Chapter Eleven — The Phone Call
1795 Words
“Ask her who the father is.”
Amara read the words again.
Then again.
Her hands had stopped shaking, but her mind hadn't.
Across the table, Damian watched her carefully.
“Amara.”
She looked up.
“What?”
“You don't have to do this tonight.”
“Yes, I do.”
“She just told you the photograph isn't what you think.”
“And then she disappeared.”
“She may be trying to protect you.”
“That's what she has always said.”
Amara looked at the photograph.
“But protecting me has meant lying to me my entire life.”
Damian didn't respond.
She picked up her phone.
“I need to find her.”
“I'll send security.”
“No.”
“Amara.”
“I don't want ten men following me.”
“I wasn't asking.”
She looked at him.
“You're very controlling.”
“I've been told.”
“By me.”
“Repeatedly.”
Despite everything, a faint smile touched her lips.
It disappeared quickly.
“I need to speak to my mother alone.”
Damian studied her.
“Fine.”
Amara stood.
“But you're not going alone.”
She turned.
“I thought you just agreed.”
“I agreed to let you speak to her alone.”
He picked up his jacket.
“I'm still coming with you.”
She sighed.
“Of course you are.”
Celine's house was forty minutes away.
The streets were quiet.
Amara sat in the passenger seat while Damian drove.
Neither spoke for most of the journey.
The photograph lay inside Amara's bag.
She kept touching it.
As though checking it was still there.
Finally, Damian broke the silence.
“Your father.”
Amara looked at him.
“What about him?”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“My mother said he left.”
“Before you were born?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever see a photograph?”
“No.”
“Did she ever give you a name?”
“No.”
“Then why didn't you question it?”
Amara looked out the window.
“When you're a child, you believe whatever your mother tells you.”
“And now?”
“Now I know she was afraid.”
Damian tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“Of your father?”
“I don't know.”
“Maybe Victor knew him.”
Amara turned toward him.
“You think my father was connected to your family?”
“I think too many things from twenty-four years ago are connected.”
The words settled between them.
Then Amara's phone rang.
Celine.
She answered immediately.
“Mom?”
“Where are you?”
Amara sat upright.
“On my way to your house.”
“No.”
Her mother's voice was tense.
“Don't come here.”
“Why?”
“Because someone has been here.”
Amara's heart stopped.
“What?”
“I came home and found the back door open.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“I left.”
“Where?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Mom, please.”
Silence.
Then Celine whispered,
“Did you find the photograph?”
Amara looked at Damian.
“Yes.”
Her mother's breathing changed.
“Then you know.”
“I know you were with Victor.”
“No.”
Amara frowned.
“What?”
“I wasn't with Victor because of him.”
“Then why?”
“Because of you.”
The line went silent.
Amara's heart began pounding.
“What does that mean?”
“I should have told you years ago.”
“Told me what?”
Celine took a shaky breath.
“Your father didn't leave me.”
Amara froze.
“What?”
“He was never supposed to be part of your life.”
“Mom, who was he?”
“I can't say.”
“Why?”
“Because the people who wanted him dead are still alive.”
Amara's blood ran cold.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
“Was it Victor?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Amara noticed.
“Then who?”
Celine hesitated.
“Your father was connected to the Blackwoods.”
Damian looked at her sharply.
Amara's pulse raced.
“How?”
“I can't explain over the phone.”
“Then meet me.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because they know you're asking questions.”
“Who?”
Celine's voice dropped to a whisper.
“The same people who took Elena.”
The line went dead.
Amara stared at her phone.
Damian looked at her.
“What did she say?”
Amara swallowed.
“She said my father was connected to your family.”
Damian's face hardened.
“Did she give you a name?”
“No.”
“She mentioned Elena?”
“Yes.”
He looked ahead.
“We need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
They returned to the estate.
By the time they arrived, Damian had already called security.
Three guards waited near the entrance.
One approached.
“Sir.”
“What happened?”
“We found someone near the east gate.”
“Who?”
“They ran.”
“Did you identify them?”
“No.”
Damian's expression darkened.
“Did they enter the property?”
“We don't know.”
Amara looked toward the house.
Every window was dark.
“Something is wrong.”
Damian nodded.
They entered.
The estate was silent.
Too silent.
Amara stopped in the foyer.
“Where is everyone?”
“Staff were dismissed after the shooting.”
“Security?”
“Outside.”
She looked toward the library.
“I want to see the archive.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because we don't know if it's secure.”
“Then let's find out.”
Damian stared at her.
Then nodded.
They walked toward the archive.
The door was closed.
Damian unlocked it.
Inside, nothing appeared disturbed.
Amara stepped inside.
She immediately noticed something.
A small black envelope sat on the desk.
Her name was written across it.
AMARA VALE.
She looked at Damian.
“I didn't put that there.”
“I know.”
He reached for it.
Amara stopped him.
“It's addressed to me.”
“That doesn't mean you should touch it.”
“Everything in this house apparently has a rule.”
She picked it up.
Damian watched.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
YOU ARE ASKING THE WRONG QUESTION.
Amara frowned.
“Wrong question?”
She turned the paper over.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a second line written faintly beneath the first.
YOUR FATHER IS NOT THE SECRET.
Damian stepped closer.
“What is?”
Amara read the final sentence.
YOU ARE.
She looked up.
Her heart hammered.
“What does that mean?”
Damian took the paper.
“I don't know.”
“Someone keeps saying that.”
“They want you frightened.”
“Why?”
“Because you're getting close.”
“To what?”
He looked at the photograph.
“Maybe to the truth.”
Amara shook her head.
“No.”
She looked directly at him.
“They're not afraid I'll find my father.”
“Then what?”
“They're afraid I'll find out who I am.”
Later that night, Amara couldn't sleep.
She sat beside the window in her bedroom.
The bracelet lay on the table.
She had taken it from her bag.
The silver charm reflected the moonlight.
She picked it up.
There was something engraved on the back.
She had never noticed it before.
A single letter.
E.
Elena.
Amara's fingers tightened around it.
Then she remembered something from childhood.
A memory she hadn't thought about in years.
She was six.
Sitting on the floor of their old apartment.
Celine was kneeling in front of her.
She was crying.
Not smiling.
Not angry.
Crying.
Amara remembered asking,
“Mommy, why are you sad?”
And Celine had answered,
“Because sometimes people disappear.”
Amara had asked,
“Where do they go?”
Celine had hugged her.
“They go somewhere we can't follow.”
Amara closed her eyes.
She had always believed that memory was about her father.
Now she wasn't sure.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice spoke.
“You found the bracelet.”
Amara stood.
“Who are you?”
“You're asking questions your mother should have answered twenty-four years ago.”
“Where is she?”
“She isn't the person you should be looking for.”
“Then who should I look for?”
The man laughed softly.
“Look at your husband.”
Amara's eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Ask Damian what his father was doing the night you were born.”
The call ended.
Amara stood completely still.
Then she heard footsteps outside her door.
She opened it.
Damian stood in the hallway.
He looked serious.
“Who called you?”
Amara stared at him.
“You.”
His brow furrowed.
“What?”
“The man told me to ask you what your father was doing the night I was born.”
Damian's expression changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Amara saw it.
“You know.”
He said nothing.
“Damian.”
His jaw tightened.
“I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
He looked toward the empty hallway.
Then back at her.
“My father wasn't in the hospital that night.”
Amara's heart stopped.
“What?”
“The official records say he was.”
“Then where was he?”
Damian stared at her.
“He was with your mother.”
Silence.
Amara felt the world shift beneath her.
“You're lying.”
“I wish I was.”
“Why?”
“Because there is one thing I haven't told you.”
“What?”
Damian lowered his voice.
“Victor Blackwood met Celine Vale the night you were born.”
Amara couldn't breathe.
“And nine months later…”
He stopped.
“What?”
Damian looked directly into her eyes.
“Victor changed his will.”
Amara's blood ran cold.
“Why?”
Damian didn't answer.
Because neither of them knew the truth yet.
But somewhere inside the Blackwood estate, hidden behind a wall nobody had opened in twenty-four years, a recording had just begun playing.
And Victor Blackwood's dead voice whispered:
“Amara was never supposed to become my heir.”
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