Chapter 5 The Woman in the Photo

Lena's fingers trembled as she reached for the framed photo.

Her breath hitched. The resemblance was undeniable.

Same dark hair. Same sharp cheekbones. Same determined gaze.

It was like staring at a ghost version of herself-one frozen in time, in a moment she didn't remember living.

"What the hell is this?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Behind her, Damien's presence loomed.

But he said nothing.

The silence was worse than if he had lied.

Lena turned to face him, her heart hammering. "Who is she?"

Damien's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his gaze.

A shadow.

He walked forward slowly, his eyes locked onto hers. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm-too calm.

"She was someone important."

Lena's grip tightened around the frame. "That's not an answer."

Damien exhaled sharply. "Because you won't like the answer."

A cold chill slithered down her spine.

She forced herself to hold his gaze. "Try me."

Damien studied her for a long moment, then reached past her, plucking the photo from her hands with effortless ease.

He turned it over, running a thumb across the back.

Then he met her gaze and said, "Her name was Lillian Blackwood. And she was my wife."

The air left Lena's lungs.

Wife.

His wife.

She staggered back a step, her mind racing. That wasn't possible. That couldn't be possible.

But the way Damien looked at her now-like he was seeing a ghost instead of a woman- told her it was the truth.

Lena swallowed hard, forcing her voice to stay steady. "What happened to her?"

Damien's jaw tensed. His hand clenched around the photo.

Then, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible, he said-

"She died."

Lena's breath caught at Damien's words.

"She died."

The way he said it-so flat, so devoid of emotion-sent a shiver down her spine.

She studied his face, searching for something, anything, that would tell her what he was thinking. But his expression was a carefully crafted mask.

"How?" she asked, her voice steadier than she expected.

Damien didn't answer right away. Instead, he set the frame down on his desk and turned his back to her, running a hand through his dark hair.

Lena waited, but the silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

She hated this. Hated that he had just dropped a bombshell like that and expected her to be fine with vague, cryptic responses.

"I asked you a question," she pressed, stepping closer.

Damien exhaled sharply. "You ask too many of them."

She folded her arms. "And you dodge too many of them."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. For a moment, she thought he might shut her out again, but then-

"She was murdered," he said quietly.

Lena's stomach twisted.

"Murdered?" she repeated, barely able to believe it.

Damien turned to face her again, his expression unreadable. "Yes."

Lena's thoughts spun in a million directions at once.

His wife-who looked exactly like her-had been killed.

And he hadn't told her.

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice even. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

Damien let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because most people don't react well to finding out they look exactly like a dead woman."

His words were sharp, cutting deep, but Lena didn't flinch.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" she asked. "That I wouldn't notice?"

Damien's lips pressed into a thin line. "I was hoping you wouldn't."

"Why?"

His silence was answer enough.

Lena's chest tightened. She knew why.

Because if she knew, she'd start asking the real questions. The ones he didn't want to answer.

And yet, she couldn't stop herself.

"Who killed her?" she asked.

Damien's gaze darkened. "I don't know."

Lena frowned. "You don't know?"

His grip on the desk tightened. "I have my suspicions. But no proof. No closure."

There was something in his tone-an undercurrent of rage, of pain, buried deep beneath his controlled exterior.

Lena should have been afraid.

She wasn't.

Instead, she felt something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something that made her step even closer to him, until they were inches apart.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

Damien's eyes locked onto hers.

"I want the truth," he said. "And I want revenge."

The words sent a thrill through her-one she didn't understand.

But deep down, she knew this conversation had changed everything.

Because Damien Blackwood wasn't just a powerful man with secrets.

He was a man on a mission.

And whether she liked it or not-

She was now part of it.

Lena stared at Damien, her pulse hammering in her ears.

She had walked into this office thinking she would get the upper hand, maybe rattle him a little.

Instead, she had unearthed something much darker.

A dead wife. A murder without a killer. And a man standing in front of her, barely holding his demons at bay.

She should have walked away.

Instead, she took a slow, steady breath and asked, "Who are your suspects?"

Damien's gaze flickered with something she couldn't quite name-surprise? Amusement? Or maybe a warning?

"You don't want to know," he said.

She arched a brow. "You just told me you want the truth. You don't get to decide which parts I hear."

Damien exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "You're persistent."

"And you're avoiding the question."

A smirk played at his lips, but there was no humor behind it. "Fine. You want answers?" He turned toward a cabinet against the wall, pulling open a drawer.

Lena stepped closer, her curiosity outweighing her caution.

Damien pulled out a thick black folder and set it on the desk.

She glanced at him before flipping it open.

The first page made her stomach lurch.

It was a crime scene photo.

Lillian Blackwood's body lay sprawled on the marble floor of what looked like a grand estate. Blood pooled beneath her head, her dress torn at the sleeve, her hand outstretched like she had been reaching for something.

Lena clenched her jaw, forcing herself to look at the next page.

The autopsy report.

Lillian had suffered a blow to the head-a calculated, precise attack. There were no signs of struggle, no signs of self-defense.

It was a clean kill.

A professional kill.

Lena swallowed hard, flipping through the pages until she reached the last section-a list of suspects.

Her eyes scanned the names.

1. Charles Blackwood (Damien's father)

2. Elias Whitmore (Business rival)

3. Sophia Laurent (Lillian's best friend)

4. Unknown third party

Lena's brow furrowed. "Your father is on this list."

Damien leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "Of course he is."

She lifted her gaze to meet his. "You think your own father could have killed your wife?"

His expression was unreadable. "Let's just say we've never been a loving family."

Lena turned back to the file, her mind spinning. "And this Elias Whitmore?"

"A man who had everything to gain from my downfall." Damien's voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it. "He and I were... competitors. Ruthless ones."

Lena nodded slowly. The pieces were forming a disturbing picture.

Then she read the last name.

"Sophia Laurent. Lillian's best friend?"

Damien let out a low chuckle. "Best friend... or worst enemy. Depends on how you look at it."

Lena's grip on the file tightened. "Why is she a suspect?"

Damien's smirk faded. "Because she was in love with me."

The words hit Lena like a slap.

She blinked. "What?"

"Sophia was obsessed with me," Damien said flatly. "She hated that Lillian and I were together. I ignored it for years, thought she'd move on. Then, after the murder, she left the country-disappeared. Convenient, isn't it?"

Lena's stomach churned.

This wasn't just a murder mystery. This was personal.

She closed the file, lifting her gaze to Damien. "And what do you plan to do with all of this?"

His eyes darkened. "Find out the truth. And make them pay."

Lena's heart pounded. She had a choice.

She could walk away, pretend she had never seen that file, and leave Damien to his hunt for vengeance.

Or-

She could step into this world, a world of secrets and shadows, and uncover the truth herself.

She should have been scared.

But instead, she found herself saying-

"Where do we start?"