Chapter 1 -The Man Who Knew My Name
The first time I saw Alexander Blackwood, he was standing across the ballroom as if the entire room belonged to him.
Maybe it did.
Everyone seemed to know who he was.
Women whispered his name. Men lowered their voices whenever he walked past. Even the waiters straightened their backs when he came near.
Alexander Blackwood.
Billionaire. Businessman. Heir to one of the most powerful families in the city.
And, according to everything I’d heard, a man who never smiled.
I had no reason to care about him.
I was only at the Blackwood Foundation’s charity gala because my employer had sent me to deliver some documents.
I intended to leave within ten minutes.
Then Alexander looked directly at me.
I froze.
His eyes didn’t move.
He wasn’t looking at the dress I was wearing or the documents in my hands.
He was looking at me like he had seen a ghost.
I glanced behind me.
Nobody was there.
When I looked back, he was already walking toward me.
My heart began beating faster.
“Miss Carter.”
I frowned.
“How do you know my name?”
He stopped in front of me.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then his expression hardened.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I almost laughed.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I was asked to deliver these documents.”
“I don’t mean the documents.”
His voice was low.
Cold.
I tightened my grip on the folder.
“Then what do you mean?”
He stepped closer.
“You need to leave.”
I stared at him.
“Who do you think you are?”
A strange expression crossed his face.
“Someone trying to keep you alive.”
Before I could respond, a waiter walked past us.
Alexander immediately stepped away.
His entire attitude changed.
“Enjoy the evening,” he said loudly.
Then he walked away.
I stood there confused.
Keep me alive?
What was that supposed to mean?
I decided to forget about him.
At least, I tried.
Twenty minutes later, I was in the hallway searching for the restroom when I heard voices coming from behind a partially closed door.
I stopped.
One voice belonged to Alexander.
The other was unfamiliar.
“You shouldn’t have brought her here,” the stranger said.
“I didn’t,” Alexander replied.
“Then why is Elena Carter here?”
My heart stopped.
They were talking about me.
I moved closer.
Alexander’s voice became quieter.
“She doesn’t know anything.”
“Not yet.”
A pause followed.
Then the stranger said something that made my blood run cold.
“Her father knew too much. We can’t make the same mistake twice.”
My father.
I stepped backward.
The folder slipped from my hands and hit the floor.
The voices stopped.
I panicked.
I grabbed the documents and ran.
I didn’t stop until I reached the parking lot.
My hands were shaking as I unlocked my car.
My father had been dead for six years.
He had died in what everyone called a tragic accident.
A car crash.
At least, that’s what I had been told.
But now a question was burning inside my mind.
What did my father know?
And why did Alexander Blackwood seem to know the answer?
I drove home faster than usual.
When I reached my apartment, I found the front door slightly open.
I immediately knew something was wrong.
I hadn’t left it open.
I pushed the door slowly.
The apartment was dark.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I switched on the lights.
Everything looked normal.
Until I noticed the photograph on my living-room table.
It was a picture of my father.
I had kept it in a locked drawer.
Someone had taken it out.
Beneath the photograph was a small black envelope.
My name was written across it.
ELENA CARTER.
I picked it up with trembling fingers.
There was no return address.
I opened it.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
Only six words were written on it.
Stop asking questions about your father.
I stared at the message.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man’s voice finally came through.
“You met Alexander tonight.”
My blood went cold.
“Who is this?”
“You need to stay away from him.”
“Why?”
The caller laughed softly.
“Because the last woman who trusted Alexander Blackwood didn’t live long enough to regret it.”
The call ended.
I stood frozen in the middle of my apartment.
For the first time in six years, I wondered if my father’s death had really been an accident.
And for the first time, I realized something even more frightening.
Someone had been watching me.
Someone knew where I lived.
And somehow, Alexander Blackwood was already part of the secret.
