TWO GRAVES, ONE VOW

Chapter 3: Not a Reason

Most rich men always have something to propose...and in terms of this man standing in front of me....it'd be more than a proposal...

"Then you know I prefer results over recognition."

"I do."

His gaze drifted briefly toward the gallery.

"You have an interesting habit. You recognize value where other people overlook it."

My eyes narrowed slightly.

The artifact.

The paintings.

Was that why he had been watching me?

"That's an unusual observation."

"Not many people would stop to listen to the history of an artifact while everyone else is searching for business opportunities." I allowed myself a small smile.

"People reveal their priorities through what they ignore." Victor's smile widened.

"Exactly." For the first time, I understood why he had my attention. He wasn't simply wealthy. He was observant. And intelligence was something I respected wherever I found it.

"However," he continued, "there is another reason I wanted to speak with you." There it was. The real purpose behind the conversation.

I waited.

Victor lowered his voice slightly.

"It concerns your sister." Now, we getting somewhere.....

Everything around me continued moving.

The music.

The conversations.

The people laughing as though nothing had changed.

Yet my focus narrowed instantly.

Years of searching had taught me not to react before understanding. Emotion was powerful, but information was infinitely more useful.

"What about her?"

Victor studied me carefully.

Most people would have searched my face for pain.

He searched for calculation.

Smart of him.

Years.

Years of searching.

Leads that ended nowhere.

Promises that dissolved into disappointment.

And now Victor Harrington stood before me claiming he had an answer.

"What do you know?"

His expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

Not surprising.

Confirmation.

As though my response had proven something.

"You don't ask whether I'm telling the truth."

"No."

"Why?"

"What do you know?" I asked again, steering the conversation back where it belonged. Despite my ability to read people, Victor Harrington remained a difficult man to decipher.

A quiet smile touched his lips.

"You're exactly as I expected."

I ignored the comment.

"Continue."

Instead of answering, Victor looked toward the other side of the room.

Following his gaze, I noticed a man standing apart from the crowd.

While everyone else seemed drawn toward influence, he appeared completely comfortable existing outside of it.

Interesting.

Most people attended gatherings like this because they wanted to be seen.

He didn't.

His attention wasn't on the executives.

It wasn't on the investors.

It wasn't even on Victor.

He was simply observing.

"Before I tell you everything," Victor said, drawing my attention back to him, "there is someone you need to meet."

I looked at him.

"Who?"

Victor's eyes shifted briefly toward the man.

"Damien."

At the sound of his name, the man glanced in our direction. A faint smile appeared on his face as he raised his wine glass before making his way toward us.

And that was when I properly noticed him.

Tall, dark-haired, and neatly dressed in a charcoal suit that looked expensive without trying to advertise it. There was nothing particularly attention-seeking about him, yet he was difficult to overlook.

Interesting.

While everyone else seemed occupied with being noticed, he appeared perfectly content observing.

Like me.

That alone made him worth noticing.

The name meant nothing to me.

Not yet.

But something in the way Victor said it suggested it would.

Then Victor looked back at me.

"Miss Sinclair, there is something you should know before you decide whether you want to continue searching for your sister."

I waited.

Victor's voice lowered.

"Your sister didn't disappear."

The world didn't stop.

I didn't freeze.

I didn't break.

But every calculation in my mind changed.

Because for years, I had been searching for someone who was gone.

And suddenly, for the first time, I had to consider the possibility that I had been searching for someone who was still looking for me.

The words remained between us.

"Your sister didn't disappear."

For a moment, I said nothing, not because I lacked a response but because my mind was already working to understand the implications behind those five words. For years, I searched for answers, followed every lead, investigated every piece of information I encountered, and accepted every dead end, holding onto the hope that someday, something would change and I would find what I was looking for.

Eventually I found something, someone, a reason I hadn’t considered that perhaps the person I spent years searching for was never truly gone My fingers tightened subtly around the glass, an almost imperceptible movement but enough to remind me that control mattered especially when emotions threatened judgment I looked at Victor Harrington standing there with the same calm expression he’d maintained all evening as if he hadn't just shifted everything I believed that’s what I found intriguing about him Most underestimate the power of information focusing only on the data rather than its potential impact they rarely consider the person holding the knowledge Victor did and that’s what made him dangerous.

"What do you mean?" My voice remained steady, as it had to. Victor studied me carefully, his eyes moving over my expression as though searching for something, perhaps confirmation, but finding none.

"I mean exactly what I said, Miss Sinclair."

"That is not an explanation." A faint smile appeared on his face.

"No, it is not." The honesty of his response was almost irritating. Most people tried to conceal their intentions when questioned; Victor simply chose what he wanted to reveal.

"Then explain." "I will." A pause, then,

"But not here." My eyes briefly moved around the room. The gala continued around us, filled with conversations between executives, investors, and influential people who had mastered the art of appearing interested while calculating their next move. He was right, this was not the place. Yet, that did not mean I appreciated being forced to wait.

"I don't like incomplete information."

"I noticed."

"Then you should also know that patience is not the same as acceptance." His smile deepened slightly, and I noticed the smallest change in his eyes—just recognition. Before I could respond, his attention shifted past me toward the other side of the hall. I followed his gaze to see the man I had noticed earlier still standing away from the crowd, holding a wine glass, observing the room with the same quiet awareness I had seen before. He wasn't participating; he was studying—like me. Victor lifted his hand slightly.

"Damien." The man noticed immediately, but he did not rush or look surprised. Instead, he raised his glass slightly, a small smile on his face, acknowledging Victor's call, before walking toward us. Most people approached Victor Harrington with some urgency; his confidence was quiet, and quiet confidence usually commanded attention. As he reached us, Victor greeted him with a light pat on the shoulder.

"Damien Blackwood." Victor Harrington, surrounded by talented people, rarely appeared impressed by anyone—that made Damien worth observing. "Miss Ava Sinclair," Victor said, turning toward me. "This is Damien Blackwood." Our eyes met. "Mr. Blackwood." "Miss Sinclair."

The handshake was brief, professional, lacking any attempt to extend it, which told me something—without a word.

"I trust you're enjoying the gala?" Damien asked. I glanced around the room before returning my attention to him.

"It's the VIC H Gala, after all." His expression remained calm, but I noticed the smallest change in his eyes—just recognition. Then he turned toward Victor. "I trust business is going well?" Victor chuckled softly.

"I might look old and young at the same time, Damien, but fortunately, my business seems to have inherited that habit." The statement earned the faintest reaction from me because he was right.

Victor Harrington was one of those rare individuals whose age was difficult to determine, the silver beginning to appear in his hair suggested experience, but nothing about him suggested weakness. His posture remained straight, his movements were deliberate, and his eyes carried the sharp awareness of someone who had spent decades studying people and situations before they even realized they were being studied.

He looked like a man who had lived long enough to understand the world, yet still carried enough energy to challenge it, older, but not diminished, experienced, but not outdated. Perhaps that was why he remained one of the most respected men in the country.

Money could create influence, power could create fear, but remaining relevant for decades required something else entirely, adaptation.

Victor looked back at me, and immediately, my attention returned to the reason I was standing there, my sister, the unanswered questions, and the years I had spent searching.

"Now, Miss Sinclair," he said, "we can continue."

I met his gaze.

"Good."

A pause followed, then Victor looked toward Damien.

"If you want me to continue helping you find answers, there is something you need to understand."

I waited.

"You cannot do this alone."

My expression remained unchanged.

"I have been doing it alone for years."

"And that is precisely why you have reached this point."

I disliked the accuracy of that statement, not because it was wrong, but because it was inconvenient.

Victor continued.

"You need someone who can approach this from another direction."

My eyes moved briefly toward Damien, I already knew where this was going, and I already knew my answer.

"No."

Damien's gaze shifted toward me.

"You haven't even heard the full proposal."

"I don't need to."

That seemed to interest Damien.

"That was a quick decision."

I looked at him.

"It was an efficient one."

A faint silence settled between us, neither hostile nor friendly, just two people who were already beginning to understand that neither of us was accustomed to being convinced, and that was usually where problems began.

Victor's expression remained calm, almost as if my refusal had been the answer he expected, and that bothered me more than the suggestion itself. People often revealed their intentions through their reactions; anger meant resistance, disappointment meant expectation, surprise meant uncertainty, but Victor displayed none of those things. He had already considered my response before I gave it.

"I assume you believe you can manage everything yourself."

"I don't believe it," I replied. "I know."

Damien remained silent beside him, but I could feel his attention, not intrusive, not careless, just observant, the same way I observed others.

"I respect confidence," Victor said, "but confidence without flexibility becomes a weakness."

"That depends on whether the person changing your plans is actually an improvement."

A small smile appeared on Damien's face, barely noticeable, but noticeable enough. Interesting. He found something amusing, but I wasn't sure what. Victor looked between us.

"I see this will be more difficult than I anticipated."

"I never said it would be easy."

"No," Victor replied, "you rarely do."

I looked at him carefully. There was something about the way he spoke that suggested this entire situation had been arranged long before tonight, the meeting, the timing, Damien's presence. Nothing about Victor Harrington was accidental, and I disliked that I still couldn't determine his objective.

"I will consider your offer," I said.

It wasn't acceptance, it wasn't an agreement, it was simply the most he was going to receive from me at that moment.

Victor nodded.

"That is all I asked."

A strange answer, most people wanted immediate decisions, but Victor seemed comfortable allowing people time to arrive at the conclusion he wanted, another strategy, another calculation. I had expected nothing less.

The conversation around us continued, but my focus had already shifted, too many questions, too many unknown variables, and I disliked having more questions than answers.

"I'll excuse myself."