Chapter 2: The Man I Should Never Trust

“Your father.”

Isabella's words echoed in my head long after the call ended.

I tried calling back, but the number was unavailable. I sent messages. Nothing delivered.

My sister was alive.

After three years of searching, grieving, and being told to accept that she was gone, I had finally heard her voice. Yet the first thing she'd done was warn me about our father.

I pressed my trembling hands against the steering wheel.

“Take me home,” I told the driver.

But home no longer felt like a place I could trust.

By the time I reached the Vale residence, my father was waiting in the living room. He looked up from his drink when I entered.

“Where have you been?”

I stared at him.

“Did you know Isabella was alive?”

The glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

For one brief moment, I saw fear in his eyes.

Then he set the drink down.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Answer me!”

“Serena, calm down.”

“Don't tell me to calm down! I spoke to her. She called me tonight.”

My father's face lost its color.

“What exactly did she say?”

That question told me more than any confession could have.

He hadn't asked whether I was certain it was Isabella. He hadn't asked what she sounded like or where she was calling from.

He wanted to know what she'd revealed.

“She said you were responsible for what happened three years ago.”

He rose slowly.

“You need to forget that call.”

I stepped backward.

“Why?”

“Because your sister doesn't understand the situation.”

“What situation?”

He looked toward the windows, checking that the curtains were closed.

“Some truths are better left buried.”

I almost laughed.

“You've spent three years telling me to stop looking for her. Now she's alive, and you want me to stop asking questions again?”

“I'm trying to protect you.”

“From my own sister?”

“From people who will use you to get what they want.”

“Like Damien Cross?”

My father's silence answered me.

I left before he could say anything else.

For the first time, I wasn't sure which man frightened me more.

---

The following morning, I returned to the Cross estate.

I hadn't slept. Isabella's warning kept replaying in my mind, and every time I closed my eyes, I remembered Damien's expression when I'd asked about her disappearance.

He knew something.

I intended to find out what.

The same housekeeper led me to his study. This time, Damien was speaking on the phone.

“No,” he said coldly. “I want the original records, not another summary. If someone has altered them, find out who.”

He ended the call when he noticed me.

“Do you make a habit of arriving without warning?”

“Do you make a habit of avoiding questions?”

“Only when they're asked by people who don't understand the answers.”

I closed the door behind me.

“I spoke to Isabella.”

For the first time since I'd met him, Damien looked genuinely surprised.

The expression lasted barely a second, but I saw it.

“When?”

“Last night.”

“What did she tell you?”

I folded my arms.

“Interesting. My father asked me the same question.”

Damien's eyes narrowed.

“Your father knows?”

“He knows something. Just like you.”

I walked toward his desk.

“I'm tired of being the only person in this story who doesn't know what's happening. If you expect me to marry you, I deserve the truth.”

“You deserve many things, Serena. That doesn't mean I can give you all of them.”

“Then perhaps you should reconsider this marriage.”

His expression hardened.

“You signed the contract.”

“And you haven't married me yet.”

For several seconds, we stared at each other.

Then Damien reached into a drawer and removed a photograph.

He placed it on the desk between us.

It showed Isabella standing outside a hotel, wearing a dark coat and looking directly toward the camera.

I recognized the building. It was a hotel several hours outside the city.

“When was this taken?” I asked.

“Six months ago.”

My stomach tightened.

“Who took it?”

“Someone working for me.”

“Why were you watching my sister?”

“Because I was looking for her.”

I searched his face for a hint of deception.

“Why?”

“Because she disappeared on the same night my father died, and someone made sure the evidence pointed toward your family.”

I stared at him.

“You think my family killed your father?”

“I know someone did. What I don't know is who gave the order.”

“And you believe it was my father.”

“I believed that.”

“Past tense?”

Damien looked at the photograph.

“Your sister's disappearance complicated things.”

“That's a convenient way to describe three years of suffering.”

His eyes returned to mine.

“Do you think you're the only person who lost someone that night?”

For the first time, I saw something beneath his coldness that resembled grief.

It disappeared before I could examine it.

He pushed the photograph toward me.

“This is the last confirmed image I have of Isabella. The hotel staff remember her checking out, but nobody remembers seeing her leave.”

“Then she could still be there.”

“No. I've searched every room, questioned every employee, and examined every record I could obtain. She was gone before my people arrived.”

I picked up the photograph.

“Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?”

“Because yesterday, you were still a Vale trying to negotiate with me.”

“And today?”

His gaze lingered on my face.

“Today, you're a woman whose sister may be the key to a much larger problem.”

I hated that answer.

But I hated even more that I needed his help.

“What do you want from me?”

“Marry me. Stay out of the west wing. And if Isabella contacts you again, tell me immediately.”

I gave a bitter smile.

“You want me to trust you while you give me orders?”

“I want you alive long enough to discover the truth.”

Before I could respond, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and answered.

“What?”

A pause.

His expression changed.

“Are you certain?”

Another pause.

“Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves until I get there.”

He ended the call and grabbed his jacket.

“What happened?” I asked.

Damien looked at me.

“Someone entered the west wing last night.”

My heart lurched.

“Was anything stolen?”

“No.”

“Then what's the problem?”

He moved toward the door, then stopped beside me.

“Because, Serena, the room they entered has been locked for three years.”

He opened the door.

“And the only person who knew what was inside it was your sister.”

My fingers tightened around Isabella's photograph.

Three years of silence.

A secret room.

A man who claimed to be searching for my sister.

And a father who wanted me to forget she was alive.

As I followed Damien down the corridor, one thought became impossible to ignore.

Whatever happened three years ago hadn't ended.

It had only been waiting for me to arrive.