Chapter Seven
I'd never seen Damien Vale look afraid before.
Not like this.
He stood frozen near the window, one hand clenched so tightly at his side that the knuckles had gone white. Vincent had already left. The mention of the ring—Elara's ring—was still hanging in the room like smoke that wouldn't clear.
"Say something," I whispered.
He didn't.
Just turned away, running a hand over the back of his neck, and I saw it—the tremble in his fingers.
"She wore that ring every day," he said, voice raw. "It wasn't expensive. Not even gold. Just something she found in a street market on our first trip to Milan. She thought it looked like a crown."
"Why would it be buried at the cliffs?" I asked. "Did she—?"
"She didn't fall." His voice cracked. "I would've found her if she had."
I took a careful step toward him. "Then what happened?"
He finally looked at me. Not like a man looking at a woman—but like someone drowning who's just realized how deep the water is.
"I don't know anymore."
Later that evening, when Damien was called into an emergency board meeting, I slipped away. I didn't plan to. Not consciously. But there's something about grief that clings, and something about secrets that beg to be uncovered.
And I needed answers.
If Elara had been pregnant, if she had disappeared the night after an argument with Damien, if her ring had just now surfaced near the cliffs, then something wasn't adding up. And Damien wasn't going to give me the full truth—not yet.
But maybe his past would.
I remembered the way his study was locked the first time I'd tried the handle. How protective he was of that room. And I remembered the way he'd looked this morning—haunted.
That's where the truth lived.
In his shadows.
I crept through the hallways barefoot, wrapped in the soft wool cardigan I'd stolen from Damien's wardrobe. His scent lingered in the fabric—amber, cedar, something sharper beneath.
The mansion had fallen mostly quiet. Even Ava's sharp heels were nowhere to be heard.
When I reached the study, I paused.
It was unlocked.
The moment I stepped in, the room swallowed me whole. Warm wood, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a fireplace with soot smudged into the bricks. On the wall above it hung a photograph I hadn't noticed before.
It wasn't Elara.
It was a woman I didn't recognize. Blonde. A sharp mouth, eyes as cold as ice. Standing beside her was a man in a military uniform. And between them—barely noticeable—a child. A boy. The hair is dark. Shoulders stiff. No smile.
Damien.
My stomach turned. The child in the photo couldn't have been more than six, but already he looked… hardened. Wary.
I turned away and began scanning the bookshelves, desk, drawers—anything that might tell me more. But it wasn't until I reached the fireplace that I noticed it.
One brick was just slightly crooked.
I pressed on it.
It shifted.
My heart stuttered.
Hands trembling, I pulled the brick free. Behind it was a narrow cavity—a hiding place. Dusty, dark, but not empty.
Inside was a small tin box, rusted around the edges.
I pulled it out slowly and opened the lid.
Letters.
Dozens of them. Folded with care, bound together by a single faded ribbon.
And on top—one envelope.
Sealed.
Addressed in elegant cursive to:
"To the one I could never trust."
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Elara's handwriting.
I took the letter and stepped back, the box still in my lap as I sank onto the old velvet armchair near the fireplace. My fingers hovered over the seal.
Was I ready to read this?
What if it changed everything?
What if it confirmed the worst?
I opened it.
The paper was soft with age and yellowed at the edges, but the ink was bold. Elara's words bled onto the page as though she'd written them in a rush—heart pounding, fingers shaking.
"Damien,
If you're reading this, then I never dared to tell you to your face. Or maybe I didn't get the chance. Either way, you need to know the truth.
I'm afraid of you.
Not because you've hurt me—yet—but because I've seen what you're capable of when you're angry. When you're cornered. When something you love is threatened.
You think you control everything. Everyone. But I'm not a pawn, Damien. I never was.
I didn't lose the baby. I lied. Because I knew what you'd do if you found out who the father really was.
It wasn't you.
I'm sorry. But I had to protect him. And myself.
I still love you. Maybe part of me always will. But if I vanish, if something happens—don't look for me. Don't try to fix what was never meant to last.
Some people aren't meant to be saved. And some men weren't meant to be gods.
—E."
My blood ran cold.
I reread it twice. Three times.
The words stayed the same.
The baby wasn't Damien's.
My breath hitched. I could hear my heartbeat now, loud in my ears, deafening in the silence.
Why hadn't he said anything? Did he know? Had he ever even seen this letter?
Was he protecting a lie… or hiding the truth?
I returned the letter to the envelope, hands numb, and tucked it back into the box. But I kept the top letter with me, just in case.
Just in case everything shattered later.
I left the study with the letter pressed to my chest, only to run straight into Ava in the hallway.
She looked at me, then at my hand.
"What did you find?" she asked, voice sharp.
"I could ask you the same."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't think you understand what you're walking into, Selene. This isn't some fairytale. You're not going to fix Damien. You're not going to save him."
"I'm not trying to."
She laughed—cold, bitter. "Then you're even more dangerous."
I stepped closer. "Why? Because he doesn't see you anymore?"
A flicker of something dark passed across her face.
"You think Elara was the first woman he destroyed?"
A beat of silence.
"She was just the only one who mattered."
That night, I didn't sleep again.
I kept the letter hidden in my bedside drawer. I didn't know if I would confront Damien with it. Not yet.
But I knew one thing.
Elara was afraid of him. And she was carrying someone else's child. If that was true, then her disappearance was no accident.
And if Damien found out back then…
My thoughts spiraled.
Until a knock sounded at the door.
Soft. Measured.
I opened it.
Damien stood in the hallway, hair mussed from his hands, his tie loose around his neck.
"Can I come in?"
I nodded once, stepping aside.
He walked in slowly, glancing around like he wasn't sure why he was there.
"I remembered something," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"The last thing Elara said to me."
He sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on his knees.
"She said, 'You can't fix what you never understood.'"
He looked up.
"I think she meant me."
I didn't speak.
I just walked over, knelt in front of him, and gently placed my hands over his.
"She was scared, Damien."
He flinched.
"But I'm not."
His eyes locked on mine. "You should be."
Cliffhanger:
The next morning, the police arrive unannounced with new questions and a subpoena. Someone has leaked the letter. Damien believes Selene betrayed him—and Selene realizes someone else had access to the study. But who? Ava? Vincent? Or someone hiding deeper in the shadows?