Chapter 2
Chapter 2:
“Nobody touches her.”
Adrian’s voice echoed through the hallway.
I stood frozen in my bedroom, staring at the photograph in my hands. My father’s warning kept repeating inside my head.
Don’t trust Adrian Blackwood.
I wanted to believe the warning.
But there was something even more terrifying than trusting him.
Not knowing who else was coming after me.
I carefully placed the photograph on the desk and moved toward the doorway.
Adrian was standing near the staircase, his phone pressed against his ear. His expression had changed completely. The calm, almost emotionless man I’d met at the cemetery was gone.
In his place stood someone who looked capable of doing terrible things without losing a minute of sleep.
“I don’t care what you promised him,” he said coldly. “Find the man responsible. And make sure nobody knows she’s involved.”
He ended the call.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Who was that?”
Adrian turned.
“Go back to your room.”
“Stop telling me what to do!”
His jaw tightened.
“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”
“Then explain it to me!”
He looked at me for a moment before walking toward the living room.
I followed him.
“Your father left me a letter,” I continued. “He mentioned your name. He said I shouldn’t trust you.”
Adrian stopped.
For the first time, he looked genuinely affected.
“What else did he write?”
“Why? Afraid I’ll discover something?”
He turned slowly.
“Your father was a complicated man.”
“Everyone keeps saying that. Nobody tells me what it means.”
“Because some truths are better left buried.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That’s convenient. Everyone knows something except me.”
Adrian reached for the photograph I’d been holding.
I pulled it away.
“Don’t.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Where did you find that?”
“My father’s letter.”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
He took a step closer.
I raised my chin, refusing to move.
“You don’t get to walk into my house, search my belongings, and demand answers from me.”
For a moment, silence filled the room.
Then Adrian exhaled.
“Your father and I made a deal five years ago.”
“What kind of deal?”
“One that was supposed to keep you safe.”
I stared at him.
“Safe from whom?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he glanced at the small silver key hanging from my fingers.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father left it.”
Adrian’s expression darkened.
“Then we’re running out of time.”
An hour later, I was sitting across from Adrian in my father’s study.
The room smelled of old books and cedarwood. Everything remained exactly as my father had left it.
Adrian stood beside the window, speaking quietly on another call.
I had spent the last hour trying to get answers from him.
So far, I’d learned three things.
He knew my father.
He knew about the key.
And he was absolutely determined to keep me away from whatever was hidden behind it.
“Are you always this irritating?” I finally asked.
He ended the call and looked at me.
“Only when someone refuses to listen.”
“Perhaps you’re not very good at explaining things.”
A faint smile appeared on his face.
“Perhaps you’re not very good at following instructions.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Wonderful. We’re both difficult.”
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he walked toward my father’s desk and opened the top drawer.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for something.”
“Could you at least pretend to ask permission?”
He ignored me.
After moving several documents aside, he found an old leather notebook.
He opened it and began turning the pages.
I stood up.
“That’s my father’s.”
“I know.”
“Then put it down.”
He looked at me.
“Your father kept records of everyone he worked with. Names, addresses, financial transactions. If someone discovers that notebook, they could use it against you.”
“Against me? I don’t even know these people.”
“That’s exactly why you’re vulnerable.”
I crossed my arms.
“Who was my father working with?”
Adrian closed the notebook.
“People who don’t forgive mistakes.”
Before I could ask another question, something slipped from between its pages.
A photograph.
I picked it up.
It showed my father standing in front of a large building. Beside him was Adrian, looking much younger.
But the third person was what caught my attention.
A woman.
She had long dark hair and a familiar silver necklace.
I looked closer.
My breath caught.
The necklace was identical to the one my mother used to wear.
My mother had died when I was twelve.
At least, that was what my father had always told me.
“Who is she?” I whispered.
Adrian looked at the photograph.
His face became unreadable.
“Where did you get that?”
“It fell out of the notebook.”
“Put it down.”
“Is that my mother?”
He didn’t answer.
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
“Adrian. Is that my mother?”
He took the photograph from my hand.
“Some questions have consequences.”
I stared at him.
“She’s my mother. I have the right to know.”
He placed the photograph inside his coat.
“Not tonight.”
Then he walked out of the study.
I wanted to follow him.
I wanted to scream.
But something about the way he’d looked at that photograph stopped me.
He knew her.
And whatever he knew, he was determined to hide it.
At midnight, I finally decided to do something Adrian had forbidden.
I was going to find the safety deposit box.
My father had kept important documents at a bank downtown. I remembered visiting the building once when I was younger, although I couldn’t remember why.
The next morning, I found an old bank card inside his desk.
The silver key was still in my pocket.
I called a taxi and left without telling Adrian.
The bank was almost empty when I arrived.
After presenting the necessary identification, I was directed to a private room.
A bank employee examined the key.
“One moment, please.”
She disappeared behind a locked door.
I waited, tapping my fingers against the table.
A few minutes later, she returned carrying a small black box.
“Your father requested that this be handed directly to you.”
I swallowed.
“Did he say anything else?”
The employee hesitated.
“Only that you might not come alone.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
She placed the box in front of me.
“I was instructed not to ask questions.”
I opened it.
Inside were several documents, a small flash drive, and another photograph.
This time, the photograph showed my father standing beside a man I had never seen before.
On the back was a date.
Five years ago.
And beneath it, a handwritten sentence.
The night everything changed.
I picked up the documents.
The first page contained a list of names.
The second contained bank transactions.
But the third page made my blood run cold.
It was a copy of a death certificate.
My mother’s name was written at the top.
But the date of death was not the one I remembered.
According to the document, she had died only eight months ago.
I read it again.
Then again.
“No...”
My mother had been dead for years.
My father had attended her funeral with me.
I remembered the flowers.
The church.
The white coffin.
How could this document say she had died eight months ago?
I quickly searched through the remaining papers.
There was a passport.
A photograph.
And an address.
Before I could examine them properly, my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, there was only silence.
Then a woman’s voice spoke.
“Sweetheart?”
My entire body went cold.
I knew that voice.
I had spent years trying not to forget it.
“Mom?”
A shaky breath came through the phone.
“Listen to me carefully. You need to leave that bank immediately.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“Mom, where are you? What happened? Why did Dad tell me you were dead?”
“There’s no time to explain.”
“Please! I’ve been looking for you!”
“Don’t trust Adrian.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
The woman began crying.
“He knows what happened five years ago. He knows why your father died.”
I looked toward the glass door of the private room.
A familiar figure stood outside.
Black coat.
Dark hair.
Cold eyes.
Adrian Blackwood.
He wasn’t looking at the bank employee.
He was looking directly at me.
My mother’s voice trembled through the phone.
“Sweetheart, if Adrian finds out you’ve spoken to me, he’ll—”
The call suddenly disconnected.
I lowered the phone.
Adrian opened the door and stepped inside.
His gaze moved from the documents to the photograph in my hand.
Then he looked at me.
“Who called you?”
I couldn’t speak.
He approached the table.
“Answer me.”
I slowly stood up.
“My mother.”
For the first time since I’d met him, Adrian looked afraid.
Not angry.
Not irritated.
Afraid.
He glanced at the phone, then back at me.
And whispered something that shattered everything I thought I knew.
“That’s impossible.”
I stared at him through my tears.
“Why?”
His voice dropped.
“Because I buried her.”
To Be Continued...
