The Billionaire's Secret

CHAPTER 4

Cassandra’s breath hitched as the stranger’s chilling words hung in the air. Dominic’s expression was unreadable, but the tension radiating from him was palpable. She had stepped into forbidden territory, but there was no turning back now. Gathering what little courage she had left, Cassandra straightened and stepped fully into the room.

“I couldn't sleep and then I-I heard something,” she stammered, her voice weaker than she’d intended and her palm sweaty. “I thought…”

“You thought you’d play detective?” Dominic snapped, his voice a whip c***k in the tense air.

The stranger tilted his head, his smile deepening as he studied her. “Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Miss Moore. Especially in this house.”

Dominic turned on him, his broad shoulders tense. “Enough.”

Dominic shot the stranger a warning glare before stepping forward, blocking her view of the man entirely. “You shouldn’t have come out of your room,” he said, his tone a dangerous mixture of frustration and concern.

The stranger chuckled softly behind him, the sound sending a shiver down Cassandra’s spine. “You haven’t told her anything, have you?”

“I said, stay out of this,” Dominic snapped, his voice turning ice.

Cassandra’s patience was wearing thin, her fear giving way to anger. “Stop treating me like a child, Dominic. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

The stranger’s smirk widened. “She’s braver than I thought. Maybe that’s why you're scared to tell her.”

Dominic’s hand slammed down on the desk, the sound reverberating through the room sending shivers down Cassandra's being. “Get out,” he growled, his eyes fixed on the stranger.

To her surprise, the man shrugged, entirely unfazed. “Suit yourself. But you can’t outrun the truth, Dominic. Not forever.” With that, he strode past Cassandra, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. “Be careful where you tread, Miss Moore. The Blackwoods’ shadows are long and merciless.”

He disappeared down the hall, his footsteps fading into the oppressive silence, his retreating body, nonchalant. Cassandra turned back to Dominic, her heart pounding. Her mind racing with a million terrible scenarios that could be his truth.

“What truth?” she demanded, her voice rising, her brows furrowed. “What is he talking about, Dominic? What does he mean by the curse?”

Dominic exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. For a long moment, he simply stared at her, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. Finally, he moved to the bar in the corner of the room, pouring himself a generous measure of whiskey.

“This isn’t a conversation I wanted to have,” he admitted, his back to her. “Not with you or anyone. Not now.”

“Well, too bad,” Cassandra shot back. “Because I’m not leaving this room until you tell me everything.”

He turned, his steel-gray eyes locking into her brown orbs. “Everything?” he repeated bitterly. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I know enough to realize there’s more going on than you’re letting on,” she countered. “You keep telling me to forget, that it's none of my business, to drop it, but how am I supposed to do that when I’m being dragged deeper into whatever this is?”

Dominic sighed and sank into one of the leather armchairs by the fireplace. “Sit.” He said, gesturing at the armchair across from him. Reluctantly, she obeyed, perching on the edge of the seat.

“You want to know the truth?” he asked, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Fine. Here’s what I can tell you: the Blackwoods are a mess. Always have been. My family has a long history of power struggles, betrayals, and tragedy. It’s the kind of dysfunction that makes people whisper behind your back and avoid you at parties.”

“That still doesn’t explain the curse,” Cassandra pressed.

He scoffed, downing the whiskey in one smooth motion. “The curse is just a convenient label. A tag people slapped on us because they couldn’t make sense of all the... misfortune.” he explained, unbothered.

“Misfortune?” she echoed.

Dominic’s gaze hardened, his jaw tightening. “Victoria, the woman in the portrait you were admiring, died under suspicious circumstances. My grandfather was murdered in his own study. My parents—” He broke off, trying not to let his emotions reach his voice. “Let’s just say their deaths wasn't natural, either. And those are just the reasons.”

Cassandra felt her stomach churn. “But... why? Why would anyone target your family?” she didn't understand why the rich had to suffer similar fate.

“Power,” Dominic said simply. “The Blackwoods have always been wealthy, influential and that kind of status, my dear, doesn’t come without enemies.”

“Then why call it a curse?” she asked.

“Because it’s easier to believe in it's from a supernatural force than to face the fact that we’ve been tearing ourselves apart from the inside for generations,” Dominic replied, his voice laced with bitterness and somewhat resentment.

Cassandra studied him, her mind racing. He was telling the truth, at least in part, but there was something he wasn’t saying. She could feel it, something hidden beneath his words.

“And you don’t believe in the curse at all?” she probed.

Dominic hesitated, his eyes flicking to the fire. “Belief doesn’t matter. The results are the same.”

“That’s not an answer,” she said softly, trying to keep him talking.

He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “No, it’s not.”

The weight of his evasiveness pressed down on her, but before she could push further, the sound of shattering glass echoed from somewhere downstairs. Both of them shot to their feet, Dominic’s face darkening with alarm.

“Stay here,” he ordered, moving toward the door.

“Like hell I will,” Cassandra retorted, following him despite his warnings.

They descended the grand staircase cautiously with Cassandra on her tiptoes, the air thick with tension. In the dim light, they found a window shattered, shards of glass glittering like ice on the polished floor.

Dominic crouched to examine the scene, his jaw tightening further as he picked up a small, folded piece of paper from the wreckage. He opened it, his eyes scanning the contents before crumpling it in his fist.

“What does it say?” Cassandra asked, stepping closer.

“It’s nothing,” he said steely, but the look in his eyes told a different story.

“Dominic,” she pressed, her voice firm.

He hesitated, then reluctantly handed her the paper. The message was written in a bold handwriting:

"You can’t escape the past, Blackwood. And neither can she."

Cassandra felt the blood drain from her face as she looked up at him. “What does this mean?”

“It means you were right,” Dominic said grimly. “You’ve been dragged into this. And now, there’s no way out.”

The distant sound of footsteps outside sent a chill down her spine. Instinctively, Dominic grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the staircase.

“We’re not safe here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We need to leave. Now.”

Cassandra barely had time to process his words before the front door creaked open, a shadowy figure stepping into the house. Dominic pulled her behind him, his body tense as he faced the intruder.

“Blackwood,” the figure said, his voice menacing. “You’ve run out of time.”

Cassandra’s breath caught as the figure stepped into the light, revealing a face that sent a jolt of recognition through her. It was the same man she met at the gala.

“Who are you?” she whispered, but deep down, she already knew the answer.

The stranger smiled coldly, their gaze fixed on Dominic. “I’m here to collect what’s owed.”