Chapter Nine
The moment Selene stepped forward, the scent of smoke filled her nose.
It wasn't coming from the fireplace. No. It was coming from the thick, leather-bound journal Ava Vale now dangled over the flame of a sleek black candle on the desk—Elara's journal.
Selene's stomach dropped.
Ava's long red nails curled possessively around the spine of the book, her wrist flicking just enough to let the heat lick the edge. Her eyes, dark and cunning, locked with Selene's. There was no softness in them. No hint of apology. Only fury. And something else—glee.
"You shouldn't have come in here," Ava said, voice smooth and low, like silk wrapped around a dagger. "This room was meant to be locked. But curiosity runs deep in girls like you."
Girls like me?
Selene took a single step forward, her fists clenched at her sides. "Put the journal down."
Ava tilted her head. "Or what, darling? You'll tell Damien? You think he doesn't already know what this room contains?"
Selene's heart skipped. That wasn't true. Damien had told her—explicitly—not to touch the west wing. Said it was closed for a reason. But the way Ava spoke…like it was all orchestrated.
Like he wanted her to find this room.
"You were there," Selene said, her voice trembling not from fear—but rage. "The night Elara disappeared. You said her name. You said she deserved what she got. What happened to her?"
Ava's smile vanished.
The flame flickered. For a second, Selene thought the journal would go up in smoke, right there.
A beat passed. Then Ava pulled the book back from the fire and tossed it onto the bed, the pages fanning open like a silent scream.
"She was a mistake," Ava murmured. "Just like you're becoming."
Selene flinched. "What do you mean?"
Ava crossed the room slowly, her heels tapping against the marble, her movements deliberate. Her beauty was sharp—too sharp. Her golden waves perfectly styled, her crimson lips forming into a venomous smirk.
"I mean," she said, circling Selene like a predator, "Damien has a type. Lost little lambs with secrets they don't even understand themselves. You think you're different? You're not. You're just a replacement for the girl he couldn't keep."
Elara.
Selene's throat tightened. "He told me she meant nothing."
Ava scoffed. "He lied."
Silence exploded between them.
A wind rattled against the windows. Somewhere far down the hall, the grandfather clock struck midnight. And suddenly, Selene knew—this wasn't just about jealousy or hatred. It was about power. Ava was guarding something. Protecting a truth buried deep inside this mansion.
And she was willing to burn Elara's words to keep it hidden.
"I'm not afraid of you," Selene whispered.
Ava laughed softly. "Oh, sweetheart. You should be."
In a blur, Ava yanked open a drawer and pulled something out. A flash drive. Silver. Sleek. And marked with a single letter:
E.
Elara's.
"Let's play a game," Ava said, twirling it between her fingers. "You get the drive… if you can take it from me before I decide to crush it beneath my heel."
Before Selene could respond, Ava hurled it across the room. It bounced off the far wall and skidded under the heavy velvet curtains.
"Tick-tock," Ava whispered.
Selene lunged.
She dove toward the curtain, fingers scrambling against the cold floor. Behind her, Ava moved like a shadow—swift, silent, and full of menace. Selene reached the flash drive just as Ava's foot came down inches away from her hand.
Too close.
"You don't know what's on there," Ava said, looming over her. "You don't know what you're about to wake up."
Selene stood, holding the drive tightly. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. She met Ava's glare head-on.
"I don't care."
Ava's voice dropped. "Then don't say I didn't warn you."
Suddenly, the door slammed open.
Both women turned.
And standing in the doorway—broad shoulders in a black suit, eyes like obsidian, jaw locked with fury—was Damien Vale.
"Selene," he said sharply, voice thunderous. "What the hell are you doing in here?"
Selene froze.
In her hand, the flash drive burned cold. Behind her, Ava wore a mask of innocence, stepping delicately aside.
"I found her," Ava said sweetly, "rummaging through Elara's things."
Selene's throat was dry. Her heart thundered.
She didn't speak. Couldn't. Because in Damien's eyes wasn't just anger.
It was fear.
For the first time since she'd met him… Damien Vale looked afraid.
And Selene realized—she'd just crossed a line no one was ever supposed to touch.
Damien's stare was like a blade—sharp, slicing, unforgiving. The room fell into a tense silence, thick as smoke.
Selene's hand clenched tighter around the flash drive.
"I asked you a question," Damien said, voice low but deadly. "What are you doing in here?"
Behind her, Ava's lips twisted into a delicate smirk. She stood at an angle Damien couldn't fully see, her hands folded like a saint's—but her eyes danced with triumph. She wanted this.
Selene forced herself to breathe. She met Damien's eyes, trying to ignore the weight in her chest. "I was looking for answers."
"Answers?" he echoed.
She nodded, slowly. "About Elara. About why this room was locked. About why you don't talk about her."
A flicker of something passed across Damien's face—guilt? Pain? It was gone before she could place it.
"I told you not to come into the west wing for a reason."
"And I told you," Selene said, voice rising despite the pressure in her lungs, "that I wouldn't be your little kept girl, walking blindfolded through your life while everyone else whispers behind my back."
Ava sighed dramatically. "She went through Elara's drawers, Damien. She was reading her journals like she had a right to them. She even tried to accuse me of—"
Selene turned. "You said she got what she deserved. You said you were there the night she disappeared!"
Ava gasped, feigning insult. "That's a lie. She's twisting my words."
Damien raised a hand. His voice was razor-sharp now. "Enough. Both of you."
Selene's throat burned. She took a step forward. "She tried to burn the journal. Elara's journal. And this—" she held up the flash drive, "was hidden in the drawer. If you're going to tell me none of this matters, then look me in the eye and say it."
Damien didn't speak.
Not right away.
Instead, he closed the door behind him—softly, but the gesture sent chills up Selene's spine. He approached with slow, controlled movements, his tailored suit pristine, his expression unreadable.
"Give me the drive," he said.
Selene held it tighter. "No."
"Selene—"
"I want the truth. I deserve the truth."
Damien stopped inches from her. She could feel his heat, and smell the faint trace of his cologne—sandalwood and shadow. His eyes dropped to her hand, then rose back to her face.
Ava stepped closer. "You're wasting your breath, Damien. She's not like us. She doesn't understand how dangerous the past can be."
Selene ignored her. "You looked scared when you saw me with this. Why?"
Damien's jaw flexed. "Because what's on that drive could destroy everything."
Selene blinked. "Then you do know what's on it."
He didn't answer.
The room held its breath.
And then Damien reached into his coat and pulled out a key. He crossed to the far wall—a place Selene hadn't noticed before, partly obscured by a velvet curtain—and inserted the key into a narrow panel.
The wall clicked. Shifted.
A hidden compartment.
Behind it: a sleek, matte-black safe.
He opened it with swift precision, pulled out a matching flash drive—identical to the one in Selene's hand—and placed them side by side on the desk.
Two.
Selene's pulse raced. "There's more than one?"
Damien finally looked at her. "There were three. Elara made copies. One disappeared with her. The other two… were left behind. I've kept mine hidden. Ava found the second."
Selene turned slowly. Ava's expression had changed. Her smirk was gone.
Damien continued. "Elara was recording everything—meetings, conversations, private messages. She'd uncovered something, something she said could ruin the Vale name. She was going to release it the night she vanished."
"Ruin you?" Selene asked quietly.
Damien didn't blink. "Not just me. My family. My father. People with power. Money. Ties to things we've buried for generations."
"Did she vanish," Selene whispered, "or was she made to disappear?"
Damien didn't answer.
But Ava did.
"Careful, darling," she said, her tone dripping honey over venom. "Accusations like that tend to backfire."
Selene turned to Damien. "If you had nothing to do with it… then why not let me watch it?"
A long pause.
Then Damien reached for the drive.
"Because once you see it," he said softly, "you'll never be able to unsee it."
He plugged the flash drive into the computer on the desk. The screen lit up. A folder appeared:
ELARA_FINAL
He clicked it open.
Selene's breath caught.
There were dozens of files. Video recordings. Audio logs. Photos. Documents labeled things like Black Foundation, Client List, Operation Silken Web… and one at the very bottom: For Damien.
Before either of them could click it—
The screen went black.
The computer powered down instantly.
"What the hell—?" Damien reached forward.
From the hallway came a sharp crack, like a fuse being blown. The lights above flickered, then died.
The room plunged into darkness.
And then—a sound.
Not Ava. Not Damien. Not Selene.
Footsteps.
In the hall.
Selene's blood ran cold.
Someone was coming.
Damien moved first, stepping in front of Selene, his hand already reaching for the concealed weapon tucked at his back. Ava backed toward the shadows, her perfect mask of control cracking for the first time.
"Who else knows about this room?" Selene whispered.
Damien's voice was steel. "No one should."
But someone did.
And whoever it was—they weren't coming to talk.
They were coming to bury the truth.