The drawer at 2AM
965 Words
CHAPTER 3:
The clock on the nightstand said 1:58am.
Damien’s breathing was steady behind me. His arm was still locked around my waist like I might disappear if he let go.
My phone glowed again on the table.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
"Tick tock, Mrs. Cole. 2am. His office. Third drawer. Don’t make me wait."
I swallowed. My mouth was dry.
"Damien?" I whispered.
No answer.
I carefully pulled his arm off me. He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. The man slept like he owned the dark itself.
The floor was cold under my bare feet. The silk dress from earlier was gone. I’d changed into one of the oversized shirts the maids left in the closet. It smelled like him.
I opened the door inch by inch. The hallway was dark. Only the moon from the glass windows.
The mansion was a maze. 3 floors. 12 bedrooms. And somewhere, an office with a drawer that apparently held the truth about Amara.
"First floor, east wing,"the text said.
Like the person was watching me.
My heart was pounding so loud I was sure Damien would wake up. But he didn’t.
I found the office. Massive mahogany door. No lock.
Inside, it smelled like leather, whiskey, and Damien. His desk was clean. Too clean. Laptop closed. Pen perfectly aligned.
Third drawer.
I pulled it open.
Files. Lots of them. Contracts. Bank statements. And at the bottom... a folder. Red. No label.
My hands shook as I opened it.
The first page:
POLICE REPORT.
CASE #C-8821.
CAR ACCIDENT.
VICTIM: AMARA COLE.
Date: March 14, 2022. 11:47pm.
Bridge Road.
Then the photos beneath it.
I had to bite my lip to not scream. The car was twisted metal. Amara’s face was blurred out, but I could see the white dress. The same one from the photo.
Cause of death: Blunt force trauma. Driver intoxicated.
But then the next page.
INTERNAL INVESTIGATION. COLE GROUP.
Handwritten note at the bottom in Damien’s writing:
"She wasn’t drunk. She was running. From me."
My blood went cold.
There was another paper. A medical report.
AMARA COLE.
DIAGNOSIS: PREGNANCY. 8 WEEKS.
Date: March 10, 2022.
She was pregnant?
And the baby died with her.
A noise behind me.
I spun.
Damien stood in the doorway. Shirtless. Sweatpants. Eyes bloodshot. Like he hadn’t slept at all.
"What are you doing?" His voice was quiet. Too quiet.
I held up the file. "You lied to me."
He didn’t deny it. He walked in and closed the door.
"Put it down, Lila."
"She was pregnant," I said. My voice cracked. "With your baby. And she was running from you. What did you do to her, Damien?"
For a second, his mask cracked. Pain. Real, raw pain flashed across his face. Then it was gone.
"It’s not what you think."
"Then what is it?" I threw the file on the desk. "Because right now it looks like you drove your pregnant wife to her death!"
He flinched. Actually flinched.
"She was scared," he said. "Of me. Of what I do. Of the people I owe. She thought I was going to hurt her. So she ran. In the rain. At midnight. And the car—" He stopped. Jaw clenched. "The car slipped."
"And you?" I asked shaking
"I was supposed to be in that car with her." His voice dropped to a whisper. "We fought. I said something cruel. She left. I was 10 minutes behind her."
Silence. Only the sound of my breathing.
"So you do this," I said. "You buy another woman to replace her? You pay 20 million and call it a contract?"
Damien walked to me. He didn’t touch me. He just stood there.
"No," he said. "I don’t want a replacement. I want someone who isn’t afraid of me. Someone who screams at me. Someone who calls me a monster to my face."
His eyes searched mine.
"That’s you, Lila."
I backed away. "Don’t. Don’t make this about me."
"It already is." He picked up the file and put it back in the drawer. Locked it. "You weren’t supposed to see that. Whoever texted you wants to destroy me. And now they’ll use you to do it."
"Who?"
"I don’t know." He turned to me. "But if you leave this room, if you tell anyone what you saw, they’ll come for you too. And for your mom."
Threat. Or warning? I couldn’t tell.
"So what now?" I asked. "We pretend we’re happy? We sleep in the same bed and act like this didn’t happen?"
Damien stepped closer. He lifted my chin with one finger.
"No," he said. "Now we find out who sent that text. Together."
His thumb brushed my cheek. It was warm.
"And Lila?"
"What?"
"Don’t ever sneak out on me again. You scared me."
The word " scared" from Damien Cole felt wrong. Like the sun apologizing for being hot.
He led me back to the bedroom. This time he didn’t let go of my hand.
We got into bed. 3 feet of space was gone. He pulled me to his chest and wrapped both arms around me.
"Sleep," he murmured. "I’ll keep watch."
I should’ve fought him. I should’ve asked a hundred more questions.
But I was tired. And for some reason, in his arms, the fear faded.
Right before I drifted off, I heard him whisper:
"I’m sorry, Amara. I’m sorry, Lila."
I woke up at 6am alone.
The other side of the bed was cold.
On the pillow was a note in his handwriting:
"Hospital called. Your mom is stable. Meeting at 8. Don’t leave the house. "
- D
And under it, a second note.
Different handwriting:
"He is lying about the accident, check the traffic cam.. March 14...11.43 pm"
-A friend
TO BE CONTINUED....
- Writer
