Clara froze.

"What?"

Christian nodded.

"I thought he was betraying me."

He looked at her.

"So I told him I never wanted to see him again."

The room seemed to grow colder.

Clara stepped closer.

"Christian."

He shook his head.

"He called me three times that night."

His voice broke.

"I didn't answer."

Clara reached for his hand.

He looked down.

Then back at her.

"And the next morning, he was dead."

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Clara whispered, "You were twenty-three."

Christian's expression hardened.

"I should have known."

"No."

He looked at her.

"You don't get to blame yourself for someone else's death."

His eyes darkened.

"Clara—"

"Your father made his own choices."

She stepped closer.

"And my father made his."

Christian stared at her.

Then he closed his eyes.

For the first time, Clara saw him surrender.

Not to an enemy.

Not to a board.

But to grief.

She wrapped her arms around him.

He held her tightly.

And in the silence of the study, the most powerful man in the city finally allowed himself to break.

At dawn, Marcus entered the study.

Christian was standing beside the window.

Clara sat on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket.

Marcus placed a folder on the desk.

"Sir."

Christian turned.

"What?"

"We found the device."

Clara stood.

"Where?"

Marcus looked at her.

"In the old east wing."

Christian's expression changed.

"The east wing?"

Marcus nodded.

"Inside your father's private office."

Christian stared at him.

"That room has been locked for eight years."

"Yes, sir."

Clara looked at the folder.

"What's inside?"

Marcus hesitated.

Then he opened it.

A photograph.

A silver key.

And a handwritten note.

Christian picked up the note.

His expression changed.

Clara stepped closer.

"What does it say?"

Christian looked at her.

Then he read the words aloud.

The truth was never buried with us.

Beneath the sentence was a name.

Julian Thorne.

And another.

Alexander Vance.

Clara felt her blood run cold.

Because the note was dated eight years ago.

The day Christian's father died.

And the handwriting belonged to Christian's father.

Chapter 8: The Locked Room

The east wing had been closed for eight years.

Clara had passed its doors countless times during her months at the estate.

She had always assumed it was abandoned.

A relic of the past.

But when Christian unlocked the doors that morning, she realized the room had never been forgotten.

It had been preserved.

The furniture was covered in white sheets.

The bookshelves were untouched.

A grand piano stood beside the window.

And on the desk rested a photograph of Alexander Vance.

Christian stopped in the doorway.

For a moment, he did not move.

Clara touched his arm.

"Are you ready?"

He looked at her.

"No."

She nodded.

"Neither am I."

Then they stepped inside.

The office smelled faintly of cedarwood and old paper.

Christian moved toward the desk.

He opened the drawers.

Empty.

He checked the cabinets.

Nothing.

Clara walked toward the bookshelf.

Something caught her attention.

A row of books stood slightly out of alignment.

She reached for one.

It did not move.

She tried another.

Still nothing.

Then she noticed a small indentation in the wooden frame.

A keyhole.

Clara's heart began to pound.

"Christian."

He turned.

She pointed.

He approached.

For several seconds, he stared at the keyhole.

Then he reached into his pocket.

The silver key.

The one found in the estate.

He inserted it.

It turned.

A soft click echoed through the room.

The bookshelf shifted.

Behind it was a narrow compartment.

Inside lay a black box.

Christian lifted it out.

Clara stared.

"What's in it?"

He opened the lid.

Inside were documents.

Photographs.

A small recording device.

And a letter.

Christian picked up the letter.

His hands trembled.

Clara watched him.

"What does it say?"

He unfolded it.

Then he read.

Christian,

If you are reading this, then I have failed to protect you.

There is a truth I have carried for eight years.

Your mother did not die in the accident that everyone believes took her life.

Christian froze.

Clara's breath caught.

His mother.

The woman he had never spoken about.

The woman whose portrait hung in the west gallery.

The woman who had supposedly died when Christian was a child.

Christian continued reading.

She discovered that Julian Thorne was using our company to finance an illegal operation.

She confronted him.

And she disappeared.

The letter slipped from Christian's fingers.

Clara caught it.

She looked at him.

"Christian?"

He stared at the page.

His expression was empty.

"My mother..."

Clara stepped closer.

"She might be alive."

Christian looked at her.

For the first time in his life, he appeared completely lost.

"Eight years."

His voice was barely audible.

"Eight years, Clara."

She reached for his hand.

"We'll find her."

Christian closed his eyes.

Then he whispered, "If she's alive..."

Clara looked at him.

"What?"

His jaw tightened.

"Then Julian has been lying to me for eight years."

He opened his eyes.

And the look in them was terrifying.

"That means he knows exactly what happened to your father."

Clara felt the room tilt.

The two families.

The pharmaceutical trust.

The deaths.

The disappearances.

Everything was connected.

And somewhere in the darkness, Julian Thorne was holding the final piece of the puzzle.

The recording device was old.

Christian connected it to a computer.

The screen flickered.

A file appeared.

Dated eight years ago.

Clara looked at him.

"Are you sure?"

Christian nodded.

He pressed play.

Static filled the room.

Then a woman's voice.

Soft.

Familiar.

"Alexander, you have to listen to me."

Christian went completely still.

The voice continued.

"Julian knows about the trust. He's been moving the money for months."

A man's voice answered.

Alexander Vance.

"I know."

The woman sounded frightened.

"Then why are you protecting him?"

Silence.

Then Alexander spoke.

"Because he has Clara."

Clara's blood ran cold.

Christian looked at her.

The recording continued.

"She's only a child," the woman whispered.

"Exactly."

A pause.

Then Alexander said something that shattered the room.

"Julian believes the girl is the key to everything."

Clara stared at the screen.

The girl.

Her.

The recording ended.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Clara whispered, "What did he mean?"

Christian stared at the computer.

"I don't know."

She looked at him.

"Christian."

He turned.

His expression was cold.

But beneath it, Clara saw fear.

"Your father knew something about you."

Clara's heart pounded.

"What?"

Christian looked at the black box.

Then at the letter.

Then back at her.

"I think," he said quietly, "your father and mine were trying to protect you from something far worse than Julian Thorne."

At noon, Clara received another message.

This time, it was not a photograph.

It was a video.

A woman sat in a dimly lit room.

Her face was partially hidden by shadows.

Her hands were tied.

Clara stared.

The woman lifted her head.

And Clara recognized her immediately.

Isabelle Laurent.

The woman who had transformed her into a queen the night before.

The woman who had smiled when Clara said she intended to survive Christian Vance.

A voice spoke from behind the camera.

"Christian Vance."

The screen shifted.

A man stepped into view.

Julian Thorne.

His smile was cold.

"You have something that belongs to me."

Christian's expression became lethal.

Julian leaned toward the camera.

"And I have something that belongs to you."

He turned toward Isabelle.

She looked directly into the lens.

Her eyes were terrified.

Then Julian smiled.

"Let's make a trade."

The video ended.

Clara looked at Christian.

He was already reaching for his phone.

"Marcus."

His voice was ice.

"Find Julian."

A pause.

Then Christian said something that made Clara's blood run cold.

"And prepare the weapons."

Chapter 9: The Price of Love

Christian's private garage was a cathedral of steel and glass.

Black cars stood beneath recessed lighting.

Motorcycles lined the far wall.

And in the center of the room, Christian stood beside a black SUV, speaking with Marcus.

Clara approached.