CHAPTER TWO: THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
1462 Words
I didn’t go home.
Not immediately.
I sat inside my car for almost twenty minutes, staring at the photograph resting on my lap.
My mother’s smile haunted me.
She looked young.
Happy.
Alive.
And standing beside her was Damian Blackwood.
I turned the photograph over again.
ASK DAMIAN ABOUT HIM.
My fingers tightened around the edges.
Whoever had left the photograph knew something about my mother.
Something my father had hidden from me for eighteen years.
And somehow, Damian Blackwood was connected to it.
My phone rang.
I nearly dropped it.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Who is this?”
A man’s breathing came through the receiver.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then a voice whispered,
“Don’t marry him.”
The call ended.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I immediately called the number back.
It was unavailable.
I stared at my phone.
This couldn’t be happening.
First my father.
Then the photograph.
Now a stranger warning me about Damian.
I should have gone home.
Instead, I turned my car around.
Back to Blackwood Tower.
The receptionist looked surprised when she saw me.
“Mr. Blackwood is still upstairs.”
“I know.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
I leaned closer.
“Tell him Aria Bennett is here.”
Something in my expression must have convinced her not to argue.
A few minutes later, the private elevator opened.
Damian stood inside.
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then his eyes dropped to the photograph in my hand.
The change in his expression was almost imperceptible.
But I saw it.
He knew.
I stepped into the elevator.
“Who is he?”
Damian pressed the button.
The doors closed.
“Where did you get that?”
“So you know him.”
His jaw tightened.
“Where did you get it, Aria?”
“Answer my question.”
The elevator began moving upward.
Neither of us spoke.
When the doors opened, Damian walked into his office.
I followed.
He removed his jacket and placed it over the back of a chair.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You shouldn’t have investigated my family.”
His eyes met mine.
“I told you to stay away from this.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I do when your life is at risk.”
I froze.
“What did you say?”
Damian walked toward his desk.
“Give me the photograph.”
“No.”
“Aria.”
“Who is the man?”
His silence was answer enough.
I stepped closer.
“Who is he?”
“My father.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“My father.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The man standing beside my mother was unmistakably Damian’s father.
But that made no sense.
“Your father died before I was born.”
“Yes.”
“Then how was he with my mother?”
Damian’s expression hardened.
“That is what I’ve been trying to find out.”
I blinked.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Then why did you offer to marry me?”
His eyes locked onto mine.
“I didn’t offer because of the photograph.”
“Then why?”
Silence.
“Damian.”
He walked around the desk.
“I have reasons.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one you’re getting.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You expect me to marry you after this?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
He stepped closer.
“I expect you to make the decision that protects you.”
“And marrying you does that?”
“For now.”
“For now?”
He didn’t answer.
My frustration boiled over.
“You know something about my mother.”
His expression changed.
“Your mother was involved with my father.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
“An affair?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“My father kept secrets.”
“So did mine.”
Damian’s eyes darkened.
“Your father didn’t just keep secrets.”
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His entire demeanor changed.
“Stay here.”
He walked toward the door.
I grabbed his arm.
“Who is it?”
He looked down at my hand.
Then at me.
“Someone I was hoping would never call again.”
He gently removed my hand.
Then left.
I waited.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Five.
Curiosity won.
I walked toward his desk.
There were files everywhere.
Most were locked.
But one drawer wasn’t.
I opened it.
Inside was a stack of photographs.
My breath caught.
There were pictures of my mother.
Dozens of them.
Some were recent.
Impossible.
My hands trembled as I picked one up.
My mother was standing outside a hotel.
The date on the photograph was eighteen years ago.
Another showed her getting into a black car.
Another showed her holding a baby.
I stared at the photograph.
The baby had a tiny birthmark beneath the left ear.
I touched my own neck.
The same birthmark.
My heart began pounding.
“No…”
A voice came from behind me.
“What are you doing?”
I spun around.
Damian stood in the doorway.
His face was terrifyingly calm.
I dropped the photograph.
“You’ve been watching my mother.”
“No.”
“Then why do you have these?”
“I’ve been investigating her death.”
“Since when?”
“Since I was twenty.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
He walked toward me.
“My father died three months after your mother.”
I said nothing.
Damian stopped in front of me.
“I spent eleven years believing they died separately.”
“And now?”
“Now I know they didn’t.”
My stomach twisted.
“What happened?”
He looked at the photograph on the floor.
“Someone killed them.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“And you think my family is responsible?”
“No.”
His gaze returned to mine.
“I think both our families were lied to.”
I swallowed.
“Then who killed them?”
Damian’s expression became unreadable.
“I don’t know.”
He paused.
“But I know who helped cover it up.”
“Who?”
He stepped closer.
Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Your father.”
I recoiled.
“No.”
“He was there that night.”
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
I shook my head.
“My father loved my mother.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“People can love someone and still betray them.”
The words struck something inside me.
I stepped backward.
“You’re trying to turn me against my own father.”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
His eyes held mine.
“The truth.”
“And you think marrying me will get you there?”
“No.”
He reached past me and picked up the photograph.
“I think someone wants us to marry.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He turned the photograph around.
There was something written beneath the image.
A date.
And a name.
My name.
ARIAL BENNETT — BORN NINE MONTHS AFTER THE NIGHT OF THE FIRE.
My breath caught.
“I don’t understand.”
Damian’s voice dropped.
“Neither do I.”
He placed the photograph on the desk.
Then his phone rang again.
This time he answered.
“Speak.”
His expression slowly changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked directly at me.
“Where?”
A pause.
“I’ll be there.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
“Damian?”
He walked toward me.
“There was an attempt on your father’s life.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“He’s alive.”
I exhaled shakily.
“But there’s something else.”
“What?”
Damian looked at me for a long moment.
“The person who attacked him left a message.”
My voice barely came out.
“What message?”
His eyes didn’t leave mine.
“They told your father to tell his daughter…”
He stopped.
My heart pounded.
“To marry Damian Blackwood before she learns who her real father is.”
Silence.
I couldn’t breathe.
Damian stepped closer.
For the first time, the cold billionaire looked genuinely shaken.
Then he whispered,
“Aria… I don’t think your father is your father.”
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD