Shadows In The Study
905 Words
Damien’s POV
She was bluffing.
I told myself that again and again, even as I watched the back of Ayla Sinclair’s head disappear through the glass doors of the conservatory. Her spine was straight. Her steps were calculated. Controlled.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg. Didn’t threaten.
That unsettled me more than if she had come in swinging with accusations and sob stories.
Because it meant she wasn’t here on emotion.
She was here with a plan.
And I still didn’t know what it was.
I waited five full minutes after she left before I stood and made my way back toward the east wing—toward my father’s archives, where the answers were buried beneath layers of dust and pretense. I wasn’t done digging.
Not yet.
Once inside the private study, I pulled the files again—this time with a clearer goal. The Sinclair Trust had been dissolved, yes, but there were layers of redacted information even I couldn’t immediately decode.
I bypassed the drawer and went for the vault.
My father had kept only the most damning secrets in hard copy—ones he didn’t trust to any digital ledger. And there was one folder I hadn’t touched since his funeral.
PERSONAL – C.S.
Celeste Sinclair.
My pulse kicked up.
I cracked it open.
The first page was a letter, dated twenty- four years ago.
Dominic,
I told you I wouldn’t be your secret. I told you what this would mean. If you walk away now, you don’t get to return in ten years and pretend this never happened. Ayla deserves more than your silence.
-C.
Beneath it, more documents—hospital bills, letters never sent, a grainy scan of a check: a trust fund payment issued quarterly for “educational and living expenses,” all funneled through one of our dummy corporations. No names are attached. No receipts that could be traced to the Blackwood name.
Clean.
Cold.
Typical.
I slammed the folder shut, the weight of betrayal heavy in my hands. My father had known. Not only had he fathered a child with another woman—he’d deliberately concealed it. From the family. From me. From the world.
He hadn’t abandoned Ayla out of ignorance.
He’d erased her.
And now, she was erasing the line between past and present with every step she took inside this house.
What had my father been so afraid of?
My phone buzzed on the desk.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
I answered.
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice—soft, crackling like it came through a distortion field.
“You’re looking into the Sinclair Trust.”
I stiffened. “Who is this?”
“You’re not the only Blackwood who wants answers. But be careful, Damien. Not all truths are buried. Some are just waiting to surface.”
Click.
I pulled the phone away, frowning.
Was that real?
Paranoia became stronger and took hold of me.
I didn’t know enough people I felt comfortable talking to about it. My cousin Daniel? No. He was too volatile. My mother? Out of the question—she still didn’t know the full extent of my father’s affairs.
And Ayla?
She was the only one who might give me real answers—but only if I played this exactly right.
I needed to keep her close.
I needed her to trust me.
Which meant I had to stop looking like a threat and start looking like an ally.
Even if it was a lie.
Especially if it was a lie.
Shelves that soared like cathedral walls were around her when I saw her in the library. A velvet chair was her seat and the book lay across her legs, with her tresses hanging downward like a curtain beside her.
She looked… soft, for a moment.
And I hated that it made me pause.
She sensed me before I spoke. “Following me now?”
“I needed some light reading,” I said, leaning against the frame. “Apparently, the house comes with its own mystery novel.”
She ended her reading and glared at them straight. What’s your purpose here?
“A way to reach a decision.”
Why should I agree with you?
Because there is something unique about me that they don’t have.
A small arch of her eyebrow showed Piper’slook of interest. “Oh? And what’s that?”
“The truth,” I said simply. I’m not the same person as my father. I couldn’t care less about upholding his legacy. But I care about what happens to this family. And if you blow it up, you don’t walk away clean either.”
“Do you honestly believe I’ve never done anything to get myself spotted by the authorities?”
You seem to care more deeply than what you show others.
Her eyes grew intently small. What are you looking for if I give you this truth?”
I responded, “To know what you know.” “To see what you’ve seen. No games. No lies. We exchange everything.”
“An alliance?”
“A truce,” I corrected. “Until we both figure out what the hell he was hiding.”
She stood slowly, book forgotten. “And after that?”
I held her gaze. “We’ll see.”
She didn’t agree. Not yet. But she didn’t walk away either.
Which meant I had a chance.
And with Ayla Sinclair, a chance was all I needed.
- Writer
