Chapter Five: The Key Under the Caviar
585 Words
The mansion was quiet when they arrived—too quiet.
Aria stepped out of the town car and gawked. The Blackwood estate wasn’t just a house. It was a statement. Every inch whispered old money, new power, and secrets sealed behind locked doors.
“Do you live here alone?” she asked as Damien walked ahead, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat.
“For now,” he replied without turning.
That wasn’t cryptic at all.
Inside, the air smelled like pine and polish. White walls, marble floors, minimalist art. It was cold—not just temperature-wise, but soul-wise. The kind of place where voices echoed and no one ever raised one.
A woman in all black stepped out from a hallway.
“Welcome back, Mr. Blackwood,” she said in a crisp British accent. Then her gaze flicked to Aria. “And… guest?”
“Wife,” Damien corrected.
Aria lifted her hand, flashing the ring. “Surprise.”
The woman did not look surprised.
“I’m Miriam,” she said, offering a nod. “House manager. Let me show you to your room.”
“Room?” Aria repeated. “Singular?”
Damien didn’t flinch. “Of course. We’re married.”
Oh, good. A sleepover with the emotionally unavailable cryptic billionaire. What could possibly go wrong?
The room was huge. Bigger than her entire apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Four-poster bed. A walk-in closet that could house a small country.
Miriam left her with a bottle of water and something that looked suspiciously like caviar.
Aria flopped onto the bed and groaned into a pillow.
What. Was. Her. Life.
She still had lectures to attend. Finals to study for. And now she was playing rich-girl-dress-up in a mansion with a man who paid her not to ask questions.
But she wanted to ask so many questions.
Like—why her? Why now? What was Damien hiding behind those calm, dark eyes?
She got up and wandered. Curiosity itched beneath her skin.
The room had a desk. Sleek. Bare. Except for a drawer that rattled when she tried it.
Locked.
Of course.
She pulled back, but then noticed something odd—one of the caviar tins on the snack tray wasn’t sealed like the others. It wobbled when she touched it.
Aria opened it.
No fish eggs inside.
Just… a tiny key.
What the—
She took it to the drawer.
Click.
Inside: a black-and-white photo of a young boy and a woman with sharp cheekbones—his mother?—and a letter folded so neatly it looked untouched.
She hesitated… then unfolded it.
Damien,
If you’re reading this, it means it’s finally happened.
Keep your secrets buried. Keep them quiet. And whatever you do, never let them find her.
—M
Her blood ran cold.
Her? Who was her?
Behind her, the door creaked open.
Aria jumped, slamming the drawer shut just as Damien stepped into the room.
His eyes scanned her face. “Everything alright?”
She forced a smile. “Just… getting settled.”
He nodded slowly, like he didn’t quite believe her.
“Dinner’s in an hour,” he said, voice low. “Don’t dress too formally.”
Then he was gone again, just like that.
Aria sat back down on the bed, her fingers still trembling from what she read.
Who was the letter about?
What secrets was she tangled in?
And… did Damien know she'd found the key?
Outside the window, clouds were rolling in. Storms, literal and otherwise.
- Writer
