THE FILE
1255 Words
Amelia froze.
The folder remained inches from her fingertips.
HART — ACCIDENT REPORT.
Her husband's name.
The answer she had been searching for.
And Ethan Cole stood between her and it.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The silence felt suffocating.
Ethan's gaze shifted from her face to the file and back again.
His usual relaxed smile was gone.
Completely gone.
"You have a habit of opening doors that don't belong to you," he said quietly.
Amelia lowered her hand slowly.
"I was lost."
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"Lost people don't usually walk into restricted archives."
The calmness in his voice made her uneasy.
Still, she forced herself to remain composed.
"Then maybe your doors should be locked."
For a moment, something flickered across his face.
Amusement.
Then it vanished.
"I'll remember that."
He stepped aside and gently pushed the archive door shut.
The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have.
Amelia swallowed.
"I saw a file."
"You saw many files."
"The one with my husband's name."
This time Ethan's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Enough for Amelia to notice.
Enough to confirm she hadn't imagined it.
"What happened to your husband was unfortunate."
The answer came too quickly.
Too rehearsed.
Amelia stared at him.
"Did you read it?"
A pause.
"No."
A lie.
She felt it immediately.
Not because she had proof.
Because of the way he said it.
The way his eyes shifted away for half a second.
The way his shoulders stiffened.
He had seen it.
Maybe many times.
"Goodnight, Amelia."
The conversation was over.
Dismissed.
Just like that.
Ethan walked away down the corridor.
Leaving her standing alone.
But before he disappeared around the corner, he stopped.
Without turning around, he said,
"Curiosity can be dangerous in this house."
Then he left.
And Amelia couldn't shake the feeling that it had sounded less like advice and more like a warning.
---
The next morning began before sunrise.
The kitchen was already alive when Amelia arrived.
Pots clattered.
Knives sliced.
Orders were exchanged in quick whispers.
The staff moved with military precision.
Nobody wasted time.
Nobody wasted words.
Victoria stood near the center island reviewing a clipboard.
Her sharp eyes landed on Amelia immediately.
"You're late."
Amelia glanced at the clock.
It was exactly six.
Victoria looked unimpressed.
"If you're walking through the door at six, you're late."
Amelia bit back a response.
She needed this job.
At least for now.
Victoria handed her a list.
"Breakfast menu."
Amelia scanned it.
Her eyes widened slightly.
The menu was extensive enough to feed twenty people.
"There are only a handful of residents here."
"Mr. Blackwood doesn't tolerate mistakes."
"Neither do I."
That earned her a look.
Victoria stared at her for a moment before walking away.
Around her, several chefs exchanged glances.
Amelia was beginning to understand something.
People feared Damien.
But they feared Victoria too.
---
An hour later, the scent of fresh pastries filled the kitchen.
Amelia worked quietly.
Cooking was one of the few things that calmed her.
One of the few things that still made sense.
For a little while, she forgot about secret files.
Forgot about threatening messages.
Forgot about Damien Blackwood.
Until a deep voice behind her said,
"You're holding the knife incorrectly."
Her hand jerked.
The blade nearly slipped.
She turned sharply.
Damien stood behind her.
Close.
Far too close.
Her pulse stumbled unexpectedly.
He looked impossibly composed for someone who had appeared without warning.
Dark suit.
Perfect posture.
Cold eyes.
Everything about him screamed control.
Amelia frowned.
"I've been cooking for years."
"And developing bad habits for years."
His gaze dropped to her grip.
Without asking permission, he reached forward.
His hand closed lightly around hers.
The contact lasted only seconds.
But it felt much longer.
Heat shot unexpectedly through her chest.
Amelia stiffened.
Damien adjusted her fingers around the knife.
Then released her.
The moment ended.
Just like that.
Yet her heart was suddenly beating too fast.
Neither of them spoke.
The kitchen around them seemed strangely distant.
Then Damien stepped back.
"The mushrooms are overcooked."
Amelia blinked.
"What?"
He pointed.
She turned.
The mushrooms were indeed overcooked.
Only slightly.
But enough.
When she looked back, Damien was already walking away.
Infuriating man.
---
Later that afternoon, Amelia finally managed to call Maya.
The moment Maya answered, she exploded.
"You disappeared!"
"I know."
"Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
Amelia smiled faintly despite herself.
"I'm okay."
"That's not convincing."
A pause followed.
Then Maya's voice softened.
"How is it?"
Amelia looked around her small staff room.
The luxury of Blackwood Estate felt unreal.
Like something from another world.
"Strange."
"That's all?"
"It's like living inside a secret."
Maya sighed.
"You're starting to sound dramatic."
"I found something."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Silence followed.
Then—
"What kind of something?"
"A file."
Maya immediately sounded alarmed.
"Amelia."
"I know."
"No. Listen to me. I know that tone."
Amelia sat down heavily.
"Maya—"
"You're investigating again."
The accusation was painfully accurate.
Amelia looked away.
"Maybe."
"You're going to get hurt."
Her chest tightened.
Because Maya was probably right.
---
That evening, rain began falling heavily outside.
The mansion seemed darker somehow.
More isolated.
Amelia couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the file.
HART — ACCIDENT REPORT.
Finally, close to midnight, she gave up.
She slipped quietly from her room.
The corridors were silent.
Empty.
Perfect.
Her chance.
She moved carefully through the estate.
Past darkened hallways.
Past expensive artwork.
Past security cameras she hoped weren't watching.
Eventually, she reached the archive corridor again.
Her pulse quickened.
The door was there.
Waiting.
Locked.
She stared at it.
Then noticed something.
The electronic keypad beside it.
A faint glow.
And fingerprints.
One set of numbers looked slightly more worn than the others.
Amelia swallowed.
Then carefully pressed them.
Three.
Eight.
One.
Seven.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Different order.
The keypad flashed red.
Her heart sank.
Then—
Green.
A soft click echoed through the corridor.
The door unlocked.
For a second, she couldn't believe it.
She had done it.
Slowly, she pushed the door open.
Rows of shelves stretched into darkness.
Hundreds of files.
Thousands of secrets.
Amelia stepped inside.
Her breathing became shallow.
She moved quickly.
Searching.
Scanning labels.
Then she found it.
HART.
Her fingers trembled.
She pulled the file free.
Opened it.
The first page contained police reports.
Witness statements.
Accident photographs.
Her husband's car.
Destroyed.
Crushed.
Her throat tightened painfully.
She turned another page.
Then another.
Suddenly—
Something fell from the folder.
A photograph.
Amelia picked it up.
And froze.
The blood drained from her face.
Because standing beside her husband in the picture—
Smiling—
Was Damien Blackwood.
The photograph slipped from her fingers.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
No.
No.
This couldn't be possible.
Her husband had known Damien.
Not casually.
Not accidentally.
The picture proved it.
But that wasn't what truly terrified her.
It was the date written on the back.
A date from years ago.
Months before Jethro was born.
Months before her husband died.
Months before everything fell apart.
A cold chill crawled down her spine.
Someone had lied to her.
For years.
And before she could process the revelation—
A voice echoed from the darkness behind her.
Low.
Dangerous.
Unexpected.
"That's not the question you should be asking."
Amelia spun around.
Her breath stopped.
Because Damien Blackwood was standing in the archive doorway.
And he looked furious.
- Writer
