Chapter 3: The Secret Behind His Wife’s Death
Victor Blackwood had spent six years refusing to believe the impossible.
His wife’s death had been an accident.
That was the only version of the story he allowed himself to accept.
A rainy night.
A dangerous road.
A car that lost control.
A funeral filled with flowers and people saying how tragic it was.
But now, standing alone in his office while his son slept upstairs, one sentence kept replaying in his mind.
*What happened to your wife wasn’t an accident.*
Victor looked at the phone still resting on his desk.
The unknown caller was gone.
No number.
No trace.
Just a warning that had ripped open a wound he had buried years ago.
Behind him, Lily and Martha stood silently.
Neither woman dared speak.
Because they had seen something change in Victor.
The businessman was gone.
The man who could calmly negotiate under pressure had disappeared.
What remained was a husband.
A father.
A man who suddenly wondered if he had spent six years mourning the wrong story.
Victor turned slowly.
“Martha.””
“Yes, sir?””
“Get me every file connected to my wife’s accident.””
Martha’s face changed.
“Sir…”
“Every file.””
His voice was firm.
“The police reports. Insurance documents. Medical records. Everything.””
Martha hesitated.
“There is one problem.””
“What?””
“Those files were sealed.””
Victor stared at her.
“By who?””
Martha lowered her eyes.
“Your father.””
The answer hit him harder than expected.
Victor’s father, Richard Blackwood, had been the one who handled everything after the accident.
At the time, Victor was too broken to question anything.
He had been twenty-nine years old.
A new father.
A widower.
A man trying to survive each day without collapsing.
His father had told him:
“Let me take care of the details. You need to focus on your son.””
Victor had believed him.
Because he had wanted to.
“Where are the files now?”” Victor asked.
Martha looked nervous.
“In the old family archive.””
“The room nobody is allowed to enter?””
She nodded.
Victor grabbed his coat.
“Then tonight is the night we enter it.””
The Blackwood family archive was located beneath the east wing of the mansion.
A place most employees didn’t even know existed.
Victor had only been there a handful of times as a child.
His father had always called it “the room where the family keeps its memories.””
But Victor had learned something over the years.
Powerful families did not only keep memories.
They kept secrets.
The heavy metal door opened with a loud click.
Dust filled the air.
Rows of shelves stretched into darkness.
Old photographs.
Legal documents.
Family records.
Thousands of pieces of history locked away from the outside world.
Victor entered first.
Martha followed behind him.
Lily stayed near the doorway.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
Victor looked back.
“After what you risked for Ethan, you have every right to be here.””
Lily nodded quietly.
They searched for nearly twenty minutes.
Then Martha stopped.
“Sir.””
Victor turned.
She was holding a small black box.
“What is that?””
Martha looked at the label.
His stomach tightened.
*Eleanor Blackwood.*
His wife’s name.
Victor took the box from her.
His hands became unsteady.
Inside were several documents.
A photograph.
And a handwritten letter.
He picked up the photograph first.
It showed Eleanor outside a restaurant.
Standing beside someone.
Victor froze.
Because he recognized the person immediately.
Daniel Vale.
Serena’s father.
Lily stepped closer.
“That’s him?””
Victor nodded slowly.
“Yes.””
He looked at the date.
The photograph had been taken two months before Eleanor died.
Two months before Serena had supposedly entered his life by coincidence.
Victor unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was Eleanor’s.
His heart nearly stopped.
*Victor,*
*If you are reading this, something has happened.*
He stopped.
The room became silent.
Martha whispered, “Sir…”
Victor kept reading.
*I don’t know who I can trust anymore.*
His breathing became heavier.
*I found something connected to Blackwood Holdings. Something involving Daniel Vale.*
Victor looked up.
Daniel Vale.
Again.
The same name.
The same person appearing everywhere.
He continued.
*I tried to tell you, but I was afraid. Not for myself. For Ethan.*
Victor’s hand tightened around the paper.
His son’s name.
Written by the mother who never got to watch him grow.
*If anything happens to me, promise me you will protect him. Don’t let anyone who wants this family’s power get close to him.*
Victor stopped reading.
The words blurred.
Because suddenly, he remembered.
The night before Eleanor died.
She had tried to talk to him.
She had stood in their kitchen holding a cup of tea.
She had looked frightened.
And he had been too distracted by a business crisis to notice.
“Victor,” she had said.
“What?””
“I need to tell you something.””
“Can it wait until tomorrow?””
Those were the last words he had spoken to her.
Can it wait?
He had thought there would always be another tomorrow.
There wasn’t.
Victor lowered the letter.
“I ignored her.””
Nobody answered.
Because nobody could.
Then Lily noticed something.
“Sir.””
She pointed at the photograph.
“There’s something written on the back.””
Victor flipped it over.
Three words were written in Eleanor’s handwriting.
*Ask about Serena.*
The air disappeared from the room.
Victor stared.
Serena.
His fiancée.
The woman upstairs in his home.
The woman who had touched his son.
The woman whose father had been connected to his wife.
Martha stepped back.
“Oh my God.””
Victor said nothing.
He simply folded the photograph.
Carefully.
Like it was something fragile.
But inside, something was breaking.
An hour later, Victor returned upstairs.
The mansion was quiet.
Too quiet.
He walked toward the nursery.
The door was slightly open.
Inside, Ethan slept peacefully.
His small fingers held onto a stuffed bear.
Victor stood there for a long moment.
Then he noticed something.
A mark on Ethan’s arm.
Small.
Almost invisible.
But real.
Victor felt his chest tighten.
He gently touched his son’s hand.
“I’m sorry.””
His voice cracked.
“I should have seen it.””
Behind him, a voice spoke.
“You’re blaming yourself.””
Victor turned.
Lily stood in the doorway.
“He’s my son.””
“Yes.””
“I’m supposed to protect him.””
Lily looked at Ethan.
“You came home.””
Victor looked at her.
“What?””
“You came home when he needed you.””
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Victor heard footsteps behind them.
Serena.
She stood at the end of the hallway wearing a silk robe.
Her expression was calm.
Almost too calm.
“Victor.””
He turned.
“What?””
She looked toward Ethan’s room.
“I think we need to talk.””
“No.””
Her eyebrows lifted.
“No?””
Victor walked toward her.
“You’re right.””
Serena smiled slightly.
“I am?””
“Yes.””
He stopped a few feet away.
“We do need to talk.””
Relief flashed across her face.
Until he continued.
“But not the way you think.””
Her smile disappeared.
Victor held up the photograph.
And Serena saw it.
Her entire body went still.
Because she recognized the handwriting.
She recognized the name.
And she recognized the danger.
“Where did you get that?””
Victor studied her reaction.
Not her words.
Her reaction.
“How do you know what it is?””
Serena’s face turned pale.
“I don’t.””
“Then why are you afraid?””
She said nothing.
For the first time since entering his life, Serena had no perfect answer.
No charming explanation.
No beautiful lie.
Victor stepped closer.
“My wife knew your father.””
Serena looked away.
“Victor…”
“She wrote your name before she died.””
A long silence followed.
Then Serena whispered:
“That’s impossible.””
Victor watched her carefully.
“Why?””
She looked back at him.
Because whatever she had been hiding was no longer just about Ethan.
It was bigger.
Older.
And much more dangerous.
Finally, Serena spoke.
“Because my father never met Eleanor Blackwood.””
Victor stared at her.
“You’re lying.””
“No.””
Her voice trembled.
“My father met her.””
A pause.
Then she whispered the words that changed everything.
“But he wasn’t the only one.””
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?””
Serena looked toward the dark hallway.
Toward the room where Ethan slept.
And for the first time, she looked genuinely terrified.
“It means…”
She swallowed.
“Your wife wasn’t investigating my father.””
Victor waited.
Serena’s voice dropped.
“She was investigating someone inside your family.””
The hallway lights flickered.
And at that exact moment, Victor’s phone buzzed.
A new message appeared.
No number.
No name.
May you like
Just one sentence.
*Ask Richard Blackwood why Eleanor died.*
