Chapter 4 — One Night, One Dangerous Secret

ALESSANDRA’S POV

“Because the man you're falling for belongs to the family that destroyed your father's life.”

Mama's words continued to echo inside my head.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the photograph of her beside Richard Blackwood. The baby in her arms was me, and the man standing behind her was the same man who had threatened Damian that morning.

My phone vibrated.

DAMIAN: Please answer me. I need to know you're safe.

I wanted to ignore him. I wanted to hate him for being a Blackwood, for keeping secrets, and for making me feel something I had no business feeling.

Instead, I typed three words.

ME: Come over. Now.

Twenty minutes later, Damian stood outside my apartment, his expression tense.

“Alessandra.”

“Did you know about my father?”

He glanced at the photograph in my hand.

“No. But I knew your mother's name was connected to an old family dispute.”

“And you didn't tell me?”

“I was trying to find the evidence before I brought you into something dangerous.”

I laughed bitterly. “You don't get to decide how much truth I can handle.”

He lowered his gaze.

“You're right.”

His answer silenced me.

“I should have told you what I knew,” he continued. “I'm sorry.”

I had imagined him defending himself, offering excuses, or reminding me that he was the CEO and I was merely his assistant.

I hadn't expected an apology.

“Why did you really come here?” I asked.

“Because I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

My heart betrayed me with a painful little flutter.

“Damian, I'm trying to be angry with you.”

“You have every right to be.”

“And you're making it difficult.”

“I know.”

He took a step toward me, then stopped.

“Can I hold you?”

The question broke through the wall I'd been trying to build.

I nodded.

His arms wrapped around me, and I rested my forehead against his chest. For a moment, I let myself breathe without pretending to be strong.

“I don't know who my father was,” I whispered. “I don't know what my mother is hiding. And I don't know whether I can trust you.”

“You don't have to figure everything out tonight.”

“What if the truth destroys us?”

He held me a little closer.

“Then we'll face the truth before we decide what happens to us.”

I lifted my face.

“That's a dangerous promise.”

“Being with you has never felt safe.”

“Then why are you still here?”

His gaze dropped to my lips.

“Because leaving you feels worse.”

I should have stepped away.

Instead, I kissed him.

For one suspended moment, neither of us moved. Then Damian gently cupped my cheek and returned the kiss, slowly enough that I could change my mind.

I didn't.

My arms slipped around his neck, and I drew him closer. His other hand rested at my waist, holding me carefully as the kiss deepened. Every time we paused, his eyes searched mine, silently asking whether I still wanted him near.

I answered by kissing him again.

When we finally separated, I was breathless.

“This doesn't solve anything,” I whispered.

“No.”

“You're still engaged.”

“I know.”

“And I might discover that your family ruined mine.”

His expression darkened.

“If they did, I'll help you uncover the truth. Even if it costs me everything.”

I searched his face, trying to determine whether I believed him.

“Don't make me regret this.”

“I won't ask you to trust me blindly.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

For the first time that evening, I smiled.

“You're annoyingly good at saying the right thing.”

“Only when you're around.”

I rolled my eyes, but when he kissed me again, I forgot what I had intended to say.

Later, we sat together on the sofa while rain streaked the windows.

Damian had removed his jacket and loosened his tie. I rested against his shoulder, tracing absent circles across his palm while he told me about the family estate.

“Isabelle disappeared after she found documents connected to my grandfather,” he explained. “She believed someone had falsified records involving a woman who worked for the family.”

“My mother?”

“Possibly.”

I sat upright.

“Then we need to find those documents.”

“We will.”

“And Isabelle?”

“I don't know whether she's a victim, an accomplice, or someone trying to expose the truth.”

I studied him.

“You loved her.”

“Yes.”

“Could you love me while part of you still belongs to her?”

Damian was quiet before answering.

“I can't change the past. But I won't ask you to compete with a memory. If there's something unfinished between Isabelle and me, I'll face it honestly.”

It wasn't the perfect answer.

But it was the first one that didn't make me feel like a replacement.

I leaned forward and kissed him softly.

He smiled against my lips.

“What was that for?”

“For telling the truth.”

“Then I should do it more often.”

“You absolutely should.”

He laughed, and I found myself laughing with him.

The sound felt strange in a life that had become so full of secrets.

When he drew me into another embrace, I rested my head against his shoulder. He kissed my temple, and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to enjoy the quiet closeness without demanding that it become something permanent.

That night, we chose to stay together, sharing gentle kisses and whispered confessions as the storm continued outside. When the conversation finally faded, Damian held me close while I drifted toward sleep.

For a few hours, I allowed myself to believe that whatever waited for us tomorrow could be faced together.

I didn't know how fragile that hope was.

THE NEXT MORNING

I woke to Damian's phone ringing.

He answered immediately.

“What happened?”

I sat up, watching his expression change.

“Where is she now?”

A pause.

“Don't let anyone leave the estate.”

He ended the call.

“Damian?”

“Isabelle has disappeared again.”

My stomach tightened.

“Did she leave voluntarily?”

“They don't know.”

He showed me his phone. A photograph displayed Isabelle standing outside an old hospital, beside a woman I recognized immediately.

My mother.

Beneath it was a message:

YOUR MOTHER KNOWS WHO KILLED YOUR FATHER. ASK HER BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

I stared at the screen, unable to breathe.

“My father was murdered?”

Damian reached for my hand.

“I don't know if that's true.”

Before I could respond, another message appeared.

DAMIAN BLACKWOOD HAS UNTIL MIDNIGHT TO CHOOSE: THE WOMAN HE LOVES OR THE FAMILY SECRET THAT COULD DESTROY THEM BOTH.

I slowly looked up at him.

“Who sent this?”

His phone rang again.

This time, Richard Blackwood's name appeared on the screen.

Damian answered, and his grandfather's cold voice filled the room.

“If you want Alessandra to survive this, bring her to the estate tonight.”

The call ended.

I pulled my hand away.

“Why would your grandfather threaten my life?”

Damian looked at me, and the fear in his eyes told me he already suspected the answer.

“Because,” he whispered, “I think your father discovered what the Blackwood family has been hiding for twenty years.”

Then my phone rang.

Mama's name appeared on the screen.

I answered with trembling fingers.

“Anak,” she whispered desperately, “whatever happens tonight, do not let Damian take you to that estate.”

A crash sounded on her end of the line.

“Mama?”

Her voice broke.

“I'm sorry I never told you the truth about your father.”

Then the call went dead.

END OF CHAPTER 4.