Chapter Four

SERENA

By one forty-five on Sunday afternoon, I had changed my outfit three times.

Not because I cared what Kael Blackwell thought of me.

I didn’t.

The first outfit made me look like I was attending a job interview. The second made me look like I was going on a date, which was absolutely not happening. The third was a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater that made me look like I’d given up on life.

I eventually settled on black tailored trousers, a fitted white blouse, and a pair of heels I hadn’t worn in months.

I looked good.

Which was entirely beside the point.

My phone rang while I was fastening my earrings.

Nina.

“Please tell me you’re not calling to ask about Adrian again.”

“Good afternoon to you too, sunshine.”

“Did he finally remember how to use his phone?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Oh, wonderful. Should I alert the media?”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“And yet you keep calling me.”

She laughed.

“Anyway, what are you doing?”

I hesitated.

“Going out.”

“Where?”

“Manhattan.”

“Serena, you live in Manhattan.”

“Then I’m not going very far, am I?”

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m always weird.”

“More than usual.”

I picked up my handbag.

“I’m meeting someone.”

Silence.

Then Nina gasped.

“YOU HAVE A DATE?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear.

“Can you stop screaming?”

“With who?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Then what is it?”

“A meeting.”

“With?”

I sighed.

“Kael Blackwell.”

There was a crash on her end.

“Nina?”

“Sorry. Dropped my phone.”

I closed my eyes.

“Of course you did.”

“You’re meeting KAEL BLACKWELL?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why?”

“He wants to talk about Vivienne.”

The excitement disappeared from her voice.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“No.”

“Then why are you going?”

I looked at myself in the mirror.

That was a question I’d asked myself several times since waking up.

“Because he knows something, Nina. I can feel it.”

“Or he’s trying to get information out of you.”

“Probably both.”

“And you’re still going?”

“Yes.”

She sighed.

“At least tell me where you’re meeting him.”

“His office. Blackwell Tower.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Apparently billionaires don’t believe in weekends.”

“Text me when you get there.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And when you’re leaving.”

“Anything else? Should I send you a blood sample?”

“Serena.”

“Fine. I’ll text.”

I ended the call before she could give me another lecture.

Then I looked at myself one last time.

“You’re going to ask questions,” I told my reflection. “You’re going to get answers. And you’re not going to let that arrogant man annoy you.”

I paused.

“Well, not too much.”

⸻

Blackwell Tower was exactly the kind of building I expected Kael Blackwell to own.

Tall. Expensive. Completely unnecessary.

It rose above the surrounding buildings in Midtown Manhattan, all glass and steel, with the Blackwell name displayed in polished silver letters above the entrance.

Even on a Sunday, the lobby was immaculate.

The floors were so shiny I could practically see my reflection. A massive arrangement of white flowers sat behind the reception desk, and the security guards looked like they could bench-press a small car.

I approached the receptionist.

“Hi. I’m here to see Kael Blackwell.”

She looked up.

“Your name, please?”

“Serena Sinclair.”

Her expression changed slightly.

“Of course, Miss Sinclair. Mr. Blackwell is expecting you.”

Naturally.

I wondered whether he’d also prepared a list of things I wasn’t allowed to say.

“Please take the private elevator to the forty-eighth floor,” she continued. “Mr. Mercer’s waiting upstairs.”

“Thank you.”

I walked toward the elevators.

One of the security guards pressed a button for me, and the doors opened immediately.

Inside, I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall.

I looked calm.

Good.

Because internally, I was having a very different conversation.

What if he knows something terrible?

What if Mom and Dad have been lying about everything?

What if Vivienne wasn’t the person I thought she was?

I pushed the last thought away.

No.

Whatever Kael believed about Vivienne, I knew the woman who’d held me when I cried, who’d sat through my terrible school performances, who’d once driven across the city because I’d called her after having a nightmare.

People could pretend to be many things.

But nobody could fake that kind of love for years.

Could they?

The elevator chimed.

I stepped out before I could answer myself.

⸻

The forty-eighth floor was quieter than the lobby.

A long hallway led to a reception area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Everything was decorated in shades of gray, black, and cream.

There were no personal photographs.

No unnecessary decorations.

Nothing that suggested an actual human being spent time here.

Very fitting.

A man in a dark blue suit stood when he saw me.

“Miss Sinclair?”

“That’s me.”

“Daniel Mercer.”

I smiled.

“Daniel! The man who enjoys calling strangers on Saturday nights.”

He looked momentarily confused.

Then his expression cleared.

“Ah. Yes.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve forgiven you.”

“That’s very generous.”

“I thought so.”

He smiled politely.

“Mr. Blackwell is ready to see you.”

“Wonderful. Is he in a good mood?”

Daniel paused.

I raised an eyebrow.

“That bad?”

“Mr. Blackwell is always professional.”

I laughed.

“That wasn’t my question.”

He opened a large wooden door.

“Good luck, Miss Sinclair.”

I stopped.

“Good luck?”

But he’d already stepped aside.

Oh, fantastic.

⸻

Kael Blackwell’s office was enormous.

Of course it was.

One entire wall was made of glass, offering a spectacular view of Manhattan. A seating area occupied one corner, while a large desk stood near the windows.

Kael was sitting behind it, looking at something on his laptop.

He didn’t look up when I entered.

“You’re late.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

1:58 p.m.

I looked back at him.

“I’m two minutes early.”

“You’re later than I expected.”

“Then perhaps you should have told me you were expecting me at one.”

He finally looked up.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

He wore a charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. No jacket. No tie.

His hair was slightly untidy, and there was a faint shadow along his jaw.

He looked different from the man I’d met at the gala.

Less polished.

More tired.

Still irritatingly attractive.

I hated that I’d noticed.

“Sit down, Miss Sinclair.”

I glanced at the chairs opposite his desk.

“Do you always greet your guests like they’re about to be fired?”

“Only the difficult ones.”

“Then I must be special.”

“Something like that.”

I sat.

He closed his laptop.

“Coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Water?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

He leaned back in his chair.

I waited.

He waited.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Finally, I sighed.

“Are we going to sit here admiring each other, or are you going to tell me why I’m here?”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Admiring?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Excellent. We agree on something.”

He reached for a folder on his desk.

The playful expression I’d almost imagined on his face disappeared.

“Vivienne Vale.”

Just hearing her name made me sit straighter.

“What about her?”

“How old were you when she died?”

“Seventeen.”

“And how close were you?”

I frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I need to understand your relationship with her.”

“She was like family.”

“That’s not particularly specific.”

I folded my arms.

“She helped raise me. She came to my birthdays. She knew my favorite food, my friends, and the names of every boy I had a crush on before I turned sixteen. Is that specific enough?”

Kael watched me.

“Did she ever mention Victor Blackwell?”

My stomach tightened.

I thought about the phone call I’d remembered yesterday.

“Once.”

His expression changed.

“Tell me.”

I hesitated.

“She was talking to someone named Victor on the phone. She sounded upset.”

“When?”

“I was fourteen. Maybe fifteen.”

“What did she say?”

“Something about him not being able to keep doing whatever he was doing.”

Kael leaned forward.

“Her exact words.”

I stared at him.

“Excuse me?”

“What exactly did she say?”

I tried to remember.

The rain.

The bedroom.

Vivienne standing beside the window.

“Victor, please. You can’t keep doing this.”

I repeated the words.

Kael went quiet.

Then he opened the folder.

“Did she ever tell you what she was referring to?”

“No.”

“Did you ask?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She said he was an old friend.”

Kael looked down at the documents.

I watched him for a moment.

“Your uncle,” I said.

His eyes returned to mine.

“What?”

“Victor Blackwell. He’s your uncle.”

“Yes.”

“And he knew Vivienne.”

“They were involved.”

“I know that now.”

He studied me.

“Your parents never told you?”

“No.”

“Interesting.”

I didn’t like the way he said that.

“What’s interesting?”

“Nothing.”

“Kael.”

He looked up.

It was the first time I’d said his name without attaching an insult to it.

He seemed to notice.

“Your father knew about their relationship,” he said.

“Apparently.”

“He also knew about the investigation.”

I blinked.

“What investigation?”

Kael pushed a document across the desk.

I picked it up.

It was a photocopy of an old police report.

VIVIENNE ELIZABETH VALE

DATE OF INCIDENT: OCTOBER 14

CLASSIFICATION: MOTOR VEHICLE ACCIDENT

I stared at her name.

Seeing it written on an official document felt strange.

Cold.

Final.

I forced myself to keep reading.

There were details about the location, the condition of the vehicle, and the time emergency services had arrived.

Then I noticed something near the bottom.

A handwritten correction.

“What’s this?”

Kael leaned forward.

“The report was amended forty-eight hours after her death.”

“Amended how?”

“Certain details were removed.”

“What details?”

“We don’t know yet.”

I looked at him.

“Then how do you know they were removed?”

“Because the original report references a witness. The amended version doesn’t.”

My fingers tightened around the paper.

“A witness?”

“Someone who was present near the accident scene.”

“Who?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

I stared at the document.

For eight years, I’d been told Vivienne’s death was a tragic accident.

Nobody had ever mentioned a witness.

Nobody had mentioned missing information.

“Why wasn’t this investigated?” I asked.

“It was.”

“Properly?”

Kael didn’t answer.

I looked up.

“Kael.”

“The case was closed.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

I lowered the paper.

“Do you think someone killed her?”

The question hung between us.

Kael looked at me for a long moment.

Then he said, “I think someone made sure we wouldn’t find out what happened.”

I felt cold.

I looked back at the report.

Vivienne.

Dead at thirty-nine.

A car accident.

A missing witness.

And my father somehow connected to all of it.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because you deserve to know.”

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

“Really?”

His expression hardened.

“Is that difficult to believe?”

“Coming from you? A little.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t invite me here out of kindness.”

He said nothing.

I leaned forward.

“You want something from me.”

“Information.”

“About my father.”

“Among other things.”

I shook my head.

“At least you’re admitting it.”

“I haven’t lied to you.”

“Yet.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Careful, Serena.”

I pointed at him.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Saying my name like it’s a warning.”

For a second, he looked genuinely surprised.

Then he leaned back.

“Would you prefer Miss Sinclair?”

“I’d prefer you speak to me like a normal person.”

“You’re making that difficult.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Of course I am.”

He studied me for another moment.

Then he opened a drawer and took out a photograph.

He placed it on the desk.

I looked down.

My breath caught.

It was Vivienne.

She stood in a garden wearing a pale yellow dress, smiling at the camera.

Beside her stood a little girl.

Me.

I couldn’t have been older than ten.

I picked up the photograph carefully.

“Where did you get this?”

“From her belongings.”

I looked up.

“You have her things?”

“Some of them.”

“Why?”

His expression changed.

For the first time since I’d entered his office, he looked uncomfortable.

“She lived with us for a while.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Vivienne lived at the Blackwell estate.”

I stared at him.

“She never told me.”

“She wouldn’t have.”

“Why?”

He looked toward the window.

“Because things ended badly.”

I studied him.

“Between her and your uncle?”

“Among other things.”

There it was again.

Another half-answer.

I was beginning to understand why everyone found Kael Blackwell intimidating.

He could make you feel as though you were being unreasonable simply for wanting a complete sentence.

“What happened?” I asked.

His jaw tightened.

“She betrayed him.”

I stared.

“Vivienne?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

His eyes returned to mine.

“No?”

“She wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I knew her.”

“So did I.”

The words came out sharper than anything he’d said all afternoon.

I stopped.

He stopped.

For a moment, the office was completely silent.

Then I asked, “What did she do?”

Kael looked down at the photograph.

“She took something that didn’t belong to her.”

“What?”

“Documents.”

“What kind of documents?”

“Confidential business records.”

I frowned.

“And that’s supposed to make her a terrible person?”

“Those documents could have destroyed the company.”

“Did they?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

He stared at me.

“You’re missing the point.”

“No, I think you’re avoiding mine.”

He stood abruptly.

I flinched before I could stop myself.

He noticed.

His expression shifted.

Then he walked toward the window.

I watched him.

“Kael.”

He didn’t turn.

“Your uncle told you she betrayed him.”

“Yes.”

“And you believed him.”

“He raised me.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t be wrong.”

He turned.

His expression was colder now.

“You don’t know anything about my uncle.”

“And you don’t know everything about Vivienne.”

We stared at each other.

Then he laughed once.

It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

“You’re very confident for someone who came here looking for answers.”

“And you’re very defensive for someone who claims to want the truth.”

His jaw tightened.

I stood.

“Maybe this was a mistake.”

He didn’t move.

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“Serena.”

I picked up my bag.

“I said no.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he stepped away from the window.

“You’re right.”

I blinked.

That was unexpected.

“Sorry?”

“You’re right. I don’t know everything about Vivienne.”

I stared at him.

He looked almost annoyed with himself for admitting it.

“But I know enough to understand that someone has been lying about what happened to her.”

I looked down at the photograph still resting on his desk.

He continued.

“And whether you like me or not, Miss Sinclair, I’m the only person who’s willing to help you find out who.”

I hated that he had a point.

I hated it even more because he knew it.

Slowly, I put my bag down.

“Fine.”

He waited.

“But we’re doing this my way too.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Your way?”

“Yes.”

“And what exactly does that involve?”

“No secrets. No ordering me around. And absolutely no using me to get information about my father without telling me.”

Kael studied me.

Then he held out his hand.

“Agreed.”

I looked at it.

Then at him.

“You agreed awfully quickly.”

“Would you prefer I argued?”

“Honestly? I was prepared for it.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

Amusement, perhaps.

I shook his hand.

His palm was warm.

His grip was firm without being uncomfortable.

I released him almost immediately.

“One more thing,” I said.

He sighed.

“Of course.”

“If you ever tell me to sit down like I’m a disobedient dog again, I’m leaving.”

He looked at me.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

A proper laugh.

It lasted barely two seconds, but it changed his entire face.

I found myself staring.

Oh.

That was unfortunate.

Because Kael Blackwell was already handsome when he looked miserable.

Apparently, he was worse when he smiled.

I looked away before he noticed.

“Now,” I said, clearing my throat. “What happens next?”

His expression grew serious again.

“We start with the last person who saw Vivienne alive.”

I frowned.

“The witness?”

“No.”

He walked back to his desk and opened another folder.

Then he slid a photograph toward me.

It showed a man standing outside a restaurant, looking over his shoulder.

I didn’t recognize him.

“Who’s that?”

“Someone who worked for my uncle.”

“Worked?”

“He disappeared shortly after Vivienne died.”

I looked up.

“And you found him?”

Kael nodded.

“Three days ago.”

My pulse quickened.

“Where?”

“Brooklyn.”

I stared at him.

“Then why are we sitting here?”

He looked at his watch.

“Because he’s expecting us at four.”

I blinked.

“Us?”

“Yes.”

I stared at him.

“You arranged this before I agreed to help you?”

“Naturally.”

I closed my eyes.

Counted to three.

Opened them again.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I grabbed my bag.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

He picked up his phone.

“Daniel, have the car brought around.”

Then he looked at me.

“Ready?”

I smiled sweetly.

“Absolutely.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?”

I walked past him toward the door.

“Because you’re finally developing common sense.”

Behind me, I heard him sigh.

And for some ridiculous reason, I was smiling when I stepped into the hallway.

⸻

We were halfway to Brooklyn when Kael’s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

His expression changed.

“Excuse me,” he said, answering.

I turned toward the window.

“Yes?”

A pause.

Then—

“What do you mean he’s gone?”

I looked at him.

His jaw tightened.

“When?”

Another pause.

“Did anyone see who took him?”

My stomach dropped.

Kael listened for several seconds before ending the call.

He stared at the phone.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Kael?”

He turned toward me.

“The man we were supposed to meet.”

“What about him?”

“He’s missing.”

I felt my stomach twist.

“Missing how?”

“Someone got to him before we did.”

I stared at him.

“Who?”

Kael looked out the window.

“I don’t know.”

For the first time since meeting him, he sounded genuinely uncertain.

Then his phone vibrated again.

A message appeared.

He read it.

His face went completely still.

“What?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Kael, what is it?”

Slowly, he turned the screen toward me.

There was a photograph.

A grainy image taken from somewhere across the street.

It showed me standing outside my apartment building.

Yesterday.

Underneath it was a message.

STOP DIGGING, BLACKWELL.

NEXT TIME, SHE WON’T MAKE IT HOME.

I stared at the screen.

Then at Kael.

Neither of us spoke.

Because suddenly, the investigation wasn’t just about a woman who’d died eight years ago.

Someone was watching me.

And whoever they were, they already knew I was helping Kael.

Even though I’d only agreed to it twenty minutes earlier.