Episode2
2223 Words
By sunset, Elena Vale had learned three things.
One was that she had lost three years of her life.
The other was she had apparently married a billionaire.
Abd the third was that she did not trust her husband.
The third realization bothered her most because every time Damien Blackwood looked at her, something inside her responded before her mind could catch up.
Her body remembered him but her mind didn't. And Elena didn't know which one terrified her more.
The hospital doors opened, cold evening air brushed against her face as Damien helped her into the waiting car.
Elena stopped before getting inside. A black Rolls-Royce waited at the curb.
Two men in dark suits stood nearby.
They were probably the security.
She looked at Damien, “Is all this necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She asked.
His gaze moved over the street before returning to her.
“Because you're my wife.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“It does when you're a Blackwood.”
Elena frowned. There was something about the way he said it.
Not proudly, like it was a warning.
She got into the car, Damien followed suit.
The door closed, silence immediately filled the vehicle.
Elena looked out the window as London passed by in streaks of gold and gray.
She tried to remember the city, but all her effort to remember proved abortive.
She knew London, of course she did.
But there were streets she should recognize and restaurants she should remember and buildings that should trigger something.
Instead, everything felt strangely new.
Three years. Three entire years erased from her life. She looked down at her hand, the ring was still there.
She rubbed her thumb over the engraving.
“Who gave me this?”
Damien looked at her.
“I did.” He answered.
“When?”
His gaze lingered on the ring, “A long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Two years.”
Elena's eyebrows pulled together. “So we got married two years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Where?” She was curious.
“Here.”
“At your house?” She seemed surprised.
“Yes.”
“No wedding?”
“There was a wedding.”
“Why don't I remember it?”
His expression tightened, “Because you don't remember anything after the accident.”
Elena looked away. “That explanation is going to become annoying very quickly.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. It disappeared almost immediately.
“I remember you saying that.”
Elena turned toward him, “You remember everything?”
“Yes.”
“What was I like?”
Damien didn't answer immediately, he said up quietly
“Difficult.” He finally said.
Her eyebrows rose, “Excuse me?”
“You asked.”
“I was expecting something romantic.” She frowned.
“You were stubborn.”
“Anything else?”
“Impatient.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You're making me sound unbearable.”
“You were.”
A shocked laugh escaped her. It was the first time she'd laughed since waking up from coma.
Damien looked at her. Something softened in his eyes.
For a second, he looked less like the ruthless billionaire she had seen on the news and more like a man who had missed her terribly.
Then his expression closed again. Elena noticed, she noticed everything especially the things he tried to hide.
The car turned through enormous iron gates.
Elena sat upright.
Beyond them stretched a private road lined with ancient trees.
At the end stood a mansion. Not a house, an entire palace, dark stone, tall windows, warm golden lights glowing behind glass.
Elena stared.
“This is where we live?” She was amused.
“Yes.”
She looked at Damien, “We live here?”
“You do.”
The correction was subtle. But she caught it.
“You don't?”
“I do.”
“Then why did you say you do?”
He didn't answer. The car stopped, a line of staff stood waiting at the entrance.
The moment Elena stepped out, every person lowered their head.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Blackwood.”
Elena froze. Mrs. Blackwood, the name felt absurd.
She looked at Damien and noticed he was watching her. Not smiling.
“Do they always do that?”
“Yes.”
“I hate it.”
A few members of the staff exchanged nervous glances. Damien noticed their nervousness.
“Then they won't.”
He turned toward them.
“No more formal greetings.” He commanded.
“Yes, sir.” They replied in unison.
Elena stared at him. He really did command people without raising his voice.
Inside, the mansion was even more impressive.
Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Paintings that looked older than some countries. A sweeping staircase curved toward the upper floor.
But Elena barely noticed the luxury, she noticed the silence. Too much of it.
The house was large, yet everyone moved as though they were afraid of making noise.
She walked slowly through the foyer. A photograph caught her attention, she stopped abruptly.
It was another picture of her and Damien. She was laughing. Actually laughing.
Her head was tilted toward him, one hand resting against his chest.
He wasn't looking at the camera rather he was looking at her.
Elena stared at the photograph.
“That woman looks happy.” She said.
Damien stood beside her, “She was.”
“Was?”
His jaw tightened. She’d lost count of how many times his jaw had tightened that day.
“You're tired.”
“That wasn't what I asked.” She protested.
“Elena.”
She turned toward him, “Did I love you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you love me?” She asked again.
“I still do.”
Her heart skipped. She hated that it did so she walked away.
A woman appeared at the top of the stairs, she seemed to be in her late fifties, with silver hair, elegant black dress.
She descended slowly. Her face changed when she saw Elena.
There was shock then relief.
“Mrs. Blackwood.” She smiled.
Elena studied her, “Who are you?”
The woman looked at Damien before answering.
“Margaret. I've managed this household for twenty-two years.”
“So you knew me?” Elena asked.
“Yes.”
“Before I married him?” She continued.
“Yes.”
Elena smiled politely. “Then tell me something.”
Margaret swallowed.
“What was I like?”
The older woman's eyes flickered, “You were…”
She glanced at Damien again.
Elena noticed.
“Go on.” She urged the older woman.
“You were very kind.”
“Only kind?”
Margaret hesitated. “You asked many questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About the house.”
Elena's curiosity sharpened, “What house?”
Margaret went pale. Damien interrupted.
“She's tired.”
Elena looked at him.
“You've said that three times today “
“And you haven't listened once.”
She almost smiled, almost. Damien turned to Margaret.
“Show her upstairs.” He said.
Margaret nodded and turned towards the staircase. Elena followed her. Halfway up the stairs, she looked back.
Damien was still standing in the foyer, watching her, not like a husband watching his wife, like a man watching his prey.
Her unease returned.
Margaret led her down a long corridor.
“Your room is here.” She opened a set of double doors.
Elena stepped inside. The room was beautiful. Cream walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, a private balcony overlooking the gardens, a fireplace, fresh flowers and photographs.
Dozens of them actually.
Elena approached the nearest one. It was her and Damien, she was sitting on hi lap.
She stared at it. It made her cheeks red.
“You really liked each other.” Margaret smiled faintly.
“Where is his room?” Elena asked.
The smile disappeared from Magaret’s face
“Mr. Blackwood has his own suite.”
Elena turned, “His own suite?” She looked confused.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Margaret didn't answer. But Elena wasn’t ready to give up so she walked toward her.
“Did we sleep separately?”
There was silence.
“Margaret.”
“Yes.” Margaret finally answered.
“Since when?”
The older woman looked uncomfortable, “I don't know.”
Elena glanced at the photograph in her hand. She and Damien looked intimate yet the man apparently slept in another room.
Something didn't add up.
“Thank you.”
Margaret turned to leave.
“Wait,” Elena stopped her.
“What is the West Wing?” She asked curiously.
The woman's face drained of color. Elena's eyes narrowed.
“I saw it from the car.”
“You shouldn't go there.” The older woman warned.
“Why?”
Margaret's lips parted, but before she could answer, Damien's voice came from the doorway.
“Because it's private.”
Elena turned. He stood there, his jacket was gone, his sleeves were rolled to his forearms.
For the first time, he looked less like the billionaire from the news and more like the man in the photographs.
Elena looked at him.
“Is that where you keep your secrets?”
His eyes hardened, “Everyone has secrets.”
“Apparently mine are in the West Wing.”
“Not everything is about you.” He replied sarcastically.
She folded her arms, “I'm your wife.”
“Exactly.”
He stepped closer, “Which means you're entitled to privacy, not every answer.”
She laughed softly. “That's convenient.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips.
Then returned to her eyes.
“Elena.”
“What?” She answered rudely.
“You need to stop looking for things you aren't ready to find.”
The words sent a chill down her spine.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you're recovering.”
“No. It means you know something.” She insisted.
He didn't respond. Elena stepped closer.
“What happened to us?”
His expression changed. For the briefest second, pain crossed his face. Then it vanished.
“You died.”
Elena froze. “What?”
Damien's eyes held hers.
“Not literally.” He exhaled.
“The woman I married died the night of your accident.”
Elena's throat tightened.
“And who am I?”
His voice softened, “I don't know yet.” Then he walked away.
Elena watched him disappear down the corridor. She didn't understand him. But she understood one thing.
He was afraid of something. And whatever it was it had something to do with her.
That night, Elena couldn't sleep.
She laid beneath unfamiliar sheets, staring at the ceiling.
Her body was exhausted, her mind refused to cooperate.
At eleven forty-seven, she got out of bed, her ribs hurt, but she ignored it.
She opened the bedroom door. The hallway was dark and quiet. She walked barefoot across the carpet, she wasn't sure where she was going.
She simply followed an instinct she couldn't explain down the stairs, past the library, past the dining room then she stopped.
A narrow corridor stretched toward the rear of the mansion. At the end was a door.
Locked.
Elena tried the handle, it didn’t open so she stepped back.
A sound came from inside. Paper. Something moving. Her heartbeat quickened.
She tried the handle again, it was still locked locked.
Then she noticed something beside the door.
A small brass plaque. “PRIVATE ARCHIVE.”
Elena stared at it. Why would a private archive be inside the main house?
She turned around to leave, then she heard footsteps. Someone was coming.
Elena hurried into the nearest room.
The library.
She pulled the door almost shut while holding her breath.
A shadow crossed the hallway. It was Damien. He stopped outside the archive and unlocked the door.
Elena watched through the narrow opening as he entered and closed the door behind him.
She waited. One minute. Two.Then curiosity won so she stepped out.
She didn't go toward the archive Instead, she entered the library, maybe there was something here. Something she had left behind.
She searched the shelves, books, business reports, old newspapers yet there was nothing.
Then she noticed a drawer in the desk that looked locked.
Elena frowned. She searched beneath the desk for its key but she found nothing
She looked around and spotted a small brass key sitting beneath a stack of books.
Her pulse jumped. She took it and tried the key, the drawer came open.
Inside was a black leather notebook with no name not even a date. Just a symbol embossed on the cover.
A black crescent. The same symbol engraved inside her wedding ring.
Elena's breath caught. She opened it. The first page contained a single sentence.
Her handwriting. She knew it immediately.
“If I lose my memory, don't trust Damien Blackwood.”
Elena stopped breathing, her fingers trembled as she turned the page.
““Elena.” Damien called.
She spun around almost immediately. The notebook slipped from her fingers to the floor.
Damien looked down then at her.
And all the color disappeared from his face.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD