October 17th
1348 Words
Damien didn’t answer.
He stared at the photograph in my hand. I had never seen him look like that.
Not angry.
Not cold.
Not calculating.
Afraid.
“What happened?” I asked again.
His jaw tightened. “Where did you find that?”
“In your archives.”
“You shouldn’t have been there.”
“Stop saying that.” I stepped toward him.
“My father died that night.”
“I know.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“You knew? You knew all along who I was?” My eyes welled up, but I had been trying so hard not to lose my s**t right now. “You knew all along?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Silence erupted yet again,
“Damien.”
He looked at me.
“Your father was supposed to meet me that night.”
My breath caught.
“Why?”
“Because he had discovered something.”
“What?”
He looked away, and his eyes lingered on one of the computers I left open. “Northstar.”
Everything inside me went still.
“What did he discover?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
His voice was quiet. “I expect you to understand that there are things I still don’t know either.”
I stared at him. “Then why have you been investigating my family?”
His eyes met mine. “Because your father’s death wasn’t an accident.”
My heart stopped.
“I know.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“You don’t.” I swallowed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the person who killed your father wanted you to believe it was connected to me.”
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was the easiest person to blame.”
“Maybe because you were responsible.”
His expression hardened.
“I wasn’t.”
“How do I know?”
“You don’t.”
He took another step.
“That’s the problem.”
We stood inches apart. I hated how aware I was of him, the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne. I forced myself to look away. “What happened to my father?”
Damien’s voice softened. “He called me that night.”
I looked back at him.
“What did he say?”
“He told me someone was following him.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what happened?”
“I told him to come to my office.”
He paused. “He never made it.”
My throat tightened. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because by the time I found out he was dead, the police had already decided it was an accident.”
“You could have told me.”
“You were twenty-four.”
“I deserved the truth.”
“Yes.” His voice broke slightly.
It was the first c***k I’d heard.
“I should have told you.”
I stared at him.
For a moment, the billionaire disappeared.
There was only a man standing in front of me who had been carrying a secret for years.
I hated that I suddenly felt sorry for him. I flinched when I heard my phone buzzing.
Both of us looked down. His face was puzzled when he saw me turn blue as soon as I unlocked my phone, I didn't want to tell him anything, so I kept quiet. Another message.
Unknown: You’re running out of time.
Then another.
Unknown: Leave Blackwood before he gets you killed.
Damien saw the screen.
His expression changed instantly.
“Who’s that?”
I locked the phone.
“No one.”
“Seraphina.”
“Drop it.”
“Who’s been messaging you?”
“Why do you care?”
His eyes darkened. “Because someone is threatening you.”
“I’m capable of handling myself.”
“I know.”
He stepped closer. “That’s not the point.”
“What is?”
His gaze held mine. “You.”
My heart stumbled.
“What?”
He looked away. “Nothing.”
I almost laughed.
“You really don’t know how to communicate.”
“Neither do you.”
“At least I don’t pretend I don’t care.”
His eyes snapped back to mine.
The silence that followed was different.
He moved closer. I didn’t move.
Neither of us did. His hand lifted.
For a second, I thought he was going to touch my face.
Instead, he stopped.
His fingers hovered beside my cheek.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“So are you.”
“I know.”
His gaze dropped to my lips.
This time, neither of us pretended not to notice.
He leaned closer.
My breath caught.
The space between us disappeared.
Then his phone rang.
Damien closed his eyes.
I stepped back.
He answered his phone. “What?”
His expression changed.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
I froze.
He looked at me. “Stay here.”
“Who was it and what happened?”
He didn’t answer.
He was already walking toward the door.
I followed. “Damien, what’s happening?”
He turned. “My security team lost someone.”
“Who?”
His face was suddenly cold again.
“One of my employees.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
Then said a name.
“Chloe.”
............
We found her car abandoned three blocks from the tower; the driver’s door was open.
Her phone lay shattered on the pavement.
Damien crouched beside it.
I stood behind him, my heart pounding.
“Is she gonna be fine? who would do this?” I was pacing back and forth, "Why would anyone do this to her?" I looked at him, "Is she related to one of your shenanigans? Did you do this to her?”
“We don’t know.”
He stood.
“You’re going back to my penthouse.”
“What?”
“No.”
“I’m not asking.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
His eyes flashed.
“Someone has been following you.”
“And?”
“And now Chloe is missing.”
“You think they’re connected?”
“I know they are.”
“How?”
He looked at me.
“Because the last person Chloe called was you.”
I went cold.
“What?”
He pulled out his phone.
There was a call log.
My number.
Two minutes before, she disappeared.
I stared at it.
“I didn’t get a call.”
“I know.”
He stepped closer.
“That’s what worries me.”
My phone buzzed.
A message appeared.
Unknown: You should have listened.
Then another.
Unknown: He can’t protect you.
I looked up at Damien.
He had seen them.
His face hardened.
“Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever is doing this has access to it.”
“I can handle—”
“Seraphina.”
His voice was low.
Dangerously calm.
“Give me the phone.” I hesitated but I handed it over.
His fingers closed around mine for a second.
Neither of us spoke, then he looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He turned the phone toward me.
The final message had just arrived.
Unknown: Ask Damien who killed your father.
My blood ran cold.
Damien stared at the screen.
Then at me.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the stranger had been right all along.
Maybe Damien wasn’t protecting me.
Maybe he was protecting himself.
But as he reached for my hand and pulled me toward the car, one thing became painfully clear.
Whatever happened next, I was no longer investigating Damien Blackwood from the outside. I was standing directly in the middle of his war. And someone wanted me dead because of it.
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