Chapter Nine — The Intruder
1604 Words
The door handle turned again.
Slowly.
Amara couldn't move.
The room was completely dark.
Her phone was still in her hand, the last message glowing faintly on the screen.
NOW ASK YOUR MOTHER WHY.
The handle stopped.
Amara held her breath.
Then came a soft knock.
Three times.
She stepped backward.
“Who is it?”
No answer.
Another knock.
Three times.
Amara's pulse hammered.
She reached for the lamp beside her bed.
Nothing.
The power was still out.
She grabbed her phone and switched on the flashlight.
The beam landed on the bedroom door.
Nothing.
Then the handle moved.
Amara backed away.
“Damian?”
Silence.
She looked toward the adjoining bathroom.
There was nowhere else to go.
The handle turned again.
This time, the door opened.
A figure stepped inside.
Amara raised the phone.
“Don't come any closer!”
The figure stopped.
“Amara.”
She recognized the voice.
Damian.
She exhaled sharply.
“What are you doing?”
“I heard you.”
“You scared me.”
“I know.”
He stepped inside and closed the door.
The hallway behind him was dark.
“Power outage?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Convenient.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What happened?”
Amara held up her phone.
“Someone sent me another message.”
He read it.
His expression hardened.
“Whoever this is knows about the bracelet.”
Amara looked down at her wrist.
She wasn't wearing it now.
The bracelet was still in her bag.
“I didn't tell anyone.”
“I know.”
“Then how do they know?”
Damian looked around the room.
“Did anyone come in here before the lights went out?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He walked toward the window.
The curtains were closed.
He pulled them aside.
The window was locked.
“Nothing.”
Amara frowned.
“Then why did the lights go out?”
Damian checked his phone.
“The estate's main breaker was switched off manually.”
“By who?”
“Security is checking.”
Amara stared at him.
“Someone inside the house?”
“Possibly.”
That answer frightened her more than she wanted to admit.
Damian noticed.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“My room.”
She looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Your room isn't secure.”
“And yours is?”
“Yes.”
“That's convenient.”
He gave her a look.
“Amara.”
She grabbed her bag.
“Fine.”
They walked through the dark hallway.
Emergency lights had begun flickering on downstairs.
The estate's security team moved through the corridors.
Damian kept one hand near Amara's back.
Protective.
Possessive.
She noticed.
“You don't have to keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Protecting me.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
He looked at her.
“Because someone is trying to frighten you.”
“Maybe they're trying to tell me something.”
“By threatening you?”
“Sometimes people don't know how else to make themselves heard.”
“That's a dangerous way to think.”
“So is marrying a stranger because his dead father ordered it.”
His mouth tightened.
“You're enjoying this.”
“Not even slightly.”
They reached his bedroom.
Damian opened the door.
Amara stepped inside.
His room was exactly what she expected.
Minimal.
Dark.
Orderly.
No unnecessary decoration.
She looked around.
“You really do live like a hotel.”
“It's efficient.”
“It's depressing.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled despite herself.
For a moment, the tension eased.
Then Damian's phone rang.
He answered.
“Yes.”
He listened.
His expression changed.
“Where?”
A pause.
“Don't touch anything.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Amara asked.
“Security found someone near the archive.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Who?”
“They don't know.”
“Then let's go.”
“No.”
“Damian—”
“You stay here.”
“I'm not staying here while someone is inside your house.”
“You're not going anywhere.”
“I'm your wife, not your prisoner.”
His eyes darkened.
“Tonight, those might be the same thing.”
The archive corridor was crowded with security.
Damian pushed through them.
Amara followed despite his warning.
The door stood open.
The lock had been broken.
Damian stared at it.
“That wasn't like this before.”
“No,” Amara said.
A security officer approached.
“Sir, we found the door open.”
“Anyone inside?”
“No.”
“Cameras?”
“Disabled for approximately six minutes.”
Damian's expression hardened.
“Six minutes?”
“Yes.”
“That's enough.”
Amara stepped inside.
Dust covered the floor.
Old shelves lined the walls.
Documents had been scattered everywhere.
Someone had searched the room.
Not randomly.
Carefully.
Files had been opened.
Drawers emptied.
Boxes moved.
Amara noticed something on the floor.
A photograph.
She bent down.
Damian stopped her.
“Don't.”
She pointed.
“That's my mother.”
He looked.
The photograph showed Celine standing outside a hospital.
The date was visible.
October 14, 2002.
The same day as the photograph of the baby.
Amara picked it up carefully.
“What was she doing here?”
Damian stared at the photograph.
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don't.”
She turned it over.
Nothing.
Then she noticed writing in the bottom corner.
A name.
ELENA.
Amara's heart skipped.
“Who's Elena?”
Damian looked at the word.
He went completely still.
“Damian?”
He didn't answer.
“Who is Elena?”
He finally looked at her.
“My father's missing daughter.”
Amara's fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Her name was Elena?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did my mother have a photograph from the day she disappeared?”
“I don't know.”
Amara laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
She walked deeper into the archive.
“Amara.”
She ignored him.
A drawer had been left open.
Inside were folders.
One folder had a handwritten label.
E. BLACKWOOD
Amara reached for it.
Damian caught her wrist.
“Don't.”
“Why?”
“Because we don't know what's inside.”
“That's exactly why I want to see it.”
He released her.
She opened the folder.
Empty.
Every page had been removed.
Someone had gotten there first.
Except for one small piece of paper.
Amara picked it up.
It contained only a sentence.
THE CHILD WAS MOVED BEFORE VICTOR COULD FIND HER.
She looked at Damian.
“Moved where?”
“I don't know.”
“By whom?”
“No idea.”
“Then what do you know?”
He took the paper from her.
“That someone has been here recently.”
Amara looked around.
“Someone who knew exactly what to look for.”
“Yes.”
“Someone who knew about Elena.”
“Yes.”
“Someone who knows about my mother.”
“Yes.”
“And someone who knows about me.”
Damian's eyes met hers.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Amara noticed something else.
A small metal box beneath the desk.
She crouched.
“What is that?”
Damian looked.
“Don't touch it.”
She stared at him.
“Do you have any other sentence?”
He moved the box into the light.
There was no lock.
Only a small indentation on top.
A symbol.
The same black circle with the letter V.
Victor's mark.
Damian slowly opened it.
Inside was a single key.
And a folded piece of paper.
He unfolded it.
His face changed.
“What?”
He handed it to Amara.
There were only six words.
SHE CAME BACK FOR HER DAUGHTER.
Amara's stomach dropped.
“Who came back?”
Damian didn't answer.
“Damian.”
He looked at the date written beneath the sentence.
October 14, 2002.
The same date.
The same day.
The day Elena disappeared.
The day Celine was photographed outside the hospital.
Amara looked at him.
“You said my mother was involved.”
“I said my father believed she was.”
“But this says she came back for her daughter.”
Damian stared at the paper.
“We need to find Celine.”
Amara immediately called her mother.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a woman's voice whispered,
“Amara?”
She froze.
“Who is this?”
The woman sounded terrified.
“Listen carefully.”
“Who are you?”
“You must leave the Blackwood house.”
“Why?”
“Because they know you've found the photograph.”
Amara's eyes moved toward Damian.
“Who knows?”
The woman took a shaky breath.
“The person who killed Victor.”
Amara's blood ran cold.
“Victor was murdered?”
The line went silent.
Then the woman whispered:
“Yes.”
A sharp sound came from the other end.
Like a door opening.
The woman gasped.
“Amara—”
The call disconnected.
Amara stared at her phone.
Damian's face had gone completely still.
“What did she say?”
Amara looked at him.
“She said your father was murdered.”
Neither of them moved.
Then, from somewhere inside the Blackwood estate, came the sound of a gunshot.
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