Chapter 4 Buried Secret And Broken Trust

Elena paced the living room like a caged animal, her nerves frayed beyond recognition.

The message had shaken her, but it was the silence that followed that truly terrified her. Whoever was behind the anonymous number wasn't just threatening her-they were toying with her. Letting her stew in dread.

Damien hadn't spoken to her since she showed him the envelope. He was colder now, more distant-his anger a frozen wall she couldn't break through. And still, she hadn't told him everything.

She couldn't.

There was one piece of the past she'd buried so deeply, she'd sworn never to revisit it. But it was clawing its way back now, scraping at her sanity.

She stared out over the glittering skyline, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Her phone sat on the counter behind her, taunting her with its silence.

Then it rang.

She jumped, nearly knocking over a vase.

Unknown Number.

Heart thundering, she answered. "Who is this?"

A voice, disguised through some kind of modulator, replied: "Tick-tock, Elena. Truth has a funny way of surfacing. Maybe your husband deserves to know everything."

"You don't know anything about him," she snapped.

A pause. Then: "Don't I? You're not the only one with secrets."

The line went dead.

Elena stood frozen, the silence pressing down on her like a weight.

Not the only one with secrets.

Later that night, she cornered Damien in the penthouse study.

He didn't even look up from his tablet. "Unless this is a press emergency, I'm not interested."

"It's worse," she said, forcing her voice to stay even. "Whoever sent those photos called me."

That got his attention.

He set down the tablet, finally looking at her. "What did they say?"

She hesitated. "They said... they know everything. That you're hiding things too."

Damien's eyes narrowed. "What else?"

"That was it. Then they hung up."

He rose slowly from his seat, closing the distance between them.

"Do you believe them?" he asked, voice low.

"No," she said, too quickly. "But... do you?"

He didn't answer.

The tension between them stretched tight and dangerous. He studied her, and something in his gaze shifted.

"Come with me," he said.

"What?"

"Now."

He drove them out of the city without explaining, his hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary. Elena stayed silent, watching the skyline fade into the distance.

After nearly an hour, they pulled into a secluded private estate-gated, remote, and eerily quiet. A caretaker let them in with a nod.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"My family's retreat," Damien said shortly. "My father bought it years ago. I haven't been here in almost a decade."

She glanced around. The house was large but had the stillness of a place frozen in time. Dust clung to picture frames and furniture covers. It smelled of wood, rain, and memory.

Damien led her down a hallway and stopped before a locked door.

"My father kept this room sealed," he said. "He told me never to go inside."

"And now you want to?"

He looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes. "Because if I'm going to ask for your trust... I need to give you something first."

He unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Inside, the room was a time capsule-photos, files, newspaper clippings pinned to the walls. Elena stepped in slowly, eyes scanning everything.

Most of it was about her.

Articles about her modeling debut. Her parents' sudden deaths. The scandal with the video.

But mixed in were things she didn't recognize-bank statements, surveillance logs, even phone call transcripts.

"What is all this?" she whispered.

"My father was tracking you," Damien said. "For years."

She turned to him, horrified. "Why?"

"I don't know. I didn't even know this room existed until after he died. I think he knew something about your family-something he never told me."

Elena's breath caught. "My father... he worked in finance. He was clean."

"Not according to this," Damien said, pointing to a document. "Your father was named in a federal investigation-embezzlement. But the case disappeared. Buried."

Elena's head spun. "That's impossible."

But a terrible doubt had taken root.

Was that why someone was targeting her now? Revenge for sins she didn't commit?

"Your father left something behind, Elena," Damien said. "And I think whoever's after you wants it."

"I don't have anything."

"Maybe not. But they think you do. And they won't stop until they get it."

They spent hours in that room, piecing together fragments. The deeper they dug, the darker the picture became.

Her father had once worked with Damien's father-briefly, on a high-risk investment portfolio. There was mention of a whistleblower. A betrayal. And a payout that vanished.

"This wasn't random," she murmured. "Our marriage... this whole thing... was orchestrated."

"Not by me," Damien said, jaw tight. "I didn't know any of this."

"Then who?"

Neither had an answer.

As dawn approached, they sat outside the house, watching the sky begin to lighten.

Elena leaned back, exhausted. "I'm tired of being afraid."

Damien didn't respond at first. Then, quietly: "Me too."

She looked at him, really looked at him, and for once, saw past the armor.

"What did they mean?" she asked softly. "When they said you had secrets?"

He turned to her slowly. "There's something I need to tell you."

Before he could continue, a sharp crack shattered the silence.

A gunshot.

They ducked instantly.

Another shot rang out, hitting the stone pillar near the porch.

Damien pulled her to the ground, shielding her.

"Go inside!" he yelled. "Now!"

They scrambled back into the house, Damien slamming the door shut and locking it. He pressed a hand to her shoulder, eyes fierce.

"This is no longer about appearances," he said. "Someone wants you dead."

Elena's heart thundered.

She had always thought the scandal was the worst thing that could happen.

But now it was clear-

That was only the beginning.