Unveiling Secrets

Dominic's Suspicion

Dominic Vance slumped back into the supple leather chair of his penthouse office and continued staring at the grainy photo on his desk-a candid snapshot from the art gallery. Elena Michaels stared out at him, her eyes soft but guarded, as she stood beside a boy with dark curls and piercing green eyes. Those eyes haunted him, for they belonged to him.

Lucas Michaels," he whispered, his finger tapping against the edge of the photo. The name sounded strange, yet somehow personal.

Dominic's assistant, Peter, was still standing close by, his hands clasped behind his back. "Sir, shall I investigate further? The background check on Ms. Michaels showed merely her employment and basic history. If you'd like, I can-

Dominic cut him off with a wave of his hand. "No need. Not yet." His voice was calm, but his mind churned.

Peter hesitated before stepping closer. "Sir, if I may… the resemblance is uncanny. Are you sure you don't want me to—"

"I said not yet," Dominic repeated, his tone firmer now.

Peter nodded and took a step back. "Understood." He placed another folder on the desk. "These are the rest of the photos from the gallery, as you requested. I'll be outside if you need me."

Dominic's phone whirred, drawing him out of his reverie. He glanced at the screen: *Vanessa.*

He let out a sigh and ignored the call. He wasn't in the mood for her theatrics. Vanessa had been his fiancée for almost a year now, though the arrangement was more of a merger than a love story. Their families had been intertwined for generations, their union expected and celebrated by both sides. But Dominic often felt suffocated by the expectations, the charade of it all.

Vanessa was the ultimate society woman: sophisticated, poised, and determined to get what she wanted at all costs. The problem was, what she wanted most was him, and he wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be able to keep up the act.

Dominic's eyes wandered back to the photo of Lucas. A memory intruded, unwanted, bittersweet.

He was twenty-six, standing on a beach with Elena, the sun setting over the water in shades of gold. She laughed as he tried—and failed—to skip stones across the waves. Her laughter was infectious, and he couldn't help but join in.

Suddenly, the office door swung open, and Vanessa strode in, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. She was dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored white suit that hugged her figure. Her blonde hair was swept into a sleek bun, and her makeup was flawless.

“Dominic,” she said, her tone clipped. “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

"I've been busy," he replied, reclining back in his chair, crossing his arms.

Her keen eyes settled on the photos spread across his desk. "What's this?" she asked, gliding closer.

"Work," he said smoothly, closing the folder before she could get a good look.

Vanessa raised an eyebrow. "Since when does 'work' involve old pictures of you as a kid?"

"They're not me," he said quickly. Too quickly.

Her eyes narrowed, her perfectly manicured nails drumming a light rhythm against the edge of the desk. "Really? Because they look just like you."

Dominic forced a casual shrug. "A distant relative, perhaps. Peter was helping me sort through some family archives."

Vanessa didn't look convinced. She leaned forward, her gaze slicing right through him. "Dominic, what's going on?"

"Nothing," he replied firmly. "Why are you here, Vanessa?"

She straightened, her lips curling into a cold smile. "I came to remind you about dinner with my parents tonight. Mother's hosting, and you know how she gets if we're late.

"I'll be there," he said, brushing her off with his hand.

Vanessa didn't budge. Instead, she looked at him for a long moment, her face inscrutable. Then she turned and began to walk toward the door but stopped just as she reached it.

"You're hiding something," she said in a low, even tone, each word tinged with suspicion. "And I will find out what it is."

The door closed behind her, and Dominic was finally alone with his thoughts.

Vanessa didn't go very far. The moment she was out of earshot, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

"Detective Harlow?" she said as the line connected.

"Yes, Ms. Sinclair," the voice on the other end replied.

"I need you to look into something for me," she said, her tone sharp. "There's a woman. Her name is Elena Michaels. I want everything you can find on her—where she lives, who she associates with, and most importantly, if she has any connection to Dominic Vance."

The detective hesitated. "Ms. Sinclair, this sounds personal. Are you sure—

"I'm not paying you to ask questions," Vanessa snapped. "Just do your job."

"Yes, ma'am."

Vanessa rang off and clenched her jaw tightly before turning around in her seat as she sat clutching her cell phone in the silent elevator, turning white-knuckled beneath.

"Elena Michaels," she whispered fumes. "Whatever you are out there, girlie, you surely have messed big time."

He went back to the office and stood by the window, staring out at the Chicago skyline. He felt that familiar tug of guilt. He hadn't been honest with Vanessa, but then again, honesty had never been the foundation of their relationship.

Dominic's thoughts wandered back to the picture of the boy. If he was his son-and he knew almost definitely he was-what would that mean to his future? To Vanessa? To Elena?

The thought of seeing Elena again filled him with equal amounts of dread and anticipation. He wanted answers, but he also knew digging into the past could unearth wounds he wasn't ready to face.

The intercom beeped, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Mr. Vance," Peter's voice crackled through the speaker. "You have a call on line two. It's urgent.

Dominic blew out a sigh, returning to his desk. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. For now, a tempest was brewing in his life, and right at its eye was Vanessa Sinclair.