THE CONTRACT

Chapter Four: The Photograph

Three days after the gala, Elena moved into the penthouse.

It was temporarythat's what she told herself. Just until the wedding. Just until the announcement. Just until she figured out how to survive a year married to a man she couldn't stop thinking about.

The penthouse was cold. Beautiful, but cold. White walls. Black furniture. Floortoceiling windows that made her feel like she was living in a fishbowl. It looked like a magazine spread, not a home.

Marcus wasn't there when she arrived. A housekeeper named Margaret showed her to her rooma suite on the opposite end of the hallway from his. Good, Elena thought. Distance. That's what I need.

She unpacked her bags. Hung her clothes in the closet. Placed her mother's photograph on the nightstandthe only thing she'd brought from her old life.

Then she started exploring.

The penthouse was enormous. Library. Gym. Movie theater. A kitchen that looked like it had never been used. And at the end of a long hallway, a door that was locked.

Elena should have walked away.

She didn't.

She tried the handle. Locked. She knocked. Nothing.

Then she noticed the keypad.

Four digits, she thought. Probably his birthday. Or an anniversary. Something sentimental.

She tried his birthday. Wrong.

She tried the date of his company's founding. Wrong.

She tried 1234. Wrong.

She was about to give up when a voice behind her said, Try 0715.

Elena spun around.

Margaret stood there, holding a stack of towels. Her expression was unreadable.

What?

0715, Margaret repeated. The code. If you're going to snoop, at least do it right.

Why are you helping me?

Margaret shrugged. Because I've worked for Mr. Blackwood for twelve years. And in all that time, I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. She paused. Also, he's an i***t. Someone needs to knock some sense into him.

She walked away.

Elena stared at the keypad. Then typed in the code.

The door clicked open.

The room was small. Dark. Dusty.

A single window let in a sliver of light. There was a desk. A chair. A bookshelf filled with old paperbacks. And on the wall, a photograph.

Elena stepped closer.

It was Marcus. Younger. Maybe eighteen. He was smilingactually smilingwith his arm around a woman. She was beautiful. Dark hair. Warm eyes. A face that looked like it had never known pain.

Below the photograph, a caption: Marcus and Mom. Summer 2005.

Elena's breath caught.

His mother.

She looked around the room. There were other photographs. Other memories. A child's drawing. A worn teddy bear. A stack of letters tied with a ribbon.

She picked up the letters. The handwriting was shaky. Childish.

Dear Mom, I miss you. When are you coming home?

Dear Mom, Dad says you're not coming back. I don't believe him.

Dear Mom, I hate you. I hate you I hate you I hate you.

Elena's hands trembled.

She opened another drawer. Inside, a newspaper clipping. Yellowed with age.

LOCAL BUSINESSMAN DIES IN APPARENT SUICIDE. Robert Blackwood, 42, found dead in his office Wednesday morning. No note was left. Police are investigating...

Elena's heart stopped.

Marcus's father had killed himself.

She read the article twice. Three times. The words blurred.

Robert Blackwood had recently filed for bankruptcy after a business deal went wrong. Sources say he was betrayed by a partner...

She stopped reading.

Betrayed by a partner.

Her father.

The letters. The photographs. The locked room.

Marcus had been carrying this pain for twenty years.

And Elena had just walked into the middle of it.

She found him in his office. He was workinghead bent over his laptop, brow furrowed, tie loosened.

He didn't look up when she walked in.

I need to talk to you.

I'm busy.

It's important.

Everything's important. Wait.

No. She walked to his desk. Placed the newspaper clipping in front of him. Explain this.

Marcus froze.

He looked at the clipping. Then at her. His face went pale.

Where did you get that?

The locked room. The one with your mother's photographs. The one you've been hiding for God knows how long.

His jaw tightened. You broke into my private space.

You left it unlocked.

I left it locked.

I found a way in. She crossed her arms. Don't change the subject. Is this true? Did my father

Your father destroyed my family. Marcus stood. His voice was cold. Controlled. He was my father's business partner. They built everything together. And then your father made a deal behind my father's back. Took the money. Left my father with nothing. He killed himself three weeks later. I found him.

Elena felt the blood drain from her face.

You

I was fourteen. Marcus's voice cracked. Just barely. I came home from school and found him in his office. Gun in his hand. Blood on the walls. My mother had left two years before. So it was just me. Alone. With his body.

Marcus

Don't. He held up a hand. Don't pity me. I don't want your pity.

I'm not pitying you. I'm She stopped. Took a breath. I'm trying to understand.

Understand what? That your father ruined my life? That I've spent twenty years waiting for revenge? That the only reason I'm marrying you is to destroy everything he loves?

Elena flinched.

Marcus's eyes were wild. Desperate. You want the truth? Here it is. I've been planning this for years. I bought your father's debt. I manipulated the market to squeeze his company. I orchestrated every single thing that led you to my office that day. Including you.

Me?

I knew you'd come. I knew you'd fight. I knew you'd do anything to save him. He laughed. Bitter. Broken. You're not my wife, Elena. You're my revenge.

Silence.

Elena stared at him. Her heart was pounding. Her hands were shaking.

Say something, Marcus whispered.

She walked toward him. Slowly. Deliberately.

And then she slapped him.

The sound echoed through the room.

Marcus didn't move. Didn't react. Just stood there, cheek red, eyes empty.

You're a bastard, Elena said. You're a manipulative, cruel, broken bastard. And you know what the worst part is?

What?

I still see you. Her voice cracked. I see the boy who found his father's body. I see the man who's been drowning in pain for twenty years. I see the walls you've built and the person you're hiding behind them.

Then you see a monster.

No. She stepped closer. I see someone who's been waiting his whole life for someone to prove they won't leave. Someone who's been hurt so many times he doesn't know how to trust.

You don't know me.

I know enough.

He kissed her.

This time, it wasn't gentle. It wasn't slow. It was desperate. Hungry. His hands tangled in her hair. Hers gripped his shirt. He walked her backward until she hit the wall.

Stop, she gasped.

He pulled back. His eyes were wild.

I don't know how, he whispered.

Then figure it out.

He kissed her again. Softer this time. His forehead pressed against hers.

I'm sorry, he said.

For what?

For everything.

She touched his cheek. The one she'd slapped. He flinched.

I'm sorry too, she said.

You didn't do anything.

I know. She paused. But you're not the only one who's been carrying pain.

He looked at her. Really looked.

Tell me, he said.

And she did.