Chapter 4: The Secret My Father Buried

The gunshot echoed through the mansion, and for three seconds, I forgot how to breathe.

Then came the shouting.

Footsteps thundered through the corridor. Someone yelled Damien's name. A door slammed, followed by another sharp command that I couldn't make out.

I clutched Isabella's letter against my chest.

Ask your father who pulled the trigger.

The message burned in my mind.

My father had spent three years telling me that Alexander Cross's death was none of our business. He had forbidden me from asking questions about the feud. He had even refused to discuss Isabella's disappearance beyond insisting that she had made a terrible mistake.

What if he hadn't been protecting our family?

What if he had been protecting himself?

I moved toward the door.

Damien had told me to stay, but I wasn't about to stand in a locked room while the answers to my sister's disappearance might be slipping away downstairs.

The corridor was empty.

I hurried toward the staircase, holding the railing as I descended. Voices came from the entrance hall, where several armed men surrounded a figure kneeling on the marble floor.

Damien stood in front of them.

His jacket was gone, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. A small cut marked his cheek, but he seemed completely unaware of it.

The kneeling man was one of the mansion's security guards.

“Who sent you?” Damien demanded.

“I told you, sir. Nobody sent me.”

Damien crouched in front of him. “You were stationed outside the east entrance. Someone fired a shot into my house, and you disappeared for four minutes. Do you expect me to believe that was a coincidence?”

“I heard the shot and went to investigate.”

“Then why was your phone switched off?”

The guard swallowed.

Nobody moved.

I had never witnessed anything quite like this. Damien didn't need to shout to frighten people. His stillness was enough.

“I can explain,” the guard said.

“Then explain.”

The man looked up—and his eyes landed on me.

Something changed in his expression.

Recognition.

Not the ordinary recognition of someone who had seen me around the house. This was different. He looked at me as though he had been waiting for me to appear.

“She wasn't supposed to find it,” he whispered.

Damien went completely still.

“Find what?”

The guard's lips parted, but before he could answer, one of the other men struck him across the face.

“Sir, he's stalling,” the man said.

“Enough!” Damien snapped.

The entire hall fell silent.

He turned to me.

“Why are you downstairs?”

“Because I heard a gunshot.”

“That wasn't an answer.”

“Neither are most of yours.”

His eyes flashed, but he said nothing.

I glanced at the guard. “What did he mean when he said I wasn't supposed to find it?”

Damien looked at the man again.

“Get him out of here.”

Two guards hauled the prisoner to his feet.

“No!” the man suddenly shouted. “You don't understand! Your father—”

A hand clamped over his mouth.

Damien's expression changed so abruptly that even I noticed.

“My father is dead,” he said.

The guard shook his head frantically.

Then he managed to wrench his face away from the hand covering it.

“Not yours!”

Silence swallowed the hall.

For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood him.

Damien rose slowly.

“What did you just say?”

The guard stared at him, breathing hard.

“Your father didn't die because of the Vale family. He died because somebody in his own house betrayed him.”

Before anyone could question him further, a second gunshot sounded outside.

The guards dragged the prisoner behind a marble pillar. Damien pulled me down behind the staircase as the men in the entrance hall scattered for cover.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

This time, I obeyed.

He leaned around the pillar, his attention fixed on the entrance. One of his men shouted that the shooter had fled, while another called for the gates to be secured.

After several tense minutes, the mansion fell quiet again.

Damien helped me to my feet.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Good. Go to your room.”

I stared at him. “You cannot keep sending me away every time someone mentions our fathers.”

“Serena—”

“Your prisoner just claimed that your father was betrayed by someone inside your own family. Then he said my name wasn't supposed to be connected to whatever I found upstairs. You owe me an explanation.”

Damien's jaw tightened.

“You want the truth? Fine. Three years ago, my father received a message asking him to meet someone at midnight. He left this house and never returned alive.”

“Who sent the message?”

“We never found out.”

“Did you investigate my father?”

“Of course I did.”

“And?”

He looked away.

That single movement told me there was more.

“Damien.”

“We found evidence that Richard Vale had been in contact with my father shortly before his death. Your father denied knowing anything about the meeting. Two days later, Isabella disappeared.”

My stomach twisted.

“You think my father killed Alexander.”

“I thought he did.”

“And now?”

His eyes returned to mine.

“Now I'm not certain of anything.”

For the first time, I believed him.

Not because I trusted him, but because his uncertainty looked painfully real.

I pulled out my phone and showed him the messages.

His face hardened as he read them.

“Why didn't you tell me about these?”

“Because I don't know who sent them.”

“Neither do I. But whoever it is has access to information that should have remained buried.”

He handed the phone back.

“Give me the number.”

“No.”

His eyebrows rose.

“You're refusing to cooperate with me?”

“I'm refusing to hand over the only lead I have. If you want my help, stop treating me like another one of your prisoners.”

Something unreadable passed through his eyes.

Then he nodded once.

“Keep the messages. But don't respond to them without telling me.”

“I'll decide what to do with them.”

“Serena, this isn't a game.”

“Neither is my sister's disappearance.”

I turned away before he could answer.

I needed to speak to my father.

Tonight.

---

Richard Vale answered on the fourth ring.

“Serena? Is something wrong?”

I closed my eyes at the sound of his voice. For most of my life, that voice had been the one thing that could make me feel safe.

Now I wondered how much of that safety had been built on lies.

“Dad, I need you to answer a question honestly.”

“What is it?”

“Were you with Alexander Cross the night he died?”

The silence that followed was so complete I checked whether the call had disconnected.

Then my father whispered, “Where did you hear that name?”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Just answer me.”

“Serena, listen carefully. Whatever Damien has told you, you must leave that house immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because you don't understand what you're involved in.”

“Then explain it to me!”

His breathing grew uneven.

For a moment, I thought he might finally tell me everything.

Instead, he said, “Did you find Isabella's letter?”

My entire body went cold.

I hadn't mentioned the letter.

I hadn't told him about the west wing, the photograph, or the messages.

“How do you know about the letter?”

He didn't answer.

“Dad?”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Because I was the one who gave it to her.”

The call ended.

I stared at my phone, unable to move.

My father had known about the letter.

He had known what Isabella was investigating.

And somehow, he knew I had found it.

A new message appeared on my screen.

This one came from the same unknown number.

Now you know your father lied. Tomorrow, you'll learn what Damien did.

I looked up.

Across the hall, Damien stood watching me from the shadows.

He hadn't heard the conversation.

But the expression on his face suggested that he had already guessed the answer.

And when he finally spoke, the words made my blood run cold.

“Serena, there's something I haven't told you about your sister.”

He paused.

“Isabella didn't disappear three years ago.”

My heart stopped.

Damien took a step toward me.

“She was declared dead.”