THE MAN I WAS NEVER MEANT TO LOVE

I had always believed that birthdays were supposed to be happy. At least, that was what everyone told me. “Smile, Amara!” I turned toward the photographer and forced my lips into a smile. The camera flashed. Another picture. Another fake smile. Another person telling me how beautiful the decorations were. Our mansion had been transformed into something straight out of a magazine. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, golden lights covered the walls, and hundreds of white and red roses decorated almost every corner. Tonight was my twenty-second birthday. And everyone seemed determined to make it unforgettable. I just didn't know how unforgettable it would become. “Amara!” I turned and saw my best friend, Nia, walking toward me with two glasses of juice. “You've been standing here for almost ten minutes,” she complained. “Come and enjoy your own birthday.” I laughed softly. “I am enjoying it.” “No, you're not.” She handed me a glass. “You've checked your phone at least twenty times.” I looked down at the screen. No new messages. My smile disappeared. “Dad promised he'd be here before eight.” Nia glanced at the time. “It isn't even nine yet.” “He knows how important tonight is.” My father was rarely late. He was a powerful businessman, the kind of man people stood up for when he entered a room. He had built our family business from almost nothing, and everyone respected him. But tonight, something felt wrong. I tried calling him again. Straight to voicemail. I sighed and put my phone away. “Maybe he's caught up with work,” Nia said. “Maybe.” I didn't believe it. Before I could say anything else, the music suddenly stopped. Everyone turned toward the entrance. A strange silence settled over the room. Then the doors opened. A man walked inside. I had never seen him before. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed completely in black. His suit looked expensive, but there was nothing flashy about him. Everything about him was controlled. His dark hair was slightly messy, as though he'd run his fingers through it several times. But his eyes were what made me stop breathing. Cold. Dark. And completely focused on me. He didn't look around the room. He didn't greet anyone. He simply walked toward me. Nia leaned closer. “Do you know him?” I shook my head. “No.” The man stopped directly in front of me. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Then he held out a small black box. “Happy birthday.” I stared at the box. Then at him. “Who are you?” His expression didn't change. “Someone who knows your family very well.” My stomach tightened. “I don't accept gifts from strangers.” A faint smile touched his lips. “You won't think I'm a stranger for long.” I didn't take the box. “What's your name?” He leaned slightly closer. “Adrian Blackwood.” The name hit me strangely. I had heard it before. But where? I searched my memory. Nothing. “Do we know each other?” “No.” “Then why are you here?” His eyes moved briefly toward the staircase before returning to mine. “I came to see you.” “Why?” He didn't answer. Instead, he placed the black box on the table beside me. “Open it later.” I frowned. “What is it?” “Something your father should have given you years ago.” My heart skipped. “My father?” Before I could ask another question, I heard something crash behind me. I turned. My father stood at the entrance. His face had gone completely pale. I had never seen my father look frightened before. Not once. His eyes were fixed on Adrian. “Adrian,” he whispered. The room became silent again. I looked between them. “You know him?” My father didn't answer. Adrian smiled. “It's been a long time, Mr. Daniels.” My father took a step forward. “What are you doing here?” “I was invited.” “You weren't.” Adrian's smile disappeared. “Maybe not by you.” My father's jaw tightened. “Leave.” Adrian looked at me. Then back at my father. “I will.” He turned around. But before walking away, he stopped. “Enjoy your birthday, Amara.” I stared at him. “How do you know my name?” He looked over his shoulder. “I know much more about you than your name.” Then he walked out. I immediately turned toward my father. “Dad.” He said nothing. “Who was that?” “Forget him.” “What?” “I said forget him.” His voice was sharper than I'd ever heard it. I stepped closer. “You clearly know him. Why did he come here?” My father looked at the black box on the table. His expression changed. “Did he give you that?” I nodded. He rushed toward the table and grabbed it. “Don't open this.” “Why?” “Because I said so.” He turned to leave. “Dad!” He stopped. I had never challenged him like that before. “What happened between you and Adrian Blackwood?” For a moment, he said nothing. Then he looked at me. And what I saw in his eyes scared me. Regret. Fear. And something that looked dangerously close to guilt. “You don't know anything about that family,” he said quietly. “What family?” “The Blackwoods.” “Then tell me.” He shook his head. “Some things are better left buried.” He walked away. I stood there, completely confused. My birthday party continued around me, but I could no longer hear the music. All I could think about was Adrian. And the box. Later that night, after everyone had left, I carried it upstairs. I locked my bedroom door. Then I placed the box on my bed. My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside was an old photograph. I picked it up. It showed my father standing beside another man. A man I immediately recognized. Adrian's father. My eyes widened. But that wasn't the worst part. There was a little girl standing between them. I stared at her. She looked about ten years old. She was smiling. I turned the photograph over. There were three words written on the back. “The night everything ended.” My heart began pounding. Then something slipped from beneath the photograph. A newspaper clipping. I picked it up. The headline made my blood run cold. BLACKWOOD FAMILY DESTROYED IN MYSTERIOUS FIRE — ONE FAMILY ACCUSED. My family's name was printed underneath. DANIELS. I dropped the paper. “No…” A knock suddenly came at my bedroom door. I froze. “Amara?” It was my father's voice. I quickly pushed the photograph beneath my pillow. “Yes?” “Open the door.” I didn't move. “Amara.” His voice sounded different. Almost desperate. I opened the door slightly. My father stared at me. Then his eyes moved toward the bed. “Did you open the box?” I swallowed. “No.” He stared at me for several seconds. Then he whispered, “Good.” He turned to leave. “Dad?” He stopped. “Did we destroy the Blackwood family?” Silence. My father's shoulders dropped. He didn't turn around. And when he finally spoke, his voice broke. “I didn't know he survived.” My blood ran cold. “Who?” My father looked back at me. “Adrian.” Then he walked away. I stood frozen in the doorway. For the first time in my life, I realized something terrifying. Adrian Blackwood hadn't come to my birthday party by accident. He had come because of my family. And somehow… I was at the center of his revenge.