, his silver hair perfectly combed, his expression calm.I didn't know him.But Adrian did."Richard."My heart dropped.Adrian's uncle looked down at us with a faint smile."So," Richard said, "this is the woman you've been protecting all these years."







