A Contract Written In Hate

The Night Everything Changed

A CONTRACT WRITTEN IN HATE

Chapter Two: The Night Everything Changed

SERENA VALE

I stared at the photograph on my phone.

My father stood outside the Cross family estate, his expression grim. Beside him was a younger Damian Cross.

The date beneath the photograph made my stomach twist.

It was the night my father died.

For years, I'd believed he had died in a car accident. Now I had proof that Damian had seen him that night—and had said nothing.

I turned around and marched back into his office.

When I entered, Damian ended a phone call and looked at me.

“You forgot something,” he said.

I held up my phone.

“Did I?”

His gaze fell on the photograph. For the first time, his composure slipped.

“Where did you get that?”

“Someone sent it to me. Now tell me why you were with my father on the night he died.”

He studied me before answering.

“Your father came to our estate to meet my father.”

“About what?”

“Business.”

“That isn't an answer!”

“It's the only one I can give you right now.”

I stepped closer to his desk.

“You knew I was investigating the Vale Foundation. You knew my father was connected to it. Yet you let me sign a marriage contract without telling me you'd met him.”

“Your father specifically asked me to stay away from you.”

I froze.

“Why?”

“You were fourteen. He said that if anything happened to him, I was never to involve you in his affairs.”

A bitter laugh escaped me.

“He was my father, Damian. He taught me to draw buildings, brought home terrible pastries every Friday, and made me believe everything would eventually be all right. Don't stand there talking about his secret affairs as though I never knew him.”

Something shifted in Damian's expression.

“I never said you didn't know him.”

“Then tell me what happened that night.”

He looked away.

It was the first time I'd seen him struggle to meet my eyes.

“I knew your father was in danger,” he admitted. “But I was young, and I didn't understand what was happening until it was too late.”

My heart pounded.

“Too late for what?”

He said nothing.

I picked up my phone.

“You want my father's records, but you refuse to tell me what happened to him. That arrangement isn't going to work.”

“And what do you suggest?”

“Honesty. If you expect me to cooperate, stop treating me like an inconvenience whenever I ask questions.”

His gaze held mine.

“If I wanted to destroy your family, Serena, I wouldn't have offered to save it.”

“Perhaps you're trying to save it for your own reasons.”

“Perhaps.”

His answer left me more unsettled than a denial would have.

I headed for the door.

“Stay away from the person sending you those messages,” he warned.

I turned.

“Why?”

“They know where you live. They know about your brother. And they know exactly which photograph would bring you back here.”

A chill crept down my spine.

“Should I suspect you too?”

“You should suspect everyone until you know the truth.”

I left without another word.

---

Noah was sitting on the sofa when I returned home, pretending to watch television.

He took one look at me and frowned.

“You look terrible.”

“Thank you. That's exactly what every sister wants to hear.”

He almost smiled.

Then he noticed the folder in my hand.

“What's that?”

I sat beside him and explained the marriage agreement, including Damian's promise to arrange legal help for him.

Noah stared at me in disbelief.

“You married him?”

“Technically.”

“Serena, you've known him for barely two days!”

“I know.”

“What if he's dangerous?”

I thought about the photograph and Damian's unwillingness to explain it.

“He might be.”

“Then why agree?”

“Because I won't let you face this alone.”

Noah lowered his eyes.

“Dad hated the Cross family.”

I turned sharply.

“What did you say?”

“I remember him arguing with someone on the phone a few weeks before he died. He kept talking about a promise. Then he said, 'You told me my children would never be involved.'”

My heart began to race.

“Did he mention a name?”

Noah shook his head.

I had spent years believing my father's death was a terrible accident. Now, every new piece of information suggested that something had happened long before that night.

I squeezed Noah's hand.

“Don't tell anyone about this conversation yet.”

He nodded, but worry remained in his eyes.

“Promise me you'll be careful.”

“I promise.”

For once, I hoped I could keep it.

---

At 10:36 p.m., Damian called.

“Have you received any more messages?” he asked.

“No. Why?”

“I wanted to make sure you're safe. The driver will collect you at nine tomorrow morning. You'll be moving into my house.”

I closed my eyes.

“Of course I am.”

“The public announcement will be made tomorrow afternoon. We need to prepare for the attention our marriage will attract.”

“I have a job, Damian.”

“I understand. And I should have discussed the arrangements with you before contacting your employer about leave.”

His unexpected apology caught me off guard.

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

“No. It's supposed to acknowledge that I was wrong.”

For a moment, I had no response.

Then he said, “Bring your father's sketchbook tomorrow.”

My brief surprise disappeared.

“How do you know about that?”

“Your father told me about it the night he died. He said it must never fall into the wrong hands.”

I glanced toward my bedroom drawer.

The sketchbook had remained there for years, filled with architectural drawings and notes I had never properly examined.

“Why do you need it?”

“Because I believe it contains information about what happened to him.”

“And you expect me to hand it over?”

“I expect you to bring it. You can keep possession of it.”

“No. You've already kept too many secrets from me.”

“Serena—”

“Tell me one thing. Did you know my father was going to die that night?”

Silence filled the line.

When Damian finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“I knew he was in danger. I didn't know he would die.”

I swallowed hard.

“That's not enough.”

“I know.”

I ended the call before he could say anything else.

Then I went to my bedroom and retrieved the sketchbook.

Its worn leather cover brought back memories of my father sitting beside me, showing me how to turn simple drawings into buildings.

I opened it carefully.

Most pages contained architectural plans and handwritten notes. But near the back, I discovered a folded piece of paper I had never seen before.

My full name was written across it.

Serena Elizabeth Vale.

Inside was a single sentence.

If Damian Cross ever comes looking for this, do not trust him until you know what his father did.

I read it twice.

My father had left me a warning about the very man I had just married.

Beneath the sentence were four numbers:

17 — 04 — 09

And below them, three more words.

Ask the second witness.

I turned the paper over, searching for an explanation.

There was nothing.

My phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

He told you about the danger, didn't he?

Another message appeared.

Ask him why he survived that night when your father didn't.

My hands went cold.

Then came a final warning.

Don't take the sketchbook to the Cross estate.

I looked from the message to the book in my hands.

Tomorrow, I was supposed to move into Damian's home and begin a new life as his wife.

But someone knew about the sketchbook. Someone knew about my father's warning. And someone was watching closely enough to know what Damian had asked me to bring.

I slipped the note back between the pages and closed the book.

I had agreed to spend one year married to a man I didn't trust.

Now I had to decide whether living under his roof would bring me closer to the truth—or place me directly in the path of whoever wanted it buried.

One question haunted me more than all the others.

If Damian Cross had known my father was in danger, what had he done to survive that night?

And why was someone so desperate to make sure I never found out?

END OF CHAPTER TWO