Chapter Five — The Contract
1867 Words
“If they force my hand, choose the girl.”
Amara couldn't stop staring at the sentence.
The words were written in Victor Blackwood's handwriting.
Not typed.
Not dictated.
Written.
Which meant he had personally chosen them.
She looked at Julian.
“Who are they?”
“I don't know.”
Amara almost laughed.
“Of course.”
Julian's expression remained serious.
“But I believe Mr. Blackwood expected someone to interfere with his estate.”
Damian picked up the document again.
“Why didn't you show me this before?”
“Because your father instructed me not to.”
“When?”
“After his death.”
Damian's eyes narrowed.
“What else did he instruct you to keep from me?”
Julian hesitated.
Amara noticed.
That hesitation told her more than his words could have.
“There is something else,” she said.
Julian looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Tell us.”
He opened another folder.
“Your marriage to Damian must be completed within fourteen days.”
Amara stared at him.
“Fourteen days?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the inheritance becomes subject to additional restrictions after that period.”
Damian frowned.
“What restrictions?”
Julian handed him another page.
“Your father's controlling shares will temporarily transfer to a board-appointed trustee.”
Damian's expression hardened.
“He planned this carefully.”
“Very carefully.”
Amara looked between them.
“What happens if we refuse?”
Julian answered.
“You both lose.”
Damian looked at him.
“Explain.”
“If Miss Vale refuses the marriage, she receives none of the inheritance.”
“And me?”
“You lose direct control of the company shares.”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“How much?”
“Thirty-two percent.”
Silence.
Amara understood enough about business to know that thirty-two percent was enormous.
“You're telling me my refusal could cost him control of his own company?”
Julian nodded.
“Correct.”
Damian turned away.
His shoulders were tense.
For the first time, Amara realized that this wasn't just about money.
This was his father's legacy.
The company Damian had spent his entire life preparing to inherit.
Victor had tied it to her.
Whether Damian liked it or not.
Amara looked down at the contract.
“Suppose I agree.”
Damian turned back.
She continued.
“What happens after we find out who killed Victor?”
“The condition ends.”
“And then?”
“You are free to divorce.”
Damian spoke before Julian could continue.
“Immediately.”
Amara looked at him.
“Don't worry.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I wasn't.”
“You looked worried.”
“I was making sure you understood the agreement.”
“Believe me, Damian. I have no intention of falling in love with you.”
Something shifted in his expression.
“Good.”
“Good.”
Neither looked away.
Julian quietly closed his folder.
“I'll leave you both to discuss the terms.”
“You're leaving?” Amara asked.
“I believe you need to decide whether you're willing to enter a marriage neither of you wants.”
He walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he turned.
“One piece of advice.”
Amara waited.
“Read everything.”
Then he left.
The door clicked shut.
Silence filled the room.
Amara looked at Damian.
“So.”
“So.”
“We're apparently getting married.”
“Apparently.”
“Are you always this enthusiastic?”
“No.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Damian sat across from her.
“Let's establish rules.”
Amara raised an eyebrow.
“Rules?”
“If we're going to do this, we're going to do it properly.”
She leaned back.
“Fine.”
“No interference in each other's private lives.”
“Agreed.”
“No unnecessary public displays.”
“Agreed.”
“No discussing the details of our marriage with the press.”
“Obviously.”
“No bringing strangers into the estate.”
Amara frowned.
“I have friends.”
“I didn't say you couldn't have friends.”
“You sounded like you were about to.”
“I said strangers.”
“Fine.”
He continued.
“And no investigating my family without telling me.”
Amara laughed.
“That one is impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because your family is the reason I'm in this situation.”
“Exactly.”
“You expect me to sit quietly while everyone lies to me?”
“No.”
“Then what do you expect?”
“I expect you to stay alive long enough to find the truth.”
Amara became quiet.
There was no sarcasm in his voice.
He meant it.
She looked away.
“Fine.”
“One more rule.”
“What?”
“No falling in love.”
Amara looked back at him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she smiled.
“That won't be difficult.”
Damian's eyes remained on hers.
“I hope not.”
Three hours later, Amara sat at her mother's kitchen table.
The contract lay between them.
Celine hadn't touched it.
She had barely looked at Amara since she'd arrived.
“I'm doing it,” Amara said.
Her mother closed her eyes.
“No.”
“I've already decided.”
“You don't understand what you're getting into.”
“I know enough.”
“You don't.”
“Then tell me.”
Celine's hands trembled.
“I can't.”
“Exactly.”
Amara pushed the contract toward her.
“I have two choices. Walk away and spend the rest of my life wondering why Victor chose me, or accept and find out.”
“You could die.”
Amara froze.
Celine looked at her.
For the first time, there was no attempt to hide the fear in her eyes.
“That's what you're not understanding,” she whispered. “This isn't about money.”
“Then what is it about?”
Celine stared at the contract.
“Victor knew they would come.”
“Who?”
“The people who were searching for his daughter.”
Amara's heart stopped.
“His daughter?”
Celine immediately looked away.
Amara stood.
“Mom.”
“I shouldn't have said that.”
“You said his daughter.”
“Forget it.”
“Who is she?”
“Amara.”
“Who is Victor's daughter?”
Celine's eyes filled with tears.
“I can't.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because if I tell you, there is no going back.”
Amara's voice became quiet.
“Maybe there shouldn't be.”
Celine looked at her daughter.
For several seconds, she seemed to consider telling her everything.
Then she shook her head.
“Don't marry Damian.”
Amara swallowed.
“Why?”
“Because if you enter that family, you won't be able to leave.”
Amara remembered the message from the unknown number.
THE BLACKWOODS DON'T LET THEIR WIVES LEAVE.
She hadn't told her mother about it.
Now she wondered if someone had sent it because they knew her mother would understand.
“I've already made my decision.”
Celine looked devastated.
“Then at least promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Never trust anyone who tells you they know the truth about your birth.”
Amara frowned.
“My birth?”
Celine stood abruptly.
“I have to go.”
“Mom.”
“I have something to do.”
“What?”
“Something I should have done twenty-four years ago.”
She walked away.
Amara followed her.
“Mom!”
Celine stopped at the doorway.
She didn't turn around.
“I'm sorry.”
Then she left.
Amara stood frozen.
Twenty-four years.
Again.
That number was following her everywhere.
That evening, Damian arrived with two lawyers.
Amara stared at them.
“Two?”
“One represents the estate.”
“And the other?”
“Me.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“Why do you need your own lawyer?”
“Because I'm not an idiot.”
Amara almost smiled.
“Fair.”
They sat at the dining table.
The lawyers explained the contract clause by clause.
Marriage.
Inheritance.
Public appearances.
Estate access.
Divorce restrictions.
Confidentiality.
Amara listened carefully.
Then she stopped them.
“This clause.”
The lawyer looked up.
“Which one?”
“Section twelve.”
She pointed.
“It says Damian receives control of the estate if I voluntarily leave the marriage after the investigation begins.”
“Yes.”
“And if he leaves?”
“Certain shares are frozen.”
Amara looked at Damian.
“So my leaving hurts you.”
“Yes.”
“Your leaving hurts you too.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“That means neither of us can simply walk away.”
“Correct.”
She looked at the lawyers.
“Then why does this feel like a trap?”
Nobody answered.
Damian did.
“Because it is.”
Amara looked at him.
He leaned back.
“My father built this entire arrangement so we would have no choice but to stay together.”
“For how long?”
“Until we find out who killed him.”
Amara studied him.
“And if the person responsible is someone in your family?”
Damian's expression darkened.
“Then we expose them.”
“What if it's someone you love?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then:
“Then I expose them anyway.”
Something in his voice made Amara believe him.
She picked up the pen.
Her hand hovered over the contract.
She thought about her mother.
The photograph.
The threatening messages.
Victor's handwriting.
The mysterious daughter.
Then she thought about the five hundred million dollars.
Not because she wanted it.
Because money could buy access.
Records.
Lawyers.
Investigators.
Answers.
If Victor had created this trap to force her into the Blackwood family, then perhaps the only way out was to walk directly into it.
She signed.
Damian watched the pen move across the page.
Then he signed his own name.
The lawyer collected the documents.
“Congratulations.”
Amara looked at Damian.
Neither smiled.
“Don't call it that,” she said.
The lawyer left.
Damian stood.
“So that's it.”
Amara looked at the signed contract.
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
She folded the document.
“That's the beginning.”
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Another message.
She opened it.
This time, there were no words.
Only a photograph.
Amara stared at it.
Her face went pale.
It was an old hospital photograph.
A newborn baby wrapped in white.
A woman stood beside the bed.
Celine.
And written beneath the photograph were four words:
SHE WASN'T YOUR MOTHER.
Amara stopped breathing.
Damian saw her expression.
“What is it?”
She slowly turned the phone toward him.
He looked at the photograph.
Then at Amara.
And for the first time since they'd met, Damian looked genuinely afraid.
Because he recognized the hospital.
It was the Blackwood family hospital.
And the photograph was dated exactly twenty-four years ago.
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