CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Behind Closed Doors
1478 Words
Damien didn’t answer until he was several steps away from Serena’s bedroom.
The hallway was quiet, save for the distant murmur of staff preparing dinner downstairs.
He glanced at the caller ID before lifting the phone to his ear.
“Talk.”
“Mr. Blackwood.” Sam’s familiar voice came through. “We’ve got him.”
Damien slowed his pace. “Is he awake?”
“Not yet. Whatever Drea did knocked him out cold.”
“Has he said anything?”
“No, boss.”
A brief silence settled between them.
Then Sam added, almost thoughtfully,
“Honestly… I don’t see what makes this guy so dangerous.”
Damien stopped beside one of the tall windows overlooking the gardens.
“I never said he was dangerous.”
“He doesn’t exactly scream criminal either. If anything, he looks…” Sam searched for the right word. “…confused.”
Damien’s gaze drifted toward the darkening sky.
“He showed up outside a private restaurant he shouldn’t have known about.”
Sam waited.
“He confronted my fiancée less than five minutes after she agreed to marry me.”
Another pause.
“Coincidences don’t interest me, Sam.”
“They rarely do, boss.”
“Someone wanted him there.”
“You think it’s connected to the break-in?” Sam asked curiously.
“I don’t believe in separate problems.”
Damien’s voice remained calm.
“I believe in connected ones.”
“So our job is figuring out who connected them.”
“Exactly.”
Sam let out a low whistle.
“I’ll admit… you’re making me curious.”
“You should be.”
Another brief silence.
Then Sam chuckled.
“You know…”
“What?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing you say the word fiancée.”
Damien didn’t answer. He pushed off the wall and started pacing again, slower this time.
Sam laughed.
“Can’t imagine what you’ll sound like when you start calling her your wife.”
Still nothing.
Finally, Damien spoke.
“Listen carefully.”
The humor immediately disappeared from Sam’s voice.
“I’m listening.”
“No one lays a finger on Ricardo.”
“We know.”
“I’m serious.”
“Noted, boss.”
“Find a way to make him talk that doesn't include physical harm. If Serena discovers he was harmed while in my custody…” Damien’s voice hardened slightly, “…I’ll lose whatever trust I’ve managed to build.”
“We’re not planning to hurt him.”
“Good.”
Sam hesitated.
“We may have already found a way.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed.
“What way?”
“Let’s just say everyone has a weak point.”
Damien considered that for a moment.
“Keep me informed.”
“I will.”
The line went dead.
Damien lowered the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.
His expression became unreadable once more as he continued down the hallway toward the west wing. His mother’s room.
⸻
Serena waited until both James and Clara disappeared down the corridor.
Only then did she quietly lock the bedroom door.
She stood perfectly still and listened. Nothing.
She crossed to the wall switches and turned off every light.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, painting silver lines across the polished floor.
She moved with practiced precision.
First the smoke detector.
Then behind the framed paintings.
The bedside lamps.
The mirror.
Electrical outlets.
Air-conditioning vents.
The underside of the writing desk.
She even crouched to inspect beneath the bed.
Nothing.
No hidden cameras.
No microphones.
No obvious surveillance.
Only then did she allow herself to breathe normally.
She walked to the wardrobe and retrieved her folded travel bag.
Her fingers found the concealed zipper sewn into the lining.
One by one, she removed its contents.
The thick brown file.
Her father’s battered flip phone.
The newspaper clippings.
The faded family photograph.
Finally…
The tiny pink ribbon.
Carefully, she searched the room for somewhere safe to hide them.
Behind books? Too obvious.
Inside the mattress? Too risky.
Inside the fireplace? Impossible.
She finally sighed.
“No.”
Nothing here was truly secure.
She placed every item back inside the hidden compartment, zipped it shut, folded the bag neatly, and slid it into the very back of the wardrobe drawer beneath several spare blankets.
Not perfect, but good enough.
For tonight at least.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
Clara entered carrying a silver tray.
Steam curled gently from a porcelain teapot, the scent of honey and bergamot rising from it.
Beside it sat butter biscuits arranged neatly on a small plate.
“I thought you might like some tea, ma’am.”
Serena smiled.
“Thank you.”
Clara placed the tray carefully on the small table near the fireplace.
“I also came to ask what you’d like for dinner.”
Serena looked around dramatically.
“I assumed billionaires only ate tiny portions arranged like abstract art.”
Clara blinked.
“What?”
“You know, the kind where you spend more time looking for the food than eating it.”
For a second…
Clara stared.
Then burst into laughter.
“Oh no. Our head chef would be deeply offended.”
“I’d hate to offend the man responsible for keeping everyone alive.” Serena grinned.
Clara smiled.
“So…”
“What can I bring you?”
Serena thought for a moment.
“Grilled herb chicken.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Garlic mashed potatoes.”
Clara nodded.
“Roasted vegetables.”
“And…”
She smiled.
“Warm butter rolls.”
Clara scribbled everything into a small notebook.
“Dessert?”
Serena pretended to think very hard. “Chocolate cake.”
“With vanilla ice cream?”
Her eyes lit up.
“You’re reading my mind.”
“I’ve worked here long enough to read everyone’s.”
Both women laughed.
Clara closed her notebook.
“If you ever get lonely…”
She pointed toward the small brass bell beside the bed.
“Just ring.”
“There’ll always be someone nearby.”
“You’re very kind.”
Clara smiled warmly.
“I’m only doing my job.”
“Well, you make it seem like more than that.”
The young woman’s cheeks colored slightly.
As she turned to leave, Serena spoke again.
“Actually…”
Clara looked back.
“Does this house have a library?”
A strange hesitation crossed her face.
“It does.”
“But?”
“It isn’t open.”
“Why not?”
Clara lowered her voice instinctively.
“The old study has been locked for years. No one’s allowed inside. Not even the cleaners.”
Serena’s interest sharpened.
“What happens if someone goes in?”
Clara sighed.
“The last cleaner who entered, we never saw her again.”
Serena blinked.
“They killed her?”
Clara’s eyes widened.
“What?”
Then she laughed so hard she nearly dropped her notebook.
“No! Of course not. They fired her.”
Serena let out an embarrassed laugh.
“Oh.”
“I may have watched too many crime documentaries.”
Clara wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
“Definitely.”
The laughter faded.
Serena leaned casually against the desk.
“When was the study locked?”
Clara frowned thoughtfully.
“I think…”
“The night after old Mr. Blackwood’s funeral.”
Serena’s heartbeat quickened.
“So immediately after he died?”
“Yes.”
“It was his favorite room.”
She smiled sadly.
“Poor Mrs. Blackwood. I don’t think she could bear stepping into that room again.”
Serena nodded slowly.
“I suppose grief affects everyone differently.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Another question formed almost immediately.
“The cleaner…”
“How did she get the master key?”
“Oh.”
Clara answered without thinking.
“Everyone except her had the day off. Martha handed over the master key before leaving.”
Serena’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“To whom?”
Clara shrugged.
“Mrs. Blackwood wasn’t seeing anyone back then. She barely left her room after the funeral. So Martha handed the master key over to Mr. Damien.”
“So Damien was in charge the day the cleaner entered his father’s old study?”
“Yes, I suppose he was.”
Serena nodded slowly.
“I see…”
Then she smiled and muttered, “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”
Clara smiled politely before excusing herself.
The door clicked shut.
Serena remained where she was as her thoughts raced.
Damien had held the master key that day.
Which meant one of two things.
Either the study contained nothing more than painful memories…
Or something far more important than cleaning had happened behind that locked door.
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