THE BLACKWOOD LEGACY

Chapter 5: Hidden Treasures

The following morning, I found my room vacant and the previous night's events replaying in my head like a haunting tune from which I was unable to break free. It was all too real—the blood on Damian's arm, the ripped sleeve of his shirt, the boom that broke the silence of the mansion.

I hurriedly got dressed, putting on jeans and a basic jumper from the closet full of expensive clothing Damian had bought me. Although every object exuded affluence, they served as reminders of my position in this arrangement and seemed like chains to me. As I left the chamber and entered the strange silence of the estate, my stomach turned.

With their dark wood-paneled walls hung with pictures of stern features, the corridors seemed to go on forever. Each subject looked down at me as though they knew I didn't belong there. My skin crawled because of the cold, heavy, and unsaid tension in the air. Even though I wasn't sure I was prepared for them, I had to locate Damian and demand answers.

I saw a staff member—a young maid—dusting one of the numerous antique vases that lined the corridor as I made my way through the maze-like house. When she noticed me, her hands froze and her eyes darted around uneasily.

Despite the knot in my throat, I tried to seem kind as I said, "Good morning."

She bowed her head slightly in response, saying, "Good morning, ma'am." She spoke softly, almost shakily. I saw how her hands quickly returned to their task, avoiding a straight look at me.

"Are you aware of Damian's location?" I enquired.

Her fingers tightened on the dust cloth as she paused. This morning, Mr. Blackwood departed early. He made no mention of his return date.

"Are you aware of his whereabouts?" Even if my voice faltered, I persisted. "Or what took place last night?"

Her eyes briefly flicked up to mine, and what I saw there made me shiver with horror. Unadulterated terror. "I apologize, ma'am. She whispered, "I don't know anything," and hurried away, leaving me with more questions than answers.

I turned and walked down the hall, my footfall resonating against the glossy floorboards, frustrated. With every stride, my curiosity increased and bit me like an insatiable desire. I had been forced into a frigid marriage, but there was more going on here than that. And I needed to know what.

After some walking, I came to a locked door at the west wing's far end. Solid oak, strengthened with iron details, and completely out of place in the otherwise immaculate and contemporary residence, it stood out from the rest. It didn't move when I reached for the handle.

"Amelia."

I jumped when I heard the deep, authoritative voice behind me, and as I turned around, I saw Damian standing a few steps away with his arms folded and his face as icy as ever. With his jaw clenched into a tight line and slight shadows behind his eyes, he appeared worn out.

His tone was stern as he enquired, "What are you doing here?"

I answered, my voice trembling a little, "I was looking for you." "I was curious about last night's events."

His gaze shifted to the locked door behind me and then returned to me. "That is not a concern of yours."

"But I heard—" I started, but he interrupted me.

His voice rising, he yelled, "I said it's none of your concern." Should I remind you of the conditions of our agreement? Amelia, you are here to contribute, not to enquire.

Even though his words hurt, the fire inside of me persisted. "I'm Damian, your wife. I have a right to know what's happening in this home, even if this marriage is a fraud. I saw and heard things last night that don't make sense. Are you in danger? Do you think this is a game?

Something, almost like vulnerability, flickered in his eyes for a second. However, it disappeared as swiftly as it appeared, to be replaced by the same cold mask he wore every day. He moved in closer, shadowing me with his massive form.

"You don't know what you're asking," he continued in a low, menacing voice. "And you don't want to know, Amelia, believe me."

I stood there with my heart thumping in my chest as he turned and left. However, his response just strengthened my resolve. I would look for the answers on my own if he refused to provide them.

I ended up in Damian's study later that evening as the sun was setting and the estate was illuminated by the faint glimmer of twilight. Someone had left the door open, and I couldn't help but go inside.

The room stood out sharply from the rest of the house. The walls were packed with dark wood shelves that held books ranging from esoteric legal works to classic literature. In the middle was a big mahogany desk, its surface covered in folders and papers. I discovered the first fissure in Damian's meticulously crafted façade here.

I was particularly interested in one folder. There was only one word on the label: *Blackwood*. I opened it hesitantly, my hands shaking. It contained a variety of vintage newspaper clippings, pictures, and court documents. As I turned the pages, my breath seized in my throat.

One article caught our attention. I had only heard somewhat of Damian's father, but it described a scandal involving him. It seems that more than just financial sense underpinned the Blackwood family's enterprise. There were rumors of bloodshed, treachery, and corruption.

But what got me was the pictures. Specifically, one depicted a young Damian standing next to a man who could only be his father. The boy's posture was tight and his eyes were wide with fright. I couldn't quite identify the figure standing in the shadows behind them, but it seemed to stalk every aspect of Damian's life.

"What are you doing?" I turned to see Damian standing at the doorway, his face displaying a mixture of rage and something else—something darker—after his voice cut through the quiet like a knife.

"I—" The folder fell out of my hands as I stumbled, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Towering over me, he took three swift steps across the room and squatted to collect the papers. His hands trembled a little, but his movements were accurate.

He added in a low, foreboding voice, "I told you to stay out of my business." "Are you even aware of what you did?"

With tears welling up in the corners of my eyes, I muttered, "I just wanted to understand." I have no idea what's going on, but I feel like I'm drowning in secrets, Damian. If only you would speak to me—

He yelled, "Enough!" and slammed the folder. "You don't want answers, even though you believe you do. Not in response to these inquiries.

He jerked to his feet, holding the folder firmly. "Amelia, you'll avoid this if you value your safety."

He then hurried away, leaving me by myself in the study. I fell to the ground with tears running down my cheeks, my heart pounding. Though it was obvious that I had only touched the surface, I had managed to uncover a little portion of the darkness that encircled Damian.

The faint sound of a door creaking open reached my ears as I sat there. From someplace deep inside the home, it came, accompanied by a whisper so icy it chilled my blood.

I wasn't alone myself.