BOUND TO THE WRONG HEIR

Chapter 3 -The dead man's message

Ethan Vale was dead.

I kept repeating the words in my head, waiting for them to sound real.

They didn't.

Five minutes ago, I had been angry with him for disappearing on his wedding day.

Now I was supposed to believe I would never see him again.

I looked at Adrian.

He hadn't moved.

"You're lying."

His expression didn't change.

"I wish I were."

My mother covered her mouth.

I shook my head.

"No. You said they found him. Maybe he's unconscious. Maybe the police made a mistake."

"They didn't."

"Then take me there."

Adrian's eyes hardened.

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"Because it's a crime scene."

"I don't care."

"I do."

The answer came too quickly.

I stared at him.

He looked away.

"You're not going."

Something about his tone irritated me.

"You don't get to decide that."

"Tonight, I do."

"No, you don't."

I walked past him.

His hand caught my arm.

I immediately pulled away.

"Don't touch me."

He released me.

For a moment, something flickered across his face.

Then his phone rang again.

He answered.

"Vale."

A pause.

His expression became colder.

"Who?"

Another pause.

Then he looked directly at me.

"What did you say the name was?"

My stomach tightened.

He ended the call.

"Who was that?"

He didn't answer.

"Adrian."

He slipped the phone into his pocket.

"The police want to speak with you."

"About Ethan?"

"No."

His eyes remained fixed on me.

"About your father."

Twenty minutes later

The police had cleared most of the wedding guests from the building.

My mother sat in the back of a police vehicle with a blanket around her shoulders.

I stood beside Adrian near the entrance, watching officers move in and out.

I couldn't stop thinking about the message.

THE WRONG HEIR KNOWS.

Who had written it?

And who was the wrong heir?

Adrian?

Ethan?

Or someone else entirely?

"Ms. Cole?"

I turned.

A police officer approached.

"Yes?"

"I'm Detective Martins."

He looked at Adrian.

Then at me.

"We need to ask you a few questions."

"About Ethan?"

"About Ethan and your father."

I nodded.

"Okay."

We walked a short distance away.

The detective opened a notebook.

"How well did you know Ethan Vale?"

"We were engaged."

"For how long?"

"About six months."

"Did he ever tell you that he was afraid?"

I frowned.

"No."

"Did he ever mention your father's name?"

My heart skipped.

"Why would he?"

"That's what we're trying to determine."

He studied my face.

"Mr. Vale was found in your father's former office."

"I know."

"Do you know why he would be there?"

"No."

"Did you give him access?"

"No."

"Does anyone else in your family have access?"

I shook my head.

Then I remembered the key.

My fingers instinctively closed around it.

The detective noticed.

"What's that?"

I looked down.

"Nothing."

His eyes narrowed.

"Ms. Cole."

Before I could answer, Adrian stepped forward.

"She doesn't have to answer every question tonight."

The detective looked at him.

"Mr. Vale, unless you're her lawyer, I'd appreciate it if you'd let her speak for herself."

Adrian's jaw tightened.

I expected him to argue.

Instead, he stepped back.

The detective turned to me.

"Where did you get the key?"

I hesitated.

"My mother gave it to me."

"Where did she get it?"

"From my father."

"When?"

"Before he died."

The detective's pen stopped.

"Your father gave your mother a key before his death?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell her what it opened?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded.

He stared at me for several seconds.

Then he closed his notebook.

"I'd advise you not to use that key."

"Why?"

"Because whatever your father was involved in may have something to do with Ethan Vale's death."

My stomach turned.

"What was my father involved in?"

The detective glanced toward Adrian.

"That's what we're trying to find out."

The drive home was silent.

My mother had gone with a relative.

Adrian insisted on taking me home.

I didn't argue.

Not because I trusted him.

Because I needed answers.

The city passed outside the window in a blur of streetlights.

Finally, I broke the silence.

"Who is the wrong heir?"

Adrian kept his eyes on the road.

"I don't know."

"That's a lie."

He glanced at me.

"Why would I lie?"

"Because everyone in your family knows something except me."

His hands tightened around the steering wheel.

"You're asking questions you aren't ready to hear the answers to."

"Try me."

Silence.

Then he said:

"Ethan was the official heir."

I turned toward him.

"What does 'official' mean?"

"It means the family publicly recognized him as the successor."

"And you?"

"I wasn't interested in the position."

"Why?"

"Because I knew what came with it."

"What?"

He didn't answer.

I looked at him.

"Are you afraid of your family?"

His expression hardened.

"No."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

He slowed the car.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Finally, he said quietly:

"Becoming like them."

That answer unsettled me more than anything else.

Before I could ask another question, my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Again.

I opened the message.

YOU WERE WARNED.

My heart stopped.

Another message arrived.

DON'T GO TO YOUR FATHER'S OFFICE.

I stared at the screen.

Then another.

HE HID THE TRUTH THERE.

I immediately looked at Adrian.

"Someone is texting me."

"Give me your phone."

"No."

"Amara."

"No."

I showed him the messages.

His face changed.

"How did they get your number?"

"I don't know."

"Have you given your number to anyone today?"

"No."

He took out his phone.

"Forward them to me."

"Why?"

"So I can have them traced."

I did.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed again.

This time, there was no text.

There was a photograph.

I opened it.

My breath caught.

It was my father's office.

Taken from inside.

And on the desk was something I recognized immediately.

The silver key.

I looked at Adrian.

"The key is already there."

His face went completely still.

"What?"

I showed him.

He stared at the photograph.

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because that office has been sealed since Ethan was found."

I looked at the picture again.

The timestamp was from three minutes ago.

Someone was inside.

Right now.

Adrian accelerated.

"Where are we going?"

"Your father's office."

I shook my head.

"You just told me not to go."

"I changed my mind."

"Why?"

He looked at me.

"Because whoever sent you that picture wants us to go there."

"And?"

"And I want to know why."

The old office building stood at the edge of the city.

It looked abandoned.

Most of the windows were dark.

Adrian parked several metres away.

"Stay here."

"No."

"Amara."

"I'm coming."

He stared at me.

Then sighed.

"Fine. But stay behind me."

We entered through a side door.

The hallway smelled of dust and old paper.

Every step echoed.

I held my phone tightly.

"Your father really worked here?"

"Yes."

"What happened to the company?"

"It collapsed."

"Because of the debt?"

"That's what everyone was told."

I stopped.

"Everyone?"

Adrian looked at me.

"I told you. Your father knew something."

We reached the office door.

It was locked.

Adrian tried the handle.

Nothing.

I pulled the silver key from my pocket.

"Let me."

He looked at me.

"Are you sure?"

"No."

I inserted the key.

It turned.

The door opened.

The room was dark.

Adrian switched on his flashlight.

Dust covered almost everything.

The desk.

The shelves.

The old leather chair.

Nothing looked disturbed.

Then I saw it.

A red folder sitting in the middle of the desk.

My father's handwriting was written across the front.

AMARA.

My heart pounded.

I walked toward it.

Adrian grabbed my wrist.

"Wait."

"What?"

He pointed to the floor.

A thin line stretched beneath the desk.

Wire.

My blood ran cold.

"That's a trap."

Adrian carefully stepped around it.

Then he reached for the folder.

I stopped him.

"No."

He looked at me.

"My father addressed it to me."

"Exactly."

I took it.

The folder was heavier than it looked.

Inside was a stack of documents.

Bank records.

Photographs.

Names.

Dates.

And one handwritten letter.

I unfolded it.

The first line made my knees weak.

Amara, if you're reading this, it means they have finally found you.

I looked at Adrian.

He was reading over my shoulder.

I continued.

There is one person in the Vale family you must never trust.

Below that was a name.

I read it once.

Then again.

My hands began to shake.

Because the name my father had written wasn't Adrian.

It wasn't Ethan.

It was—

Victor Vale.

Adrian's father.

A sound came from behind us.

We both turned.

The office door slowly began to close.

Then the lights went out.

And someone whispered from the darkness:

"You're too late."