Chapter Four — The Price of Refusal
1840 Words
Amara didn't sleep.
She sat on the edge of her bed until three in the morning, staring at the photograph on her nightstand.
Victor Blackwood.
Her mother.
A baby.
Twenty-four years ago.
She had spent her entire life believing her mother had been an ordinary woman who had worked hard, raised her alone, and wanted nothing from wealthy people.
Now she knew that was a lie.
A carefully constructed lie.
And the worst part was that Amara didn't know where the lie ended.
Her phone sat beside her.
Three missed calls from Damian.
One message.
We need to talk before you make a decision.
She had ignored him.
She wasn't ready to hear another Blackwood explanation.
At six in the morning, she finally called her mother.
Celine answered.
Neither woman spoke.
“Mom,” Amara said.
“I know.”
“You know what?”
“That you found the photograph.”
Amara closed her eyes.
“So you knew it existed.”
“Yes.”
“Where did it come from?”
Celine's voice was tired.
“I don't know.”
“You were in the photograph.”
“I know.”
“You were holding a baby.”
“I know.”
“Whose baby?”
Silence.
Amara's hands tightened around the phone.
“Mom.”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised.”
“To Victor?”
Celine didn't answer.
That was enough.
Amara stood.
“You promised Victor Blackwood you wouldn't tell me the truth about my own life?”
“I promised to keep you safe.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Amara—”
“Every time I ask a question, you tell me you're protecting me. I'm twenty-four years old. I deserve to know what you're protecting me from.”
Celine began to cry quietly.
“I wanted you to have a normal life.”
“I don't have a normal life anymore.”
“I know.”
“I have a billionaire's son asking me to marry him because his dead father put it in his will.”
“I know.”
“Someone is leaving threats outside my door.”
“I know.”
“And you still won't tell me why.”
Celine's breathing shook.
“There are people who would do anything to make sure that secret stays buried.”
“What secret?”
“I can't.”
“Then I'll find it myself.”
“Amara, don't.”
“I have seventy-two hours to decide whether to marry Damian Blackwood.”
Celine went silent.
Amara continued.
“If I say yes, I get the inheritance.”
“Don't take the money.”
“Why?”
“Because nothing Victor gave you was free.”
Amara stared at the photograph.
“What did he want from me?”
Celine whispered,
“The truth.”
The call ended.
Amara stood completely still.
The truth.
That was the first honest answer her mother had given her.
And somehow, it scared her more than all the lies.
At nine that morning, Damian arrived.
He didn't knock twice.
He knocked once.
Then waited.
Amara opened the door.
He looked different without the expensive office around him.
Still intimidating.
Still perfectly dressed.
But there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
“You didn't sleep,” he said.
“Neither did you.”
“I had things to investigate.”
“Of course you did.”
His eyes moved past her.
“Can I come in?”
Amara hesitated.
Then stepped aside.
Damian entered.
He looked around the apartment.
His eyes paused on the photograph.
“You called your mother.”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That she knew my father.”
Damian's expression didn't change.
“She worked for him.”
“I know.”
“She knows what happened twenty-four years ago.”
“I know that too.”
Damian looked at her.
“And?”
“She won't tell me.”
He nodded slowly.
“Mine won't either.”
Amara frowned.
“Mine?”
“My family.”
“Your family knows?”
“Some of them.”
“Who?”
“I don't know yet.”
She laughed without humor.
“You people really love that answer.”
Damian ignored it.
He placed a folder on the table.
“I found something.”
Amara sat.
“What?”
“Financial records from twenty-four years ago.”
He opened the folder.
Several pages were covered with numbers, company names and account transfers.
Amara leaned closer.
“What am I looking at?”
“Blackwood Group's internal accounts.”
“That's a lot of numbers.”
“You understand financial records?”
“My mother taught me.”
Damian looked at her.
“Your mother?”
“She used to handle accounts for small businesses.”
He pushed a page toward her.
“Look at these transfers.”
Amara studied the numbers.
Several payments had been made to companies she didn't recognize.
“Shell companies?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“They disappeared after receiving the money.”
Amara traced the dates with her finger.
“Twenty-four years ago.”
Damian nodded.
“My father discovered something.”
“Fraud.”
“Possibly.”
“Was someone stealing from him?”
“Millions.”
Amara looked up.
“Did he report it?”
“That's the strange part.”
“He didn't?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
She stared at the documents.
Then something caught her attention.
“This company.”
Damian looked where she pointed.
“What about it?”
“The account number.”
He frowned.
“What about it?”
Amara grabbed a pen.
“The final four digits repeat.”
Damian leaned closer.
She circled several entries.
“Look. Same receiving account, different company names.”
He stared at the page.
“You're right.”
“And here.”
She pointed to another transfer.
“Same pattern.”
Damian was silent.
Amara looked at him.
“Someone created multiple companies to move money through the same account.”
“Yes.”
“And your father knew.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he keep it secret?”
Damian didn't answer.
Amara leaned back.
“Maybe he was investigating.”
“He was.”
“How do you know?”
“Because three weeks before his death, he asked his security team to recover several old files.”
“What files?”
“Anything related to your mother.”
Amara's stomach tightened.
“Why?”
Damian looked at her.
“That is what I'm trying to find out.”
His phone rang.
Damian answered.
“Cross.”
Julian's voice came through.
“I need to see you.”
“About what?”
“Your father's estate.”
Damian glanced at Amara.
“I'm listening.”
“There is a problem with the will.”
“What kind of problem?”
“I'd rather explain in person.”
Damian's expression hardened.
“I'm coming.”
He ended the call.
Amara stood.
“What happened?”
“Julian found something.”
“I'm coming with you.”
“No.”
She stared at him.
“No?”
“This concerns my family.”
“It concerns me too.”
“That's exactly why you shouldn't get involved.”
Amara stepped closer.
“Let me make something clear.”
Damian waited.
“If Victor Blackwood left me five hundred million dollars, then I am already involved.”
She picked up the photograph.
“And if my mother is connected to whatever happened twenty-four years ago, then I'm involved in that too.”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“You don't know what you're walking into.”
“Neither do you.”
“That doesn't mean you should follow me.”
“I'm not following you.”
She picked up her coat.
“I'm going with you.”
For several seconds, they stared at each other.
Then Damian sighed.
“Fine.”
They walked toward the door.
Amara stopped.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“If I agree to this marriage, there will be rules.”
Damian raised an eyebrow.
“Rules?”
“Yes.”
“Such as?”
“No controlling where I go.”
“That's unreasonable.”
“No reading my messages.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“No deciding what I can or cannot investigate.”
“That one is going to be difficult.”
“And no pretending this is a real marriage.”
His expression became unreadable.
“Agreed.”
Amara opened the door.
“Good.”
Damian walked past her.
Then stopped.
“What about sleeping arrangements?”
Amara stared at him.
“I'll take the bedroom.”
He almost smiled.
“Of course.”
“And you can sleep wherever billionaires sleep when their fathers force them into marriage.”
“Probably somewhere expensive.”
Despite herself, Amara smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
Because she remembered why they were doing this.
They weren't a couple.
They weren't in love.
They were two strangers trapped inside a dead man's plan.
At Blackwood Group, Julian was waiting.
His expression was unusually tense.
He placed a document on the table.
“This was found in your father's private archive.”
Damian looked down.
“What is it?”
“The original estate instruction.”
Amara's heart skipped.
“Original?”
Julian nodded.
“The document your father prepared before the final will.”
Damian picked it up.
He read the first page.
Then the second.
His expression changed.
Amara watched him carefully.
“What does it say?”
Damian didn't answer.
“Damian.”
He finally looked at her.
“This isn't the first version of my father's will.”
Julian shook his head.
“No.”
Amara's pulse quickened.
“Then what did the first one say?”
Julian looked directly at her.
“Miss Vale…”
He paused.
“Your name wasn't in it.”
Silence.
Amara felt the floor disappear beneath her.
“Then why am I in the final will?”
Julian's face was grim.
“That's what we need to find out.”
He turned the document around.
At the bottom was Victor Blackwood's signature.
And beneath it, handwritten in black ink, were seven words:
If they force my hand, choose the girl.
Amara stared at the sentence.
“Who are they?”
Nobody answered.
Then Damian noticed something else.
The document was dated six months before Victor's death.
He looked at Julian.
“My father knew someone would interfere with his will.”
Julian nodded.
“Yes.”
Amara slowly looked at the words again.
Choose the girl.
A terrible thought entered her mind.
Victor hadn't chosen her because of the money.
He had chosen her because someone had tried to stop him.
And whatever they were afraid she would discover…
had already begun.
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