Chapter 3 A Past That Won't Stay Buried

Elena barely slept.

The walls of Damien's penthouse felt too sterile, too silent. Her mind spun with headlines, forced smiles, and the flicker of something unreadable in Damien's eyes.

She wrapped herself in a silk robe and padded to the kitchen in the early hours, hoping for coffee and a sliver of sanity. Instead, she found Damien already there, a glass of whiskey in his hand and a laptop open before him.

"You don't sleep?" she asked, her voice low.

"Sleep is for people who aren't trying to outrun scandals."

She watched him for a moment. The crisp lines of his jaw. The way his fingers hovered over the keyboard like he could command the world with a single keystroke.

"Do you ever turn it off?" she asked.

His gaze flicked up. "Turn what off?"

"The act. The control. The... billionaire persona."

For a second, she thought she saw something crack in him-a flicker of the boy he must've been before money hardened him into steel.

Then it was gone.

"You'd be surprised how often the act becomes the reality," he said coolly. "And what about you, Elena? What's the real you hiding from?"

Her stomach twisted.

Damien didn't know about the man in the video. Not really. And he definitely didn't know what he'd meant to her.

Or the consequences she was still paying for.

"Some things are better left in the past," she murmured, turning away.

Later that afternoon, a delivery arrived. Not flowers. Not champagne. But a sealed manila envelope, hand-delivered, no return address.

Elena picked it up carefully. Her name was written in messy, all-caps handwriting.

She opened it slowly-and froze.

Inside were photos. Grainy, candid shots of her... and him.

The man from the video.

Only these were worse. These were from before the scandal. Before the hotel room. One showed them kissing in a club. Another-her asleep in his lap, his hand possessively around her waist. And the last one...

Her heart stopped.

It was a photo of a positive pregnancy test, sitting on a bathroom sink. Her bathroom.

Her legs nearly gave out.

She hadn't told a soul about that. Not even her best friend. Not even him.

She had taken the test three months ago. And she'd miscarried two weeks later. Alone. In pain. In silence.

Damien's voice behind her made her jump.

"What's that?"

She turned quickly, shoving the photos back into the envelope.

"Nothing."

He didn't believe her. She could see it in the way his eyes narrowed.

"Elena," he said, stepping closer. "What aren't you telling me?"

She gripped the counter. "We agreed this marriage was for appearances. Not interrogation."

"Appearances," he repeated, voice like steel. "That means keeping the vultures away. And whatever's in that envelope looks like blood in the water."

She clenched her jaw. "I'll handle it."

Damien took a long sip of his drink, studying her like she was a chess piece he couldn't quite place. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

But she knew it wasn't over.

Not even close.

The next day, Damien's lawyer summoned her to his office.

"Elena," the man said, steepling his fingers over a thick stack of legal files. "Mr. Blackwell asked me to update the terms of the prenup."

Her stomach sank. "What terms?"

"He wants to add a clause. If either party is caught engaging in any activity that could further scandalize or damage the Blackwell brand, the contract is null-and all financial protections are void."

She stared at him. "He thinks I'm a liability?"

The lawyer didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"I'm not signing anything else until I speak to Damien," she snapped.

But Damien wasn't answering her calls.

When she returned to the penthouse, he was waiting.

"I thought this was about protecting each other," she said, fury vibrating in her chest. "Not setting traps."

His eyes were dark. Cold. "I'm protecting myself. You've got skeletons you're not even trying to hide."

"You have no idea what I've been through."

"Then enlighten me."

She hesitated. Her voice trembled. "I was pregnant."

The words hung in the air like a loaded gun.

Damien's expression didn't change, but his silence was thunderous.

"It wasn't his," she added. "Not by the time that video surfaced. I lost it. A miscarriage. I didn't tell anyone."

He blinked, and for a moment, something raw passed across his face.

Pain?

Sympathy?

No. It was gone too fast.

"Why are you telling me this now?" he asked.

"Because someone knows. And they're threatening me."

"Who?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "But whoever it is... they have pictures. From months ago. They even had the test. I think someone was watching me."

Damien's jaw tightened. "Do you still have the envelope?"

She handed it to him. He rifled through it, his fingers tightening with every image.

"This wasn't taken by a stranger," he muttered. "These were personal. Someone close. Someone who had access."

Her blood ran cold. "You think it's him?"

"Maybe. Or someone working with him."

Elena wrapped her arms around herself. "He disappeared after the scandal. Cut off contact. Changed his number. I thought it was over."

"It's never over," Damien said grimly. "Not when you're a pawn in someone else's game."

That night, Damien made a call Elena couldn't hear, locked in his office for over an hour.

When he emerged, his expression was unreadable. He didn't speak, didn't acknowledge her, just disappeared into his private suite.

Elena stood outside his door for several minutes, torn between knocking and walking away.

Finally, she returned to her room.

But as she curled into bed, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

"You should've told him everything, Elena. Tick-tock. :)"

Her blood froze.

She texted back: Who is this?

No reply.

She dropped the phone. Her hands shook. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

Then the thought hit her-

This wasn't just about the past.

This was about control.

About fear.

About someone who wanted to ruin her life... piece by piece.

And they'd just begun.