CHAPTER FOUR:BURIED THINGS
1875 Words
ZARA’S POV
“What does my father have to do with your fake death?”
“Your father was brilliant,” Damian said calmly. “Unfortunately, brilliant people usually believe they can outrun consequences.”
Damian watched the city in silence while the world mourned him. Then he turned to me.
“You published an article a few days ago,” he finally said. “Why?”
I frowned.
“Because your family is corrupt.
“That wasn’t the answer I asked for.”
His tone remained calm.
I crossed my arms tightly.
“I was doing my job.”
Damian nodded once.
“Your father used to say the same thing.”
My stomach dropped slightly.
“Stop talking about him like you knew him.”
His expression changed slightly.
“I did know him.”
“No,” I said immediately. “You’re lying.”
The moment the words left my mouth, Damian walked toward one of the closed doors. Minutes later, he returned holding an old black file.
Worn edges.
No labels.
No company logo.
He placed it on the table between us.
“Open it.”
I didn’t move.
“Open it, Zara.”
Slowly, I reached for the file. My hands hesitated briefly before opening it.
The moment I did, my breathing stopped.
Photographs.
Documents.
Financial records.
Security clearances.
And right there, standing beside a much younger Damian Vale, was my father.
“No,” I whispered.
The room suddenly felt colder.
“Your father helped build Valeon before the board even knew the company existed,” Damian said quietly.
“That’s impossible.”
I looked up at him sharply.
“My father was ruined publicly.”
Damian’s expression remained unreadable.
“Publicly,” he repeated. “Yes.”
Something about the way he emphasized the word made my stomach twist.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“People prefer simple stories,” he said. “A thief. A scandal. A disappearance. Easier to control.”
I stared at the photographs again.
My father looked nothing like the broken man I remembered near the end.
Here, he looked powerful.
Feared, even.
“He stole something,” Damian continued quietly.
“That’s what the reports said.”
“And?”
Damian’s eyes met mine.
Sharp.
Heavy.
Calculating.
“The reports were incomplete.”
Silence stretched between us again.
I hated how calm he remained while my entire understanding of my father slowly came apart.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
Damian studied me for a long moment before answering .
“Because someone tried to kill me yesterday.”
He stepped closer.
“And hours after your article was published… people started searching for something your father took fifteen years ago.”
My chest tightened.
“I don’t understand.”
“No,” Damian said quietly. “You don’t.”
Then his expression darkened slightly.
“You think this started with your article,” Damian said quietly. “It didn’t.”
My stomach tightened.
What’s that supposed to mean?”
Damian walked toward another drawer slowly. Then he pulled out something small.
A photograph.
Old.
Folded at the corners.
He placed it in front of me carefully.
My breath caught instantly.
It was me.
Younger.
Maybe thirteen.
Standing beside my father outside our old apartment building.
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Why do you have this?
Damian didn’t answer immediately.
That silence frightened me more than the file had.
“How long have you known about me?”
“Long enough,” he replied calmly.
My stomach twisted.
“You’ve been watching me?”
“Observing,” Damian corrected.
Something about the word felt worse.
I looked back down at the photograph.
I couldn’t stop staring at it.
I barely remembered that day.
The apartment building behind us no longer existed. It had burned down years ago under mysterious circumstances. The newspapers called it an electrical accident.
My mother refused to speak about it afterward.
But now…….
Now Damian Vale had a photograph from that exact day sitting hidden inside a locked file.
Nothing about this felt coincidental anymore.
“You said my father stole something.”
Damian walked toward the window again.
Rain pressed softly against the glass overlooking the sleeping city below.
“He took something people were willing to kill for,” Damian replied quietly.
“What was it?”
If I knew that,he said calmly, I wouldn’t still be cleaning up the consequences fifteen years later.
I hated how controlled he remained.
No hesitation.
No panic.
Nothing.
It was like emotions had become optional for him a long time ago.
“Why involve me?” I demanded.
His eyes shifted toward me slowly.
“I didn’t.”
“That’s bullshit.”
The corner of his mouth moved slightly.
Not amusement.
Recognition.
Like he’d expected that answer.
“You published an article exposing board members connected to Valeon,” Damian said. “Three days later someone attempted to kill me.”
That doesn’t explain anything.
“It explains enough.”
Frustration climbed into my chest.
“You keep speaking in riddles.”
“Because direct truths tend to panic people.”
“I’m already panicking.”
“No,” Damian replied softly. “You’re still curious.”
Silence.
Sharp.
Accurate.
I hated that he was right.
Damian walked toward a dark table positioned near the far side of the room and pressed something beneath it.
A hidden screen lit up instantly.
Security footage appeared.
My apartment building.
My throat tightened immediately.
“What is this?”
“Three nights ago.”
The footage showed a hooded figure standing outside my apartment door long before the envelope arrived.
Watching.
Waiting.
My breathing slowed.
The figure never knocked.
Never moved.
Just stood there motionless for nearly six minutes before disappearing from camera range.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” Damian said quietly. “It’s deliberate.”
I stared at the footage.
Cold suddenly crawled beneath my skin.
“Who is that?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Why would someone watch me?”
Damian remained silent.
That silence answered enough.
My stomach dropped.
“They think I know where my father hid whatever he stole.”
“Yes.”
The word landed heavily between us.
I shook my head immediately.
“But I don’t know anything.”
Damian studied me carefully.
“I believe you.”
Something about that surprised me.
You do?
For now.
Not comforting.
Not even slightly.
I I looked back down at the photograph.
I couldn’t stop staring at it.
I barely remembered that day.
The apartment building behind us no longer existed. It had burned down years ago under mysterious circumstances. The newspapers called it an electrical accident.
My mother refused to speak about it afterward.
But now—
Now Damian Vale had a photograph from that exact day sitting hidden inside a locked file.
Nothing about this felt coincidental anymore.
“You said my father stole something.”
Damian walked toward the window again.
Rain pressed softly against the glass overlooking the sleeping city below.
“He took something people were willing to kill for,” Damian replied quietly.
“What was it?”
“If I knew that,” he said calmly, “I wouldn’t still be cleaning up the consequences fifteen years later.”
I hated how controlled he remained.
No hesitation.
No panic.
Nothing.
It was like emotions had become optional for him a long time ago.
“Why involve me?” I demanded.
His eyes shifted toward me slowly.
“I didn’t.”
“That’s bullshit.”
The corner of his mouth moved slightly.
Not amusement.
Recognition.
Like he’d expected that answer.
“You published an article exposing board members connected to Valeon,” Damian said. “Three days later someone attempted to kill me.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“It explains enough.”
Frustration climbed into my chest.
“You keep speaking in riddles.”
“Because direct truths tend to panic people.”
“I’m already panicking.”
“No,” Damian replied softly. “You’re still curious.”
Silence.
Sharp.
Accurate.
I hated that he was right.
Damian walked toward a dark table positioned near the far side of the room and pressed something beneath it.
A hidden screen lit up instantly.
Security footage appeared.
My apartment building.
My throat tightened immediately.
“What is this?”
“Three nights ago.”
The footage showed a hooded figure standing outside my apartment door long before the envelope arrived.
Watching.
Waiting.
My breathing slowed.
The figure never knocked.
Never moved.
Just stood there motionless for nearly six minutes before disappearing from camera range.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” Damian said quietly. “It’s deliberate.”
I stared at the footage.
Cold suddenly crawled beneath my skin.
“Who is that?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Why would someone watch me?”
Damian remained silent.
That silence answered enough.
My stomach dropped.
“They think I know where my father hid whatever he stole.”
“Yes.”
The word landed heavily between us.
I shook my head immediately.
“But I don’t know anything.”
Damian studied me carefully.
“I believe you.”
Something about that surprised me.
“You do?”
“For now.”
Not comforting.
Not even slightly.
I turned away from the screen slowly.
“This is insane.”
“Most dangerous things are.”
I laughed quietly under my breath.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I suddenly understood how trapped I actually was.
My article.
The funeral invitation.
The attack.
None of it was random.
Somewhere inside this mess, my father had left behind something powerful enough to make people fake deaths and send strangers to funerals before the bodies even existed.
My chest tightened painfully.
“What happens now?” Damian’s gaze remained fixed on the city.
“Now,” he said calmly, “people begin searching for you openly.”
A chill moved through me.“What does that mean?”
“It means your life is no longer ordinary, Miss Bello.”
Before I could answer, the lights suddenly went out.
Darkness swallowed the room instantly.
I froze.
The television died.
The elevator lights disappeared.
Everything became silent.
Then
A gunshot echoed somewhere below us.
A scream echoed somewhere downstairs.
Not loud.
Cut off too quickly.
My hands started shaking again.
I hated that Damian noticed immediately.
“You panic loudly,” he murmured.
I stared at him in disbelief.
“Someone is literally trying to kill you!”
“Yes,” he replied calmly. “Which is why you need to stay quiet.”
I opened my mouth to argue
Then footsteps stopped directly outside the room.
Everything inside me froze.
Silence.
Heavy breathing beyond the door.
Waiting.
Listening.
My pulse became unbearable.
Damian slowly raised the gun.
The handle of the door moved slightly.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
A long silence followed.
And suddenly
Whoever stood outside whispered softly:
“Miss Bello?”
My blood turned cold.
Because I recognized the voice.
It belonged to the worker from the funeral
SORY GUYS THIS CHAPTER HAD TO BE THIS LONG
- Writer
