"Welcome to Blackthorne Tower," he said, guiding me toward the entrance. "Your temporary home."
"I can't stay here"
"You can and you will. At least until we've discussed the terms of our arrangement."
The lobby was stunning marble floors, contemporary art, the kind of understated luxury that made statements without shouting. People in expensive clothes moved through the space with purpose, most of them glancing our way with barely concealed curiosity.
I caught sight of myself in a mirrored wall and winced. Next to Damien's polished perfection, I looked like exactly what I was a woman who'd been caught in the rain after having her life torn apart.
"I look ridiculous," I muttered.
"You look like someone who's been through hell and came out fighting." He pressed the button for the elevator, which arrived instantly. "There's a difference."
The elevator ride to the top floor was silent, but I could feel Damien watching me, assessing me. When the doors opened, they revealed what could only be described as a penthouse apartment, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city.
"This is your office?" I asked, taking in the sleek furniture and minimalist decor.
"Home and office. I find it efficient." He moved to a sidebar and poured himself another drink. "You should shower, and change clothes. There are things in the bedroom that should fit you."
"You keep women's clothes just lying around?"
"I keep many things lying around. It pays to be prepared." He handed me a glass of water, apparently having decided I wasn't ready for alcohol. "The bathroom is through that door. Take your time. We have much to discuss, but it can wait until you're comfortable."
I accepted the water but didn't move toward the bedroom. "Before I go anywhere, I want to know what you're really after. What did my family steal from you?"
His expression darkened, and for a moment, I glimpsed something dangerous beneath his polished exterior. "Your mother, Elena. They stole your mother."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "What are you talking about? My mother died in a car accident when I was fifteen."
"Did she? Or is that just what your father told you?"
The world seemed to tilt around me. "She... there was an accident. I went to the funeral, I saw"
"You saw a closed casket and accepted what you were told because you were a grieving child who trusted the adults in your life." Damien's voice was gentle now, almost kind. "But Elena, what if I told you that your mother didn't die in that accident? What if I told you she was murdered?"
I sank onto the nearest couch, my legs suddenly unable to support me. "That's impossible."
"Is it? Think about the timing your mother dies just months before your father marries Margaret. Think about how quickly he moved on, how eager he was to blend his new family with his old. Think about how your inheritance mysteriously became tied up in trusts that Margaret had access to."
"You're lying." But even as I said it, doubt was creeping in. There had always been things about my mother's death that didn't quite make sense, questions I'd been too young and too grief-stricken to ask.
"I never lie, Elena. It's inefficient." He moved to stand in front of the windows, his silhouette dark against the city lights. "Your mother was Catherine Blackthorne before she became Catherine Hartwell. She was my sister."
The glass slipped from my numb fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor. Water spread across the expensive wood, but neither of us moved to clean it up.
"Your sister," I whispered.
"My older sister. The heir to the Blackthorne fortune before she fell in love with your father and gave up everything to marry him." He turned back to me, and his eyes were filled with a grief I recognized. "She was going to leave him, you know. She'd finally realized what kind of man Richard Hartwell really was. She was going to take you and disappear."
"No." I shook my head desperately. "No, that's not true. My parents were happy"
"Were they? Or is that what you needed to believe?" His voice was infinitely patient, as if he were explaining something to a child. "Elena, your mother called me the night before she died. She was scared, desperate. She said she'd discovered something about Margaret, something that proved she was dangerous. She was going to confront your father, demand that he choose between his wife and his daughter's safety."
"Stop." Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and unstoppable. "Please, just stop."
"She never made it to that confrontation. The brakes on her car failed on a rainy night, sending her over a cliff on a road she'd driven safely hundreds of times." He knelt in front of me, his pale eyes intense. "Tell me, Elena, does that sound like an accident to you?"
I couldn't breathe. The room was spinning around me, reality fracturing and reforming into something darker and more terrible than I'd ever imagined.
"Why are you telling me this?" I gasped.
"Because you deserve to know the truth. And because I need your help to prove it." He reached out and gently touched my face, his thumb brushing away my tears. "I've spent fifteen years gathering evidence, building a case, waiting for the right moment to destroy the people who killed my sister. And now, with you cast out and hungry for revenge, that moment has finally come."
I stared into his eyes, searching for deception and finding only deadly certainty. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to take back what's yours. I want you to reclaim your position in your family, your inheritance, your power. And when you do, I want you to help me expose the truth about your mother's death." His smile was sharp and cold. "I want you to help me bring them all down."
The broken glass glittered on the floor between us like scattered stars, and I realized that I was standing at a crossroads. I could walk away, try to rebuild my life from nothing, accept that some questions would never have answers.
Or I could stay, and let this beautiful, dangerous man teach me how to become someone who couldn't be discarded, manipulated, or ignored ever again.
"If I say yes," I said slowly, "there's no going back, is there?"
"No," he said simply. "There isn't."
I thought about my mother, who had died trying to protect me from something I'd never even known was dangerous. I thought about fifteen years of lies, of being grateful for scraps while living off blood money.
I thought about the wedding that was probably ending right about now, with Adrian kissing Sophia while wearing the ring that should have been mine.
"Then yes," I said. "I'm in."
Damien's smile was triumphant, predatory, and somehow beautiful. "Welcome to your new life, Elena Hartwell. Let's make them all pay."
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