Chapter 7 A Name From the Past

Damien's POV

I couldn't sleep.

Late at night, the estate remained totally still except for intermittent wind noises in the high hedges and minimal security system noises that activated automatically.

My thoughts refused to remain quiet.

Ayla Sinclair.

Ayla Sinclair's name dug at the rear of my head like a boring knife. I sensed a familiarity with this name not only because she stood here now but because of something before she arrived at this house. Sinclair. That name wandered through my memories, much like a phantom I struggled to locate.

She appeared accustomed to people passing her by. Polite. Controlled. But I'd been raised among the best actors-old money, new titles, and false smiles. I recognized a performance when I saw one.

She was hiding something.

And I didn't trust things I couldn't explain.

I rose from my bed and pulled on a hoodie, walking barefoot across the dark hardwood floors to my study. Most of the house was automated now, but the east wing-my father's domain-still held its secrets in physical form.

And I knew where to find them.

I pulled open a panel behind one of the bookcases and entered the code only my father and I knew. The wall gave a soft click and swung inward, revealing a long corridor of temperature-controlled archives-business files, historical ledgers, and family records.

I scanned until I found the drawer marked "SINCLAIR TRUST – CLOSED ACCOUNTS."

My fingers hesitated just briefly on the metal handle before I pulled it open.

Inside were files dating back nearly two decades. Legal documents, letters, and a few handwritten notes.

And a photograph.

I picked it up.

Dominic Blackwood-my father-stood beside a woman with soft eyes and long, dark hair. Not posed like business partners. More intimate than that. Too close. Too comfortable.

On the back, someone had scribbled a name in ink now fading: Celeste Sinclair.

Sinclair.

My stomach dropped.

Could it be?

I dug deeper into the drawer and found a birth certificate filed quietly, with no official record in our family vault. It was issued in another state. The name: Ayla Sinclair.

Daughter of Celeste Sinclair.

Father: Not listed.

My hands tightened around the paper.

Why hadn't I known about this? Why had my father kept this hidden?

I knew he'd had affairs. Most of the city did. But to bury a child... to never speak of her existence? That wasn't carelessness. That was intentional.

Which meant one thing: if Ayla knew who she really was-if she'd come here to expose it-then everything my father had spent his life building was in jeopardy.

And worse... she was already inside.

Smart girl.

Then I finished reviewing the file by sitting back in my chair to look at the ceiling.

The Sinclair Trust. I vaguely remembered it being quietly dissolved when I was a teenager. At the time, I hadn't cared-there were always dozens of shell companies. But now it made sense. The trust had been set up for her.

And my father had buried it when he buried the truth.

Which made me wonder... what was Ayla's real goal?

Was it revenge?

Money?

Or was she after something more dangerous-recognition?

Because if she wanted that, if she made it public, if she forced his hand...

This entire empire could fracture.

The Blackwood name was more than wealth-it was legacy, it was image. And a scandal like this? It would turn the board of directors on us, spook our investors, and drag a family secret into every newspaper headline by morning.

I couldn't let that happen.

Not until I knew what she wanted.

Not until I knew her.

By sunrise, I was back in my room, dressed, alert, and more focused than I had been in months.

If Ayla thought she could infiltrate my world without notice, she was wrong.

She had already drawn my attention.

Now, I was going to watch every move she made.

I'd find out what she knew, who told her, and what she planned to do with it.

And if she thought this was her story to tell...

She was about to learn exactly what it meant to challenge a Blackwood.