CHAPTER 8: ROOM 17
1844 Words
Damian couldn't sleep.
Lucas's words kept repeating in his mind.
Falling in love with the enemy.
He had tried to dismiss them as another one of his brother's games, but something about the way Lucas had said them bothered him.
Not because Lucas was wrong.
Because Damian had begun to wonder whether he was right.
He thought about Amara.
Her eyes.
Her guarded smile.
The way she looked at him whenever she thought he wasn't watching.
There was something she wasn't telling him.
He knew that much.
The problem was that he wanted to know the truth without losing whatever was growing between them.
His phone vibrated on the table.
A message.
I found something about Room 17.
Damian immediately sat up.
The message was from his investigator.
He called.
“What did you find?”
“It's connected to the old Grand Meridian Hotel.”
Damian frowned.
“The hotel that closed seven years ago?”
“Yes.”
“What does it have to do with Daniel Williams?”
“That's what I'm trying to establish. But there's something strange.”
“What?”
“The room number.”
Damian waited.
“Room 17 was booked under Daniel Williams' name on the night he disappeared.”
Damian's heart stopped.
“Are you sure?”
“I checked the old hotel records.”
“Who else was registered there?”
There was a pause.
“That's where it gets interesting.”
“Tell me.”
“Richard Blackwood.”
Damian stood.
His grip tightened around the phone.
“Richard?”
“Yes. Same night. Same hotel.”
Damian stared into the darkness outside his window.
“Anything else?”
“There was a third name.”
“Who?”
The investigator hesitated.
“Victor Blackwood.”
Damian closed his eyes.
His father.
His uncle.
Daniel Williams.
All in the same hotel on the night Daniel disappeared.
This could not be a coincidence.
“Send me the records.”
“I already did.”
Damian checked his phone.
An attachment had arrived.
He opened it.
The document was old and faded, but the names were clear.
ROOM 17 — GRAND MERIDIAN HOTEL
Daniel Williams — 8:42 p.m.
Richard Blackwood — 8:51 p.m.
Victor Blackwood — 9:03 p.m.
Damian scrolled further.
His breathing became heavier.
There was one final entry.
Departure: 2:17 a.m.
But there was no name beside it.
Damian's eyes narrowed.
“Who left at 2:17?”
“I don't know.”
“Find out.”
“I'll try.”
“No. Find out.”
The call ended.
Damian looked at the document again.
Someone had left Room 17 at 2:17 in the morning.
And whoever it was might know exactly what happened to Daniel.
The Next Morning
Amara woke with the anonymous message still on her mind.
ASK DAMIAN ABOUT ROOM 17.
She had barely slept.
Why would someone tell her to ask Damian?
Was it a trap?
Or did Damian genuinely know something?
She walked to the mirror and stared at herself.
For seven years, she had imagined this moment.
She had imagined confronting the Blackwoods.
She had imagined exposing them.
She had imagined revenge.
She had never imagined falling for one of them.
Her heart tightened.
Damian had been kind to her.
Protective.
Patient.
He had never treated her like someone he wanted to control.
And that made everything worse.
Because every time she looked at him, she remembered why she had returned.
Her father.
Daniel Williams.
Seven years of unanswered questions.
Seven years of pain.
She picked up the photograph from her desk.
Her father's face stared back at her.
“I won't give up,” she whispered.
Then her phone rang.
Damian.
She hesitated before answering.
“Hello?”
“Are you free today?”
“For what?”
“I want to see you.”
Amara's heart betrayed her with a quick beat.
“Why?”
“I found something.”
Her expression changed.
“About my father?”
“Yes.”
She sat down.
“What did you find?”
“I'd rather tell you in person.”
Amara was silent.
“Where?”
“Grand Meridian Hotel.”
Her blood ran cold.
“Why there?”
Damian's voice became quieter.
“Because your father was there the night he disappeared.”
Amara couldn't speak.
After seven years, she finally had a location.
A place connected to her father's final night.
“I'll come,” she said.
The Grand Meridian Hotel had been abandoned for years.
Its once-grand entrance was covered with dust. Several windows were broken, and weeds had grown through cracks in the pavement.
Amara stepped out of her car.
Damian was already waiting.
He wore a dark shirt with his sleeves rolled up.
For a moment, she forgot why she had come.
Then she remembered.
“My father was here?”
Damian nodded.
“According to the records.”
“When?”
“The night he disappeared.”
Amara looked at the building.
“Take me inside.”
They entered through a side door.
The smell of dust and old wood filled the air.
Their footsteps echoed through the empty lobby.
Damian led her toward the stairs.
“The elevators don't work.”
“Of course they don't.”
He gave her a small smile.
“Still sarcastic.”
“Still annoying.”
He laughed softly.
For a few seconds, the tension disappeared.
Then they reached the second floor.
Damian stopped.
“Room 17.”
Amara looked at the door.
The number was barely visible.
Her heart began pounding.
She reached for the handle.
Locked.
Damian pulled out a key.
Amara stared at him.
“Where did you get that?”
“My investigator found it with the hotel records.”
The door opened with a loud creak.
Dust floated through the air.
Amara stepped inside.
The room was small.
A bed.
A wooden desk.
An old wardrobe.
Nothing else.
She walked toward the desk.
“Are you sure my father stayed here?”
“Yes.”
She opened the drawer.
Empty.
The second drawer.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a scratch beneath the desk.
She crouched.
There was something carved into the wood.
A single letter.
D.
“Damian.”
He came closer.
“What?”
She pointed.
He crouched beside her.
“D.”
“Daniel,” Amara whispered.
Damian examined it.
“Maybe.”
She looked around the room.
“If my father knew he was in danger, he could have left a message.”
“Maybe he did.”
They searched the room.
Under the bed.
Inside the wardrobe.
Behind the curtains.
Nothing.
Then Damian noticed something beneath the carpet.
He pulled it back.
A small metal box was hidden underneath.
Amara's breath caught.
“Open it.”
Damian lifted the box.
It was locked.
He tried the key from the door.
Nothing.
Amara examined the box.
“There.”
A tiny keyhole.
But there was something else.
A number engraved beneath it.
217.
Amara looked at Damian.
“Two seventeen.”
“The departure time,” he said.
Neither of them moved.
Then Damian noticed a tiny slot on the side of the box.
“Maybe there's another key.”
Amara suddenly remembered something.
She reached into her handbag and pulled out the envelope Robert had given her.
Inside was the old photograph.
She turned it over.
Her eyes widened.
“Damian…”
“What?”
She pointed to the corner.
The same number was written there.
17.
Damian stared at it.
“Your father left this for someone.”
“Or someone wanted us to find it.”
Before Damian could answer, they heard footsteps in the hallway.
Amara froze.
Someone was walking toward the room.
Damian immediately stood.
“Stay behind me.”
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
Silence.
Then the handle slowly moved.
Damian reached for Amara's hand and pulled her behind him.
The door opened.
A man stepped inside.
Amara's eyes widened.
“Richard?”
Richard Blackwood looked at both of them.
His face showed no surprise.
Instead, he sighed.
“I was hoping you wouldn't find this place.”
Amara stepped forward.
“You knew?”
Richard looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Did my father stay here?”
“Yes.”
“Did you meet him here?”
Richard's eyes shifted toward Damian.
Then back to Amara.
“I met Daniel here.”
“When?”
“The night he disappeared.”
Amara felt the room spinning.
“What happened to him?”
Richard didn't answer.
Damian stepped forward.
“You were here with him.”
Richard's expression hardened.
“So was your father.”
Damian froze.
“My father?”
Richard nodded.
“Victor was here too.”
Amara's hands curled into fists.
“Then tell me what happened.”
Richard looked toward the metal box.
“You found it.”
“What's inside?”
Richard's face changed.
“Something your father was willing to die to protect.”
Amara's voice trembled.
“What?”
Richard took a step closer.
“The truth.”
“About what?”
“The agreement.”
“What agreement?”
Richard glanced at Damian.
Then he said quietly,
“The agreement that could destroy the Blackwood family.”
Suddenly, a loud crash came from downstairs.
All three of them turned toward the hallway.
Richard's expression changed.
“They found us.”
“Who?” Damian demanded.
Richard didn't answer.
Instead, he grabbed the metal box.
Amara reached for it.
“No!”
Richard pulled it away.
“Your father trusted me with this.”
“And you expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
He looked directly into her eyes.
“You shouldn't trust anyone.”
A second crash echoed through the building.
Damian moved toward the door.
“Who is downstairs?”
Richard's face became grim.
“Your brother.”
Damian stopped.
“Lucas?”
Richard nodded.
Then the lights suddenly went out.
In the darkness, Amara heard the sound of the metal box hitting the floor.
A struggle.
Someone shouted.
Then—
A gunshot echoed through the hotel.
Amara screamed.
“Damian!”
When the emergency lights flickered back on, Richard was gone.
The metal box was gone.
And Damian was standing beside the window, staring down at the empty street.
Amara rushed toward him.
“Where is Richard?”
Damian didn't answer.
His face had gone pale.
Then he turned toward her.
“Amara…”
“What?”
“There was someone else in this room.”
Her heart stopped.
“Who?”
Damian looked at the floor.
Near the door was a small piece of torn black fabric.
He picked it up.
It had a silver button attached to it.
Amara recognized it immediately.
It was from a Blackwood family jacket.
Damian stared at it.
Then he whispered,
“Someone from my family was here before we arrived.”
And suddenly, Amara realized something terrifying.
They weren't the ones investigating the Blackwoods anymore.
The Blackwoods were investigating them.
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