Chapter 6: The Photograph
790 Words
Chapter 6: The Photograph
Amelia held Alexander's gaze.
The lie lingered between them.
Small.
Simple.
Obvious.
No, they had never formally met before.
But he knew her.
She was certain of it.
The question was how.
Alexander calmly set his tablet aside.
"Whether we've met before or not doesn't change the proposal."
"It changes everything."
"No."
His voice remained steady.
"It changes your curiosity."
Amelia hated how easily he dismissed her.
"You're avoiding the question."
"Correct."
The blunt admission caught her off guard.
Alexander leaned back in his chair.
"If I answer every question you have today, you'll stop asking them."
"What does that mean?"
"It means some answers are worth finding yourself."
Amelia stared at him.
The man was impossible.
Most billionaires enjoyed showing off.
Alexander seemed determined to reveal as little as possible.
His office phone rang.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
Ignored.
A third time.
This time he answered.
"Yes."
A female voice spoke through the speaker.
"We've confirmed attendance."
Alexander's expression didn't change.
"Good."
"The board is waiting."
"I'll be there shortly."
The call ended.
Amelia frowned.
"Board meeting?"
"Yes."
"You have a company to run."
"So do you."
The words hit harder than expected.
Alexander stood.
Then walked toward one of the large windows overlooking the city.
For several moments he said nothing.
Finally he spoke.
"How many employees does Hart Industries have?"
Amelia blinked.
"What?"
"Answer the question."
"About twelve hundred."
"How many families depend on those salaries?"
She hesitated.
"A lot."
"A lot isn't a number."
Amelia folded her arms.
"You know exactly how many."
"Yes."
His reflection stared back from the glass.
"Three thousand eight hundred and forty-two."
She went silent.
Alexander turned toward her.
"Those people are the reason we're having this conversation."
Amelia looked away.
Because he wasn't wrong.
The company wasn't just her inheritance.
It wasn't just a building.
Thousands of people relied on it.
People with mortgages.
Children.
Medical bills.
Lives.
Alexander opened a drawer.
Then placed a thin file on the desk.
"What's this?"
"Open it."
She approached cautiously.
The file contained photographs.
Old photographs.
Amelia frowned.
At first she didn't understand what she was looking at.
Then her eyes widened.
The pictures were from a charity event.
A university fundraiser.
Nearly six years ago.
She remembered attending.
Her mother had insisted.
Amelia slowly flipped through the pages.
And froze.
There.
In the background.
Standing near a staircase.
Alexander.
Younger.
But unmistakably him.
Her heartbeat quickened.
She turned another page.
Another event.
Another photograph.
Again.
Alexander.
Watching from a distance.
Never beside her.
Never speaking to her.
Just there.
Her pulse began racing.
One photo.
Two photos.
Five photos.
Eight photos.
Years of events.
Years of appearances.
Always in the background.
Always close enough to see.
Never close enough to notice.
Amelia looked up sharply.
The room suddenly felt colder.
"What is this?"
Alexander remained silent.
"What is this?"
His jaw tightened slightly.
The first sign of discomfort she'd seen from him.
"Evidence."
"Of what?"
His eyes met hers.
"That we've occupied the same spaces for a long time."
Amelia's stomach twisted.
This wasn't normal.
It wasn't random either.
The photographs spanned years.
Too many years.
Too many coincidences.
"You were following me?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
Almost offended.
Amelia held up one of the photos.
"Then explain this."
Alexander glanced at it.
Then back at her.
"I attended those events."
"All of them?"
"Most."
"Why?"
Silence.
A dangerous silence.
One that seemed to stretch forever.
Finally Alexander spoke.
"Because your mother invited me."
The words landed like a thunderclap.
Amelia froze.
"My mother?"
"Yes."
Her chest tightened.
"My mother died seven years ago."
"I know."
The answer was quiet.
Too quiet.
As though the memory still carried weight.
Amelia stared at him.
A hundred questions rushed through her mind.
How did he know her mother?
Why had she never heard his name?
Why would her mother invite a man like Alexander Blackwood to family events?
Nothing made sense.
Alexander walked back to his desk.
For the first time, he looked tired.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like a man carrying a burden he'd held for years.
"You want answers."
"Yes."
"I know."
"Then stop speaking in riddles."
His gaze settled on her.
Steady.
Unwavering.
Then he said something that made her blood run cold.
"The day your mother died, I was one of the last people who spoke to her."
The room went completely silent.
Amelia stopped breathing.
Her mother.
The accident.
The worst day of her life.
And somehow Alexander Blackwood had been there.
The file slipped from her fingers.
Photographs scattered across the floor.
Neither of them moved.
Neither looked away.
Because suddenly the marriage proposal wasn't the biggest mystery anymore.
Her mother was.
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