The faded photograph felt like a live wire in Amelia's hand, burning her skin with the truth it revealed. Swift Construction. The name was a brand seared into her childhood, synonymous with family road trips to construction sites, the smell of sawdust on her father's work clothes, and, ultimately, shame and loss. And there it was, in the background of Alexander's past, a happy memory now twisted into something dark and menacing.
Her mind raced, frantically trying to piece together a narrative. Her father had never mentioned knowing the Blackwoods. Their downfall had been presented as a result of market conditions and bad investments, not a personal vendetta from a rival family. But the evidence was right here. Alexander hadn't just targeted her family's company as a cold business opportunity. It was personal. This was revenge, meticulously planned and brutally executed.
The sound of a door closing somewhere in the house jolted her back to the present. Panic seized her. She couldn't let him find her with this. She shoved the photograph back into the book, her hands trembling so violently she could barely slide it onto the shelf. She took a few deep, steadying breaths, trying to force the shock and betrayal from her expression. She had to get out of the library.
She retreated to her suite, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The opulent room, once a cage of gold and ice, now felt like a crime scene. Every piece of furniture, every expensive garment in the wardrobe, felt like a spoil of war, a trophy taken in a battle she never knew she was fighting. The memory of his touch, so vivid and potent just hours ago, now felt like a violation. Had every caress, every whispered confession in the Swiss chalet, been a calculated part of his revenge? A way to humiliate her further?
The rest of the day passed in a blur of agonizing silence. Mrs. Higgins brought her lunch on a tray, her demeanor as impassive as ever. Amelia picked at the food, her stomach churning. She was a prisoner again, but now the bars were invisible, forged from lies and a past she didn't understand.
Late in the afternoon, a soft chime from her tablet broke the silence. It was a notification from Mrs. Higgins.
*Mr. Blackwood requests your presence in the main drawing-room at 7 PM. Mr. Damian Vance will be joining for drinks.*
Damian Vance. The name was like a splash of cold water. The viper from the Met Gala, the one who had taunted her, the one Alexander had so fiercely defended her against. Why was he being invited here, to the inner sanctum, especially now, in the midst of this fresh, private hell?
Dread coiled in her stomach, but a new, steely resolve hardened within her. If Alexander thought he could continue this charade, if he thought she would play the blissful fiancée for his business associate after what she had discovered, he was mistaken. This was no longer just about survival. It was about uncovering the truth.
At seven o'clock sharp, she descended the stairs. She had chosen a simple, high-necked black dress, a stark contrast to the lavish gowns Alexander usually demanded. It was her armor. She found the two men already in the drawing-room. Alexander stood by the fireplace, a crystal tumbler of whiskey in his hand, his expression unreadable. Damian Vance sat in a low armchair, looking infuriatingly comfortable, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Amelia, darling," Alexander said, his voice smooth as polished glass. No trace of the man from the chalet remained. "You remember Damian."
"Of course," Amelia said, her voice cool. She did not smile.
"Amelia," Damian purred, rising to his feet and taking her hand. Instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. The gesture was overly familiar, possessive. "You look… tense. The mountain air didn't agree with you? Or perhaps the return to reality has been… difficult?"
She pulled her hand back as if burned. "The reality has always been difficult, Mr. Vance."
Alexander's eyes narrowed slightly, a silent warning. "Damian was just updating me on the European market fluctuations. Boring business, I'm afraid."
"Not at all," Damian said, his gaze still locked on Amelia, probing, searching for weakness. "I find the personal dynamics within business to be utterly fascinating. Don't you, Amelia? The hidden histories, the secret motivations… it's what makes the game so thrilling."
Was he taunting her? Did he know something? Her heart hammered. She felt like a mouse being toyed with by two cats.
"Thrilling isn't the word I'd use," she replied, meeting his gaze squarely.
"Really? I would have thought you'd appreciate a good game of cat and mouse," Damian pressed, his smile widening. "After all, you've managed to snare the most elusive prey of all." He glanced at Alexander. "Tell me, Alex, does she know? About the old neighborhood? About how our families used to be so… close? Before the great Swift collapse, of course."
The air left the room. Amelia froze, her eyes darting to Alexander. His face was a mask of stone, but she saw the knuckles of his hand, the one holding the whiskey glass, turn white.
"That's enough, Damian," Alexander said, his voice low and dangerously quiet.
"But why keep it a secret?" Damian feigned innocence. "It's such a charming story. A true testament to your… resilience, Alex. Rising from the ashes of your own family's ruin after the Swifts left you all in the lurch. Quite the poetic justice, don't you think, Amelia? That you ended up here, in his home, after everything?"
The world tilted. Your own family's ruin. The words slammed into her. It wasn't just her father's company. It was Alexander's family too? Her father's failure had destroyed the Blackwoods? The revenge was even deeper, more justified, than she had imagined. The guilt was a sudden, nauseating weight in her chest.
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't stand there another second, being dissected by Damian's malicious glee and Alexander's icy silence.
"Excuse me," she whispered, her voice strangled. She didn't wait for a response. She turned and fled the room, ignoring Alexander's sharp call of her name.
She didn't stop until she was back in her suite, leaning against the locked door, gasping for air. The walls of the gilded cage were closing in, and now they were lined with the accusing faces of a past she never knew. She was the daughter of the man who had ruined Alexander Blackwood. And he had brought her here, not just for a business merger, but to make her pay for a debt she never knew she owed.
The performance was indeed over. But the truth was far more devastating than any lie. And as she slid down the door to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself, she realized the most terrifying thing of all: amidst the shock and the betrayal, a part of her, a foolish, traitorous part, still ached for the man who had held her in the Swiss chalet, even if that man had never truly existed. The war was no longer just between them. It was now a war within her own heart.