Chapter 13: The Hidden Legacy
1270 Words
The kiss had changed everything.
And yet — nothing at all.
Ares hadn’t spoken to her in two days.
He hadn’t called, hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t so much as breathed in her direction.
The man who had kissed her like he was drowning and she was air —
had vanished like it never happened.
And Elara?
She didn’t know whether to scream or break.
She went about her routines with quiet precision — charity functions, interviews, fittings for the gala — all under the careful eye of assistants and stylists. But none of it touched her.
Her mind was somewhere else.
Back in the library.
Back in his arms.
Back in that moment she could no longer pretend didn’t exist.
She hadn’t told anyone about the kiss. Not even herself. Not really.
Because to say it aloud would be to admit it meant something.
And Ares Blackwood had made it painfully clear it didn’t.
⸻
On the third night, the storm finally broke.
She couldn’t sleep.
Again.
Her body was tired, but her mind raced in circles she couldn’t escape. Her heart pounded with questions she wasn’t brave enough to ask.
She wandered.
Barefoot. Quiet. Drifting through the penthouse like a ghost.
Somehow, her steps carried her back to the east wing.
Ares’s private offices.
She was never supposed to be there.
It was one of his only hard rules.
But tonight… something pulled her closer.
A sliver of light glowed beneath the door to his office. She paused, debating.
Then came the voices.
Low.
Urgent.
Familiar.
Mr. Hayes.
And Ares.
She didn’t mean to eavesdrop.
She didn’t want to.
But the moment she heard her name — she stopped breathing.
⸻
“She doesn’t know,” Hayes said.
“Good,” Ares replied. “She can’t.”
Elara’s pulse roared in her ears.
“She deserves the truth, Ares,” Hayes said softly. “About who she is. About what’s coming.”
“She deserves safety,” Ares snapped. “And the truth won’t give her that.”
“Do you really think you can keep her hidden forever?”
Ares was silent.
Then: “She’s not ready.”
“She’s more ready than you give her credit for.”
“Hayes,” Ares said, his voice like a blade, “if she finds out she’s the heir to the Courtland estate, every scavenger in this city will be at her throat. She’ll be used. Hunted. Exploited.”
“Elara’s not just some pawn,” Hayes argued. “She has a right to know her family’s legacy.”
“This isn’t about legacy,” Ares growled. “It’s about survival.”
“She’s your wife. You owe her more than secrets.”
Ares didn’t respond.
Then—softer, almost broken—
“If she asks questions, I’ll lie.”
⸻
Elara staggered back.
The name Courtland spun through her mind like a dropped wine glass shattering on tile.
She hadn’t heard it in years.
It had been her mother’s name. Her grandfather’s. A branch of the family tree long buried.
All she remembered from childhood were vague stories — whispers of lost money, failed business, an old estate sold off and forgotten.
But now…
She was an heir?
To what?
And why would Ares hide it?
Unless… unless it was never about the contract.
Never about her family’s debts.
Unless she wasn’t just convenient.
She was valuable.
⸻
She fled down the hall, her breath shallow, her hands shaking.
She didn’t know where she was going.
Only that she had to move.
To think.
To breathe.
She ended up in the darkened lounge, sitting on the edge of a velvet chaise, staring out at the storm-slick city through the wall of glass.
Lightning cracked the sky open.
And in its brief flash, she saw the reflection of herself —
a girl trapped in a golden cage, now realizing the lock was never about love or duty.
It was about inheritance.
It was about control.
It was about who she really was.
And what she had that Ares wanted to keep hidden.
⸻
When she finally returned to her suite, her hands were trembling so badly she couldn’t even turn the doorknob.
She wasn’t angry.
Not yet.
She was hurt.
And beneath the pain, a new emotion began to form.
Not rage.
Not heartbreak.
Resolve.
⸻
The next morning, she didn’t attend breakfast.
She didn’t go to the stylists or answer the assistant’s knock.
She dressed herself — simply, sharply.
Ivory slacks. A black blouse. Hair tied in a sleek twist.
She walked to Ares’s office at exactly 9:00 a.m.
She didn’t knock.
She didn’t wait.
She opened the door — and walked in like she belonged.
Ares looked up, startled. He was alone, for once.
“Elara,” he said carefully. “You’re not supposed to—”
“I know,” she said, shutting the door behind her.
She crossed the room, slowly, deliberately.
He watched her, guarded, lips pressed in a tight line.
“I overheard you,” she said.
He went still.
Cold silence fell between them.
Elara folded her arms. “The Courtland name. The inheritance. The reporters sniffing around.”
His jaw tightened.
“You should have told me,” she said. “You lied.”
“I protected you,” he said. “That’s not the same thing.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “You lied to me from the beginning.”
He stood. “Because if I had told you who you were, what you stood to inherit—”
“You thought I’d run?”
“No,” he said softly. “I thought someone would kill you.”
⸻
The room went silent.
The storm outside had nothing on the one between them now.
“They tried once,” Ares continued. “Before the contract. Before the press even knew your name. Someone hired a private investigator to track you.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Because your family’s assets weren’t destroyed,” he said. “They were hidden. Your grandfather scattered them across trusts, companies, offshore accounts. Quiet. Strategic. And you—” his gaze darkened “—are the sole surviving heir.”
She sank into the chair behind her.
“I’m… an heiress?”
“You were worth billions before you signed that contract,” he said. “But you didn’t know it. No one did.”
“Except you.”
He nodded once.
She looked at him, her voice trembling. “So what was this marriage then? A shield? Or a cage?”
Ares didn’t answer immediately.
Then he walked around the desk, knelt in front of her, and met her eyes.
“It was a war strategy,” he said. “At first.”
“And now?” she whispered.
“Now it’s the only thing keeping me from losing my mind.”
⸻
Elara couldn’t breathe.
Because for all his power, all his control—
Ares Blackwood looked like a man on the verge of breaking.
He reached out, gently, like she might shatter.
“Don’t run from me,” he said, voice hoarse. “Please.”
She stared at him, heart in pieces.
“I’m not running,” she said.
“I just needed the truth.”
Ares cupped her cheek.
“And now that you have it?” he asked.
She swallowed.
Then — slowly — leaned forward.
And kissed him.
Soft.
Honest.
Devastating.
⸻
Because the truth had broken them open.
And now, all they had left was what they chose next.
⸻
- Writer
