CHAPTER THREE— Twenty-Three Hours
1191 Words
The drive home was unusually quiet.
For nearly five minutes, the only sound was the low hum of the engine as Serena navigated the sleeping city streets.
Nina finally broke the silence. “This whole thing is insane.”
Serena kept her eyes fixed on the road.
“A billionaire proposes to you after knowing you for four minutes?” She let out a disbelieving laugh. “Do you know how crazy that sounds? And how many women would kill to be in your position right now?”
No response.
Nina glanced sideways. “I mean… yes, the man is completely unhinged, but still.”
More silence.
Finally, she asked the question she’d been holding back. “So…” She hesitated. “Are you going to say yes?”
Serena’s fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. “No.”
Nina exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank God.”
A small, wry smile tugged at Serena’s lips. “…Not yet, at least.”
Nina’s head snapped toward her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, not yet.”
“Not—what? God, you’re unbelievable.”
Nina leaned back in her seat and rubbed a hand over her face. “I honestly can’t decide if you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met or the craziest.”
“Probably both.”
Despite herself, Nina laughed softly. “I can’t even process tonight.”
“You don’t have to.” Serena’s voice softened. “Just trust me.”
Nina studied her friend’s profile for a long moment. “Promise me you know what you’re doing.”
“I do.”
At least I hope I do.
⸻
Ten minutes later, Serena pulled up outside Nina’s apartment building.
Nina reached for the door but paused.
“If that man turns out to be a serial killer, I’m haunting you.”
Serena managed a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Nina shook her head, then climbed out. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“I will, bestie.”
Serena waited until Nina disappeared safely inside before pulling away.
⸻
The city lights streaked past her windshield as traffic thinned. But her thoughts refused to quiet.
Damien Blackwood.
His unreadable eyes.
His impossible proposal.
His quiet, unshakable confidence.
And those two infuriating words.
Marry me.
She exhaled sharply. Arrogant bastard.
—————
Her apartment welcomed her with heavy silence.
She slipped off her heels near the entrance.
One by one, the diamond earrings followed.
Then the necklace.
She unzipped the pristine gown and let it pool at her feet before changing into an oversized T-shirt and soft shorts.
The quiet should have been comforting.
Instead…
It felt unbearably loud.
Her handbag landed on the kitchen island.
The matte black business card slid free and skidded across the polished surface.
She picked it up and rolled her eyes. “The nerve…”
Her phone rang almost immediately.
Unknown Number.
She frowned.
It rang again.
She ignored it.
Then a third time.
With an impatient sigh, she snatched it up. “Who is this?”
A brief pause.
“I’m glad you’re still awake.” Damien’s deep voice sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
She froze. “Mr. Blackwood.”
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t answer.”
“How did you get my number?”
“I made one phone call.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” His tone was calm, almost amused.
She frowned.
“Do billionaires usually invade women’s privacy after proposing to them?”
“Only when the outcome matters.”
“What outcome?” she demanded. “You don’t even know me.”
A weighted silence stretched between them.
Then—
“That’s where you’re wrong… you’ve got twenty two hours left to decide.”
Serena frowned. “That’s all you called to say?”
“No. Sleep well, Serena.”
Before she could respond, the line went dead.
Serena lowered the phone slowly, unease coiling tight in her chest. What game are you playing?
She locked the front door, then crossed the living room to the framed landscape painting on the far wall.
Behind it sat a small wall safe. Six digits later, it clicked open.
Inside were only three things.
An old newspaper.
A faded family photograph.
A battered flip phone.
She picked up the newspaper first.
The paper had yellowed with age, its edges worn from being unfolded too many times.
The headline still burned as sharply as the day it had been printed.
LOCAL BUSINESSMAN SENTENCED TO LIFE FOR MURDER
Her father’s face stared back at her from beneath the headline.
She reached for the photograph next.
A younger Serena smiled between her parents.
She traced her father’s face with trembling fingertips.
“I’m so close, Dad.”
Her voice cracked.
“So close.”
She picked up the old phone.
Its scratched screen flickered to life.
Several saved voicemails. Only one had ever mattered.
She pressed the play button.
Static crackled softly.
Then…
His voice.
Warm.
Familiar in a heart-wrenching way.
“Hi, peanut.”
Serena closed her eyes as fresh tears burned.
“If you’re hearing this… they’ve already taken me.”
A tear escaped despite her best efforts.
“I need you to believe me. I didn’t kill anyone. No matter what they tell you… No matter what the newspapers say…”
“Your father is innocent.”
She covered her mouth with one hand, trying to hold it in.
“I wish I could be there with you. I wish I could tell you everything will be okay.”
A shaky breath echoed through the speaker.
“But I don’t know if it will. So you have to be strong for me. And promise me one thing.”
Another pause.
“Don’t spend your life chasing revenge.”
A shaky laugh escaped him.
“I fear you’re too much like me. Always seeking out the truth.”
“Please promise me you’ll choose happiness instead. Promise me.”
A brief pause before “I love you more than you’ll ever know, peanut.”
His voice broke down and the voicemail ended.
Silence swallowed the apartment once more.
Serena slowly pressed the phone against her chest, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
She had broken that promise years ago.
A tear splashed onto the faded newspaper as she allowed herself to grieve all over again.
Not like the fearless woman who had stood toe-to-toe with Damien Blackwood.
But like a daughter who still desperately missed her father.
A soft chime interrupted the grief.
Her phone again. She wiped her eyes and reached for it.
1 New Email — Sender: Unknown
A chill raced down her spine. She opened it with unsteady fingers. No greeting. No signature. Just a single line:
Everything you know is a lie.
Below it, one attachment.
Serena’s thumb hovered, heart hammering. She tapped the image.
The photo loaded.
Her face drained of color. The phone slipped from her trembling fingers and clattered onto the counter.
- Writer
