Chapter 7: The Husband Who Chose Me

For the first time since I married Damien Cross, I wanted to run from him.

Not because I feared what he might do to me.

Because I feared what I might discover about him.

The wedding was the plan.

Those four words followed me as we left my father's bedroom. Someone had arranged our marriage long before I walked down the aisle. Someone had known that I would search for Isabella, that Damien would never stop investigating his father's death, and that bringing us together would lead us straight to this house.

But who had arranged it?

And why?

“Look at me,” Damien said.

I kept walking.

“Serena.”

“Don't.”

He caught up with me near the staircase, then stopped when I turned on him.

“Did you know?” I demanded.

“Know what?”

“That our marriage was arranged for a reason beyond the agreement we signed. Did you know someone wanted us to investigate our families?”

“No.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to judge me by what I know, not by what an anonymous message tells you.”

I laughed without humour.

“You married me because you wanted revenge against my family. You knew my sister was missing, and you kept information about her from me. Now we find a letter suggesting that our marriage was part of someone's plan, and you want me to trust you?”

“No,” he replied.

His answer caught me off guard.

Damien stepped closer, his expression hard but his voice controlled.

“I want you to question everything. Including me. But if you decide I'm guilty, do it because you've found evidence—not because someone is feeding you exactly what you want to hear.”

I hated that he had a point.

I hated even more that I could not dismiss him as easily as I wanted.

“Then answer one question,” I said. “Who contacted you about marrying me?”

He looked away for a fraction of a second.

It was enough.

“Damien.”

“Gabriel Shaw.”

“Your lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That the Vale family was facing financial collapse. Your father needed protection from his creditors, and the marriage agreement would settle certain outstanding obligations.”

“Who suggested my name?”

“Gabriel.”

“Did he explain why?”

“He said the arrangement would benefit both families.”

I stared at him.

“Both families? You hated mine.”

“I still had reasons to distrust yours.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

His jaw tightened.

“No. He didn't explain why you were chosen.”

“Did you ask?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He told me your father had agreed to the arrangement.”

My stomach twisted.

My father had agreed to my marriage.

He had watched me walk toward a man I believed dangerous, knowing that someone might have been using us both.

“Take me back,” I said.

“To the estate?”

“No. To the hotel. I want to be alone.”

Damien's expression changed.

“You shouldn't be alone right now.”

“That's my decision.”

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he nodded.

“Fine. But one of my drivers will take you, and security will remain nearby. You can refuse to speak to me, Serena. You cannot make me pretend there isn't a threat against you.”

I wanted to argue.

Instead, I walked outside.

---

The hotel room felt smaller than I remembered.

I locked the door, placed my phone on the table, and sat beside the window. The city stretched beneath me, full of people going about their ordinary lives, unaware that my world had begun to collapse.

I called Nadia.

She answered quickly.

“Serena? I've been trying to reach you.”

“I need you to check something for me.”

“Anything. What happened?”

“I think someone arranged my marriage to Damien Cross before either of us understood why.”

Silence.

Then Nadia asked, “What makes you think that?”

I told her about the letter, the photograph of Isabella, and the message claiming our wedding had been planned.

When I finished, Nadia exhaled slowly.

“There's something I didn't tell you.”

I closed my eyes.

“Please tell me it isn't another secret.”

“I found a record of a payment made to a company that handled private marriage arrangements. The payment was made three months before your engagement.”

“By whom?”

“The company name is unfamiliar, but the account was linked to a legal office.”

“Gabriel Shaw?”

“I can't confirm that yet. I need to verify the documents.”

My heart began to pound.

“Send me everything you have.”

“I will. But Serena, there's something else. I found a second record connected to the same account. It concerns Isabella.”

I sat up straight.

“What record?”

“A payment to a private medical facility. The date matches the night Alexander Cross died.”

The room seemed to lose its air.

“Isabella was taken to a clinic that night,” I whispered.

“That's what the documents suggest.”

“Can you find out which clinic?”

“I'm working on it.”

Before I could ask anything else, Nadia lowered her voice.

“Someone has been asking questions about you.”

“Who?”

“I don't know. A man came to the newspaper office yesterday. He wanted to know whether I'd spoken to you recently.”

“Did you tell him anything?”

“No. But he knew your name, your family, and the fact that you were married to Damien Cross.”

A chill moved down my spine.

“Describe him.”

“Tall. Dark coat. Scar near his eyebrow.”

I stopped breathing.

The photograph of Alexander Cross flashed through my mind.

“Nadia, did you see his face clearly?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because I think you should leave the office. Now.”

I ended the call and immediately dialled Damien.

He answered before the first ring finished.

“What happened?”

“Someone has been looking for Nadia. Tall man, dark coat, scar near his eyebrow.”

There was a brief silence.

“Where is she?”

“At the newspaper office.”

“Tell her not to leave alone. I'm sending someone to collect her.”

“Damien, do you know who this man is?”

“I have a suspicion.”

“Who?”

“I'll explain when I get there.”

“I'm tired of people promising explanations later.”

“So am I,” he said. “That's why I'm coming to you.”

The call ended.

I sat motionless, staring at my phone.

For the first time, I wondered whether Damien's secrets were protecting someone else—or whether he had been trying to solve the same nightmare without knowing who had created it.

---

He arrived twenty minutes later.

He entered the room alone, carrying a thin folder.

I remained by the window.

“You said you would explain,” I reminded him.

“I found something in my office.”

He placed the folder on the table and opened it.

Inside were copies of documents related to our marriage agreement, including a page I had never seen before.

“What is this?”

“An amendment.”

I scanned the page.

Most of it contained legal language about property, financial obligations, and the responsibilities of both parties. Then I noticed a clause near the bottom.

If either spouse became unavailable or legally presumed dead, certain assets held under the agreement would transfer to a named beneficiary.

I read the name.

Isabella Grace Vale.

My hands went cold.

“Why is my sister named as a beneficiary?”

“I didn't put her name there.”

“Who did?”

“The amendment was added before the agreement was finalised. Gabriel claims it was included in the original instructions from your father.”

I looked up.

“My father arranged the marriage, and he made my missing sister a beneficiary?”

“That's what the paperwork suggests.”

“Why didn't you tell me about this before we married?”

“Because I never saw this page. It wasn't included in the copy I signed.”

I searched his face for evidence of deception.

“Can you prove that?”

“Yes. I have the original version bearing my signature. This amendment was added later.”

“Then someone altered the contract.”

“Someone with access to the legal documents.”

I lowered myself into a chair.

Everything was connected: the wedding, the missing sister, the disputed death certificate, the payment to the clinic.

But every answer created another question.

“Why would anyone want Isabella to inherit something through our marriage?”

Damien sat opposite me.

“I don't know.”

For once, I believed him.

Then he reached into the folder and removed a final sheet.

“This came with the amendment.”

It was a handwritten note, the ink faded but the words clear.

When Serena marries Damien, the truth will have a way back into the light.

There was no signature.

Only a date.

Three months before our engagement.

I stared at the sentence until the words blurred.

“Someone knew we would marry,” I whispered.

“Someone expected it.”

“And they used my sister's name to make sure the arrangement couldn't be ignored.”

Damien nodded.

I looked at him, searching for the ruthless man who had once spoken of my family as if we were enemies deserving punishment.

He was still there.

But now I could see something else: a man who had built his life around revenge and was beginning to realise that revenge might have made him the perfect instrument for someone else's plan.

“Damien, if we continue investigating together, I need one condition.”

“Name it.”

“No more secrets between us. If you find something that concerns Isabella, you tell me. If you discover something about my father, you tell me. And if the truth makes you look guilty, you tell me anyway.”

He held my gaze.

“I can agree to that.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep.”

“I won't.”

I stood and gathered the documents.

“Then we're going to find Gabriel Shaw.”

Damien rose too.

“We are.”

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then he said, quietly, “Serena, I need you to understand something. Whatever our marriage was designed to accomplish, I didn't choose you because I wanted to hurt you.”

I studied his face.

“Why did you choose me?”

He hesitated.

“Because when Gabriel showed me your photograph, I recognised you.”

My heart stumbled.

“From where?”

“Three years ago, on the night my father died, I saw you outside his private study.”

I stared at him.

“I had never met you.”

“You were there, Serena. You were wearing a blue dress. You were crying.”

I shook my head.

“That isn't possible.”

“I remember because I asked you what had happened. You looked at me and said, 'Please don't let them take my sister.'”

The room fell silent.

I had no memory of that night.

None.

But Damien looked certain.

And if he was telling the truth, then my connection to Alexander Cross's death went much deeper than my family name.

My phone vibrated.

An email had arrived from Nadia.

The subject line contained only three words:

I FOUND HER.

I opened the message.

There was an address, a photograph of a private clinic, and a scanned admission record.

The patient's name was listed as Isabella Grace Vale.

Beside it was a handwritten note:

Patient transferred by order of A. Cross.

I looked at Damien.

He was staring at the screen.

Neither of us spoke.

Because we both understood the same thing.

If Alexander Cross had ordered Isabella's transfer on the night he supposedly died, then either someone had forged his name—

Or the dead man had never been dead at all.

And somewhere in the city, someone knew we had finally found the first real lead.