Genre: Billionaire Romance • Forced Marriage • Revenge • Suspense • Drama

The bride was crying.

Not the delicate kind of crying people expected from a woman on her wedding day. Melody was fighting tears with every ounce of strength she had, her fingers trembling beneath the expensive white gloves covering her hands.

Outside the church, hundreds of guests waited to witness the wedding of the year.

Inside, Melody stood before a mirror, staring at the stranger wearing her wedding dress.

The dress cost more than her father's entire annual salary. The diamond necklace around her neck could have paid her family's debts ten times over. And the man waiting at the altar?

He was Blake Anderson.

Billionaire. Business genius. The most desired bachelor in the country.

And the man who had just destroyed her life.

"Five minutes, Miss Melody."

The wedding planner's voice came from the doorway.

Melody closed her eyes.

Five minutes until she became the wife of a man she barely knew.

Five minutes until she lost the freedom she had fought so hard to protect.

Five minutes until her nightmare became legal.

Her phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.

DON'T MARRY HIM. ASK HIM WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FATHER.

Melody's blood ran cold.

She read the message again.

Her father?

What did Blake have to do with her father?

Before she could respond, the door opened.

Blake stood there in a perfectly tailored black suit, his expression unreadable. His dark eyes moved from her face to the phone in her hand.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?"

The word sounded like an insult coming from his mouth.

Melody quickly locked her phone.

"Don't call me that."

One eyebrow lifted.

"You're about to become my wife. You should get used to it."

"Your wife?" She let out a bitter laugh. "You mean your prisoner."

Blake stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then he walked toward her, stopping close enough that she could smell his expensive cologne.

"Listen carefully, Melody. Once we step outside that church, you will smile. You will hold my hand. And you will behave like the woman who willingly agreed to marry me."

"And if I refuse?"

His jaw tightened.

"Then your family loses everything."

There it was.

The threat that had brought her to this wedding.

Her father's business was collapsing beneath an enormous debt. Their home was at risk. Her younger brother's university fees remained unpaid. And Blake had offered to settle every debt in exchange for one thing.

Her hand in marriage.

She had begged him for another solution.

He had refused.

"Why me?" she whispered. "You could marry any woman in this country. Women throw themselves at your feet. Why are you forcing me?"

For the first time, something changed in his expression.

It was brief, almost invisible.

Hatred.

Pure, unmistakable hatred.

"Because your family owes mine more than money."

Melody's heart pounded.

"What does that mean?"

Blake leaned closer.

"Ask your father what he did to my family twenty years ago."

Before she could speak, he straightened his jacket and offered her his arm.

"The guests are waiting."

Melody stared at him.

Twenty years ago?

Her father had never mentioned any connection to the Anderson family.

What terrible secret could turn a billionaire into a man willing to buy a bride?

And why did Blake look at her as though he wanted to punish her for a crime she had never committed?

She placed her trembling hand on his arm.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she had no choice.

As they walked toward the church entrance, Blake whispered something that made her blood run cold.

"One more thing, Melody."

She turned her face toward him.

"After today, you will never love another man. You will never leave me. And you will never forget what your family did to mine."

The church doors swung open.

Music filled the air.

Hundreds of guests rose to their feet.

And Melody stepped into the beginning of her own destruction.

She didn't know that the man beside her had spent years planning this marriage.

She didn't know that he had chosen her long before she ever knew his name.

And she certainly didn't know that the one thing Blake Anderson had never planned for was falling in love with the very woman he intended to break.

Because Blake had married her for revenge.

But revenge had a dangerous way of becoming love.

TO BE CONTINUED…

SCENE 2SCENE 2

The applause followed them all the way to the altar.

Melody heard none of it.

She stood beside Blake Anderson, the man who had just become her husband, staring at the wedding ring on her finger.

It was beautiful.

A flawless diamond surrounded by smaller stones, set in a band of white gold.

She hated it.

Because every time she looked at it, she remembered the words Blake had whispered to her.

You will never leave me.

The priest smiled at the newlyweds.

“You may kiss your bride.”

The guests erupted into cheers.

Melody stiffened.

Blake turned toward her.

For one terrifying second, she thought he would humiliate her by forcing a kiss in front of everyone.

Instead, he leaned close enough that his lips brushed her cheek.

To the cameras, it looked romantic.

To Melody, his whispered words sounded like a threat.

“Smile, Mrs. Anderson. The cameras are watching.”

She forced a smile.

Blake straightened and placed an arm around her waist.

The photographers went wild.

“Beautiful couple!”

“Look this way, Mr. Anderson!”

“Melody, give us a smile!”

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she smiled until her cheeks hurt.

Because her family's future depended on this marriage.

And Blake knew it.

Every second of it.

By nine that evening, Melody had been transported to a mansion so enormous it looked like a palace.

Tall windows overlooked a garden filled with roses. Crystal chandeliers illuminated marble floors, and expensive paintings covered the walls.

Everything was perfect.

Everything except the woman who had just been brought there against her will.

A housekeeper led Melody upstairs.

“Your room is ready, madam.”

Melody stopped.

“My room?”

“Yes, madam.”

She looked down the corridor.

“Where is my husband's room?”

The housekeeper hesitated.

“Mr. Anderson has his own bedroom.”

For the first time that day, Melody felt a strange sense of relief.

“Good.”

She entered the room and closed the door.

The relief lasted exactly thirty seconds.

A knock sounded.

Before she could answer, Blake walked in.

He had removed his jacket and loosened his tie. Somehow, he looked even more intimidating without the formal wedding attire.

Melody folded her arms.

“Don't you know how to knock and wait for permission?”

“This is my house.”

“And I suppose that means you own the doors too?”

His mouth twitched, but the expression disappeared almost immediately.

“Your things will be brought here tomorrow. Until then, you will have everything you need.”

“How generous.”

He ignored her sarcasm.

“Tomorrow morning, you'll accompany me to my company's anniversary celebration. The press will be there.”

Melody stared at him.

“You want me to attend another event and pretend we're happily married?”

“Exactly.”

“What happens if I refuse?”

His expression hardened.

“Do you want me to remind you what happens to your family's business if this marriage fails?”

Her anger rose so quickly that she almost forgot to be afraid.

“You keep talking about my family as if they're your personal property! What did my father do to you?”

For several seconds, Blake said nothing.

Then he walked toward the window.

“Twenty years ago, my father trusted a man he considered his closest friend.”

Melody's breathing slowed.

“My father?”

Blake turned.

“Your father and mine built a business together. They were partners. Brothers in everything but blood.”

“I never knew that.”

“Of course you didn't.”

His voice was bitter.

“Your father made sure you grew up believing he was an honest man.”

Melody shook her head.

“My father is many things, but he's not a thief.”

Blake laughed without humor.

“That's what I used to believe about him too.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded photograph.

Then he tossed it onto the bed.

Melody picked it up.

Two men stood beside a younger version of Blake. One was her father. The other was a man she recognized from the wedding photographs in Blake's study.

Blake's father.

But there was something strange about the photograph.

Her father was holding a document.

On the back, someone had written a date.

Twenty years earlier.

And beneath the date were six words.

THE NIGHT EVERYTHING WAS TAKEN FROM US.

Melody looked up.

“What happened that night?”

Blake's eyes turned cold.

“My father lost his company. He lost his fortune. And three months later, he died.”

Melody's fingers tightened around the photograph.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.”

His next words came quietly.

“Your sympathy won't bring him back.”

She swallowed.

“Are you saying my father caused his death?”

“I'm saying that your father walked away from a dying man while keeping everything they had built together.”

“That can't be true.”

“Believe whatever you want.”

Blake moved toward the door.

“But remember something, Melody. I didn't marry you because I wanted a wife.”

He paused.

“I married you because I wanted your father to understand what it feels like to lose something he loves.”

The door slammed behind him.

Melody stood motionless.

Then she looked at the photograph again.

Her father had never told her about Blake's family.

Never mentioned a business partner.

Never spoken of a scandal.

Why?

Her phone vibrated.

An incoming message.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

I warned you not to marry him.

Melody's heart began to race.

She typed a reply.

Who are you?

The answer came immediately.

Someone who knows the truth about both families.

Another message followed.

Your father didn't destroy Blake's family, Melody.

Her hands went cold.

A final message appeared.

BLAKE'S FATHER DIDN'T DIE THE WAY YOU THINK HE DID.

Melody stared at the screen, unable to breathe.

Then the bedroom door opened.

She spun around.

Blake stood in the doorway.

His eyes dropped to the phone in her hand.

For the first time since she had met him, he looked genuinely alarmed.

“Who are you talking to?” he demanded.

Melody quickly hid the phone behind her back.

“No one.”

He walked toward her.

“Show me.”

“No.”

His jaw tightened.

“Melody, don't test me.”

“And don't order me around!”

They stared at each other, neither willing to look away.

Then Blake's gaze shifted to the photograph lying on the bed.

Something changed in his face.

“Where did you get that?”

“You gave it to me.”

He picked it up and examined it.

For the first time, Melody noticed something she hadn't seen before.

His hands were trembling.

“Blake?”

He didn't answer.

Instead, he turned the photograph over.

The words on the back seemed to haunt him.

Then he looked at Melody with an expression she couldn't understand.

Fear.

Not anger.

Not hatred.

Fear.

“Did you receive a message?” he asked quietly.

Melody froze.

“How do you know?”

Blake closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them, the cold billionaire was back.

“Listen to me carefully. If anyone contacts you about my father, you tell me immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because you have no idea what you're dealing with.”

Melody stepped closer.

“Then tell me!”

He stared at her.

For a moment, she thought he might finally reveal the truth.

Instead, he walked to the door.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“Blake!”

He stopped but didn't turn around.

“Did your father really die because of mine?”

Silence.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then he answered.

“I don't know anymore.”

And he walked out.

At midnight, Melody couldn't sleep.

The messages replayed in her mind.

Your father didn't destroy Blake's family.

Blake's father didn't die the way you think he did.

She needed answers.

Quietly, she left her bedroom and followed the dimly lit corridor toward the staircase.

She had noticed Blake's study earlier that evening.

If the truth existed anywhere in that house, she suspected it would be there.

The study door was unlocked.

Inside, the room smelled of leather, polished wood, and expensive whiskey.

Melody searched the desk.

Nothing.

She opened a drawer.

Business documents.

Another drawer.

Bank statements.

Then she noticed a small silver key beside a framed photograph of Blake as a child.

The photograph showed him standing between his parents.

His mother was smiling.

His father looked serious.

On the back, someone had written:

For my son, Blake. Never trust a man who smiles while he destroys you.

Melody's stomach twisted.

She picked up the key.

A locked cabinet stood behind the desk.

It took her three attempts to find the right lock.

Inside lay a thick brown envelope.

Her name was written across it.

MELODY.

She stared at it in disbelief.

Why would Blake keep an envelope bearing her name when they had supposedly never met before the marriage negotiations?

With trembling fingers, she opened it.

Inside was a photograph of herself at seventeen, standing outside her family's home.

Behind the photograph was a document bearing her father's signature.

And beneath it was a letter.

Melody began to read.

Blake,

If you are reading this, then I have failed to protect the truth any longer.

Your father's death was not what you were told.

And the girl you have chosen to punish is the only person who can lead you to the real enemy.

Do not let her discover what happened on the night of the fire.

If she remembers what she saw, both our families will be destroyed.

Melody's blood ran cold.

The night of the fire?

She remembered a fire.

A terrible fire from her childhood.

She had been too young to understand what happened, but she remembered waking in a hospital bed with her mother crying beside her.

Her parents had always told her that their old house had suffered an electrical fault.

Nothing more.

But what if that wasn't the truth?

A floorboard creaked behind her.

Melody spun around.

Blake stood in the doorway.

His face had gone completely pale.

In his hand was a glass of water he had apparently forgotten to drink.

His eyes moved from the open envelope to the letter in her hands.

Then he whispered four words that made her heart stop.

“You weren't supposed to remember.”

Melody stepped backward.

“Remember what?”

Blake said nothing.

She held up the letter.

“What happened on the night of the fire?”

His eyes fixed on hers.

For the first time, she saw something beneath his anger.

Something broken.

Something terrified.

And then he said the one thing she had never expected to hear.

“Melody, I think your father and mine were murdered.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

SCENE 3

“Melody, I think your father and mine were murdered.”

The words hung between them like a death sentence.

Melody stared at Blake, waiting for him to laugh, to tell her this was some cruel joke.

He didn't.

“My father died in a car accident,” she whispered. “That's what my mother told me.”

“And mine supposedly died from complications after losing his company.” Blake's mouth tightened. “Two different stories. Two dead men. One night neither of our families wants to discuss.”

Melody glanced at the letter in her hand.

“Then why did you marry me?”

“Because I thought your father had stolen everything from mine.”

“And now?”

Blake looked at her for a long moment.

“Now I'm beginning to think someone wanted me to believe that.”

For the first time since their wedding, Melody saw something other than cruelty in his eyes.

Uncertainty.

It frightened her more than his anger.

Because if Blake wasn't certain of the truth, then everything she had been told about her own family could be a lie.

“Show me the rest of the envelope,” he said.

She hesitated.

“You have to promise me something first.”

His eyebrow rose.

“You're negotiating with me in my own house?”

“I'm negotiating with my husband.”

Something flickered across his face at that word.

Husband.

Perhaps neither of them had expected it to sound so strange.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“The truth. No more threats. No more using my family to control me. If we're going to investigate our fathers' deaths, you tell me everything you discover.”

Blake studied her.

“And if the truth destroys your family?”

Melody lifted her chin.

“Then at least I'll know what I'm fighting.”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Blake held out his hand.

“Agreed.”

She placed the letter in his palm.

Their fingers touched.

For one brief moment, neither moved.

Then Blake pulled away and began examining the documents.

“There's something missing,” he muttered.

“What?”

“The second page.”

He turned the envelope upside down and shook it.

Nothing fell out.

Melody searched the cabinet again, but every document appeared to be accounted for.

“Perhaps someone took it,” she suggested.

Blake's expression darkened.

“Someone has been inside this study.”

He crossed the room and checked the cabinet lock.

Then he looked at her.

“Did you tell anyone about these documents?”

“No.”

“Did anyone see you come in here?”

“I don't think so.”

Blake swore under his breath.

“From now on, you don't go anywhere alone.”

Melody folded her arms.

“Don't start ordering me around again.”

“I'm trying to keep you alive!”

The sudden force in his voice silenced her.

For the first time, he looked less like an arrogant billionaire and more like a man who had just realized that someone he cared about might be in danger.

Melody's heart stumbled at the thought.

Someone he cared about?

No. That was impossible.

He had married her for revenge.

Nothing more.

She looked away.

“Then tell me what you know.”

Blake took a slow breath.

“Twenty years ago, my father and yours were partners in Anderson Holdings. The company was worth billions. Then, overnight, millions disappeared from its accounts.”

“Who took the money?”

“According to the investigation, your father transferred it.”

“But did he?”

“I don't know. The documents proving it were destroyed in a fire.”

Melody felt the room tilt.

“A fire?”

Blake nodded slowly.

“The same fire that destroyed your childhood home.”

Her hands began to tremble.

She remembered the smoke.

The screaming.

A little boy crying somewhere in the darkness.

And a woman's voice shouting, Take the girl! Get her out!

Melody pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Stop.”

Blake immediately stepped toward her.

“Melody?”

“I remember something.”

“What?”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“A boy. I remember a boy.”

Blake went completely still.

“What did he look like?”

“I don't know. I was little. I remember him crying, and I remember someone carrying me.”

“Did you see his face?”

She shook her head.

“No. But I remember what he said.”

Blake's voice dropped.

“What?”

Melody opened her eyes.

“He said, ‘Please don't leave my mother.’”

The color drained from Blake's face.

For several seconds, he looked as though he couldn't breathe.

Then he whispered, “That was me.”

Melody stared at him.

“What?”

“I was at your house the night of the fire.”

He stepped backward, as if the memory itself had struck him.

“My mother took me there. She said she needed to meet your father. I was seven years old.”

Melody's pulse thundered.

“Why have you never told me this?”

“Because I didn't remember it until now.”

He looked at the letter.

“And because someone has spent twenty years making sure neither of us remembered.”

Before Melody could respond, a loud crash came from downstairs.

Blake turned toward the door.

“Stay here.”

She grabbed his arm.

“I'm coming with you.”

“Melody—”

“If someone is trying to hurt us, I'm not hiding in a bedroom while you investigate.”

For a moment, he looked ready to argue.

Then he gave a reluctant nod.

“Stay behind me.”

Together, they left the study.

Neither noticed the small security camera at the end of the corridor.

Its red indicator light blinked once.

Then went dark.

The crash had come from the kitchen.

A vase lay shattered across the floor, and one of the housekeepers stood near the back door, trembling.

“Mr. Anderson,” she stammered. “I'm so sorry. I heard someone outside, and when I turned around—”

Blake raised a hand.

“Did you see anyone?”

“No, sir. But the back door was open.”

He examined the door.

The lock had been forced.

Someone had entered the house.

Or wanted them to believe someone had.

“Call security,” he ordered.

The housekeeper hurried away.

Melody noticed something on the floor beside the broken vase.

A small black envelope.

She picked it up before Blake could stop her.

“Melody, don't touch that!”

But she had already opened it.

Inside was a photograph.

Her mother.

Standing beside a man she had never seen before.

On the back, someone had written:

ASK YOUR MOTHER WHO REALLY DIED IN THE FIRE.

Melody's knees weakened.

“No…”

Blake took the photograph from her.

He studied it, his expression becoming increasingly grim.

“Do you recognize the man?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Melody shook her head.

“My mother never showed me this picture.”

Blake turned it toward the light.

Then he stopped breathing for a moment.

“What is it?” she asked.

He pointed to the man's left hand.

A gold ring sat on his little finger.

An unusual ring bearing the symbol of a black serpent.

Melody looked at Blake.

“You know him?”

“No.”

But his voice told her otherwise.

“Blake, don't lie to me.”

He stared at the photograph for another moment before finally speaking.

“My father had a ring like that.”

Melody's mouth fell open.

“But you said your father died twenty years ago.”

“He did.”

“Then why is that man wearing his ring?”

Blake looked toward the dark garden beyond the open door.

“I don't know.”

A security guard rushed into the kitchen.

“Sir, we've checked the grounds. Nobody is here.”

“Check every entrance. Nobody leaves this property without my permission.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guard hurried away.

Melody was still staring at the photograph.

“My mother knows something.”

“Then we'll speak to her tomorrow.”

“No.” Melody looked up. “I'm calling her now.”

Blake caught her wrist gently.

“Not yet.”

She tried to pull away.

“You don't get to decide that!”

“Think about it. If your mother is hiding something, and someone has just left us this photograph, calling her could warn whoever is watching us.”

Melody hated that he made sense.

She lowered her phone.

“Fine. But tomorrow, I'm getting answers.”

Blake released her wrist.

“Tomorrow.”

For a moment, they stood close together in the quiet kitchen.

Then Melody noticed something strange.

A small cut ran across Blake's palm.

“Your hand,” she said.

He glanced down.

“It's nothing.”

“You're bleeding.”

Before he could object, she took a clean cloth from the counter and gently wrapped it around his palm.

Blake watched her in silence.

“What?” she asked without looking up.

“Nothing.”

“Then stop staring at me.”

“I've never had anyone bandage my hand before.”

Melody paused.

“Not even your mother?”

His expression changed.

“My mother died when I was twelve.”

The words were quiet.

Melody looked up.

“I'm sorry.”

He gave a humorless smile.

“People keep saying that.”

“Perhaps because losing someone you love hurts.”

Their eyes met.

Something unspoken passed between them.

For the first time, Melody wondered what kind of boy Blake had been before grief turned him into the cold man standing before her.

And for the first time, Blake seemed to wonder what kind of woman his revenge might destroy.

He looked down at the bandage.

“Thank you.”

Melody stepped away quickly.

“Don't mistake kindness for forgiveness.”

“I wouldn't dare.”

But as she walked toward the door, she heard him say something under his breath.

“That's exactly what I'm afraid of.”

She turned.

“What did you say?”

“Goodnight, Melody.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Melody had barely fallen asleep when her phone rang.

The time on the screen read 2:13 a.m.

MUM.

She answered immediately.

“Mum? What's wrong?”

For several seconds, there was only breathing.

Then her mother's frightened voice came through.

“Melody, listen to me. You need to leave that house.”

Melody sat upright.

“What? Why?”

“Don't ask questions. Take your things and leave immediately.”

“Mum, what's happening?”

Her mother began to cry.

“I thought I could keep you safe. I thought if you never knew the truth, you could have a normal life.”

Melody's heart pounded.

“The truth about what?”

A sharp sound came through the phone, followed by her mother's gasp.

“Mum?”

“Melody, is Blake there?”

“Yes.”

“Put him on the phone.”

Melody hurried out of bed and opened her bedroom door.

Blake was already standing in the corridor, dressed in black trousers and a shirt, his phone pressed to his ear.

He looked at her.

Then he spoke into his phone.

“Who is this?”

Melody stopped.

The voice on the other end was faint, but she heard a woman's terrified whisper.

“Blake Anderson, if you want your wife to live, you must tell her what happened to your father.”

Blake's face became rigid.

“Who are you?”

The call disconnected.

Melody stared at him.

“That was my mother, wasn't it?”

He didn't answer.

“Blake!”

He lowered the phone.

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then he delivered the words that shattered whatever remained of her trust in him.

“She said your father wasn't the man who stole my family's fortune.”

Melody felt sick.

“Then who was?”

Blake's eyes burned into hers.

“My mother.”

Silence.

Melody shook her head.

“Your mother is dead.”

“I know.”

“Then how could she have stolen anything?”

Blake looked down at the phone in his hand.

“Because the woman who died twenty years ago may not have been my mother.”

Melody stared at him, unable to speak.

Somewhere in the mansion, a clock chimed three times.

Then Blake's phone vibrated.

A message appeared from an unknown number.

It contained a photograph.

A woman stood outside a hospital, her face partially hidden beneath a black hat.

Blake's hand began to shake.

Beneath the photograph were seven words:

YOUR MOTHER IS ALIVE. AND SHE KNOWS EVERYTHING.

Blake slowly raised his eyes to Melody.

For the first time, the billionaire looked completely lost.

And Melody realized something terrifying.

Their marriage was no longer just a prison.

It was the only thing connecting two people who might be the last witnesses to a twenty-year-old murder.

TO BE CONTINUED…

SCENE 4

2:17 A.M. — ANDERSON MANSION

Blake stared at the photograph on his phone.

The woman in the picture had aged. Her once-dark hair was streaked with silver, and a black hat concealed part of her face.

But he knew those eyes.

He had spent fourteen years trying to forget them.

His mother's eyes.

"No," he whispered.

Melody stood beside him, watching the billionaire who had terrified her since the day they met crumble beneath the weight of a single photograph.

"Blake?"

He didn't respond.

"Blake, look at me."

He lifted his head slowly.

"My mother is dead."

"You just said that."

"Because I watched them bury her!"

His voice echoed through the corridor.

Melody flinched.

Blake immediately looked away, pressing his fingers against his temples.

For the first time, she understood that his anger wasn't always directed at her.

Sometimes, it was the only thing keeping his grief from swallowing him whole.

She softened her voice.

"Tell me what happened."

He laughed bitterly.

"You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

He walked into the study, and Melody followed.

Blake poured himself a glass of water, his hands unsteady.

"When I was twelve, my father died. Three months later, my mother was declared dead after a car accident. Her body was burned beyond recognition."

Melody covered her mouth.

"They couldn't identify her?"

"They said her wedding ring and personal belongings confirmed her identity."

"And you believed them?"

"I was twelve, Melody. My father was gone. My mother was gone. The company was collapsing. What else was I supposed to believe?"

She had no answer.

He placed the glass on the desk.

"After her funeral, my uncle took control of the family business. He told me my mother had been too heartbroken to live without my father."

Blake's jaw tightened.

"Then he sent me away to boarding school. By the time I returned, he had rebuilt the company in his own name."

Melody stared at him.

"Your uncle inherited everything?"

"He called it protecting the family legacy."

"And you?"

"I spent the next fifteen years building my own empire."

He looked at the photograph again.

"I promised myself that nobody would ever have the power to take anything from me again."

Melody's heart ached despite herself.

Then she remembered the reason they were standing there.

"You still haven't explained why you think my father betrayed yours."

Blake's expression hardened.

"Because the financial records showed that he transferred millions from the company before my father died."

"But if your uncle took control of everything afterward, couldn't he have changed those records?"

Blake went completely still.

Melody watched the idea settle into his mind.

"Your uncle had access to the accounts," she continued. "He had the documents. He had the power to make your father look guilty."

Blake looked at her as though he were seeing her for the first time.

"You think my uncle framed your father?"

"I think we have been blaming each other for something neither of us understands."

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then his phone rang.

The caller's name appeared on the screen.

VICTOR ANDERSON.

His uncle.

Blake answered and switched on the speaker.

"Victor."

"Blake, my boy. It's late. Is everything all right?"

The familiar warmth in his uncle's voice suddenly sounded sinister.

"I received an interesting photograph tonight."

There was a brief silence.

"What photograph?"

"One of my mother."

Another silence.

Then Victor chuckled.

"Blake, grief can make a man see things that aren't there. You know that better than anyone."

Blake's eyes narrowed.

"I know what I saw."

"Then perhaps someone is trying to manipulate you. Be careful. There are people who would do anything to get their hands on your fortune."

"Are you one of them?"

The silence that followed was different.

Longer.

Colder.

"Don't be ridiculous," Victor finally replied. "You have a wife now. Focus on your marriage. Leave the past buried where it belongs."

The call ended.

Blake stared at the screen.

Melody felt a chill travel down her spine.

"Why would he tell you to leave the past buried?"

Blake slowly put down his phone.

"Because he knows something."

He looked toward the window.

"And I'm going to find out what."

At sunrise, Blake's private investigator arrived at the mansion.

His name was Daniel Cross, a former police detective who had worked for the Anderson family for six years.

He placed a folder on the study desk.

"I traced the photograph to a security camera outside St. Catherine's Hospital."

Blake opened the folder.

"Where is that?"

"About forty minutes from here."

Melody leaned forward.

"Was the woman there?"

Daniel nodded.

"Three days ago. She checked into the hospital under a false name. She left before our people could reach her."

Blake studied the photograph.

"Find her."

"I'm already trying."

"No. I want every camera within five miles checked. Every hotel. Every hospital. Every place she could have gone."

Daniel hesitated.

"There's something else, sir."

Blake looked up.

"What?"

"The woman wasn't alone."

Daniel removed another photograph.

It showed a man standing beside a black car outside the hospital.

Melody's breath caught.

She knew that face.

Not personally, but from the wedding photograph she had found the previous night.

The man standing beside her mother.

The man wearing the ring that had belonged to Blake's father.

"That's him," she whispered.

Blake turned toward her.

"You recognize him?"

"I saw his picture yesterday. He was standing beside my mother."

Daniel studied the photograph.

"Do you know his name?"

Melody shook her head.

"No."

Daniel placed another document on the table.

"But I do."

Blake's expression sharpened.

"Who is he?"

Daniel took a breath.

"His name is Richard Hale. He was the Anderson family's chief financial officer twenty years ago."

Blake frowned.

"Richard Hale disappeared the night your father died," Daniel continued. "The police believed he had fled the country with stolen company funds."

Melody's mind raced.

"If he was the man standing beside my mother, then she knew him."

"Or she was trying to find him," Blake replied.

Daniel nodded.

"There's another detail. Richard Hale was officially declared dead seven years ago."

The room fell silent.

Blake looked at the photograph again.

"Three dead people," he murmured. "And suddenly, none of them may be dead."

Melody crossed her arms.

"What if Richard knows who killed our fathers?"

"Then he's the only person who can tell us," Blake replied.

Daniel closed the folder.

"I'll find him."

After he left, Blake turned toward Melody.

"We're going to the hospital."

She blinked.

"Now?"

"Unless you'd prefer to stay here and wait for another anonymous message."

She hated his arrogance.

She hated that he was right.

And she hated the strange feeling in her stomach whenever he looked at her as though her safety mattered.

"Fine," she said. "But I'm not going because you ordered me to."

Blake reached for his car keys.

"Of course not, sweetheart."

She glared at him.

"Call me sweetheart again, and I'll throw your expensive phone out the window."

For the first time, Blake actually smiled.

It was brief, unexpected, and devastatingly handsome.

Melody immediately looked away.

She would not be distracted by his smile.

Not even if it was the first genuine one she had seen.

St. Catherine's Hospital smelled of disinfectant and freshly brewed coffee.

Blake had arranged for Daniel to obtain the visitor records, and they were directed to the third floor.

Room 317.

The room where the mysterious woman had been admitted.

A nurse checked the records.

"She was registered as Eleanor James," she explained. "She came in complaining of chest pain and exhaustion. She stayed for one night."

"Did she receive visitors?" Blake asked.

The nurse glanced at the computer.

"One visitor."

"Who?"

"A woman named Grace."

Melody went pale.

Grace.

Her mother's name.

Blake noticed immediately.

"Melody?"

She gripped the edge of the desk.

"My mother's name is Grace Bennett."

The nurse looked between them.

"Are you saying the visitor was your mother?"

Melody could barely speak.

"Can you show us the visitor's photograph?"

The nurse hesitated, then called the hospital administrator.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing in a small office watching security footage.

A woman entered the hospital wearing a blue dress and carrying a handbag.

Melody pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

It was her mother.

Grace looked older than Melody remembered, but there was no mistaking her face.

She watched the footage in silence as her mother entered Room 317.

Then something happened.

A man in a dark suit appeared at the end of the corridor.

He spoke briefly to a security guard.

The guard immediately looked toward Grace's room.

Blake leaned closer to the screen.

"Pause it."

The administrator stopped the footage.

Blake pointed at the man.

"Who is that?"

The administrator enlarged the image.

Melody felt the blood drain from her face.

She knew that man too.

Not because she had met him.

But because she had seen his face at her wedding.

He had stood beside Blake's uncle, Victor Anderson, greeting guests.

"That's Victor's personal assistant," Blake said.

Melody turned toward him.

"Your uncle sent someone to watch my mother?"

Blake's expression became dangerously cold.

"Apparently."

The administrator continued the footage.

Grace emerged from Room 317 less than ten minutes later.

She looked frightened.

She kept glancing over her shoulder as she hurried toward the exit.

Then she stopped.

A woman stood near the hospital entrance.

Wearing a black hat.

The woman from the photograph.

Grace approached her.

The two women exchanged a few words.

Then Grace handed her something.

A small silver object.

The woman closed her fingers around it and disappeared into the crowd.

Melody leaned toward the screen.

"What did my mother give her?"

Blake shook his head.

"I don't know."

The administrator replayed the footage.

This time, Melody noticed something she had missed.

The silver object had a tiny red stone in its center.

She knew exactly what it was.

Her grandmother's locket.

The one her mother had kept locked in a drawer for as long as Melody could remember.

The one her mother had always refused to let her touch.

Melody's voice trembled.

"That locket belonged to my grandmother."

Blake turned toward her.

"What's inside it?"

"I don't know. My mother never opened it in front of me."

He studied her face.

"Then whatever is inside it may be the reason all this is happening."

Melody stared at the frozen image of her mother.

For twenty-three years, Grace had insisted that the past was nothing more than a terrible accident.

Now Melody was beginning to understand.

Her mother hadn't been protecting her from the past.

She had been protecting a secret.

And someone was willing to kill to keep it hidden.

On the drive back to the mansion, neither of them spoke.

Melody watched the passing scenery through the window.

Her mind was crowded with questions.

Why had her mother visited a woman who might be Blake's supposedly dead mother?

Why had she given her grandmother's locket away?

And why was Victor Anderson watching her?

She hadn't noticed Blake watching her until he spoke.

"You haven't said a word in twenty minutes."

"I'm thinking."

"About your mother?"

"About how little I actually know her."

Blake's expression softened.

"Sometimes the people who love us hide things because they believe they're protecting us."

Melody turned toward him.

"And sometimes they hide things because they're afraid we'll discover who they really are."

He didn't argue.

That silence told her more than words could have.

When they arrived at the mansion, Blake helped her out of the car.

She slipped on the wet pavement.

He caught her around the waist before she could fall.

For one suspended moment, they stood inches apart.

His hand rested against her back.

Her fingers gripped his shoulder.

Melody looked up.

Blake was staring at her mouth.

Neither moved.

She could hear her own heartbeat.

Then his gaze returned to her eyes.

"Are you all right?" he whispered.

She nodded.

"Yes."

But neither of them let go.

Blake slowly raised his hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

Melody's breath caught.

She should have stepped back.

She should have remembered the threats, the forced marriage, and the pain he had caused her.

Instead, she stood there wondering what it would feel like if he kissed her because he wanted to, rather than because a room full of wedding guests expected him to.

Blake leaned closer.

Then he stopped.

His expression changed, as if he had suddenly remembered something terrible.

He released her and stepped away.

"Forget that happened."

The words struck harder than Melody expected.

She straightened her dress.

"Trust me, Mr. Anderson. I wouldn't want to remember it."

She walked past him without looking back.

But inside, her heart was aching.

Because the most dangerous thing about Blake Anderson wasn't his money, his anger, or his desire for revenge.

It was the possibility that she might fall in love with him.

And that he might never love her back.

That evening, Blake received a call from Daniel.

"I found something," the investigator said.

Blake stepped into his study and closed the door.

"What is it?"

"Richard Hale rented a storage unit under a false name six months ago. We searched it this afternoon."

"And?"

"We found documents belonging to your father."

Blake's pulse quickened.

"What kind of documents?"

"Original bank statements. Letters. And an audio cassette."

Blake gripped the desk.

"What does the cassette contain?"

"I haven't listened to it yet. I thought you'd want to be present."

"Bring everything to the mansion. Immediately."

He ended the call and turned toward the door.

Melody stood there.

"What's happened?"

Blake hesitated.

Then he told her.

She listened without interrupting.

When he finished, she said, "I want to hear the recording too."

"Melody, we don't know what it contains."

"Exactly. And I'm tired of everyone deciding what I should know."

He studied her.

Then he nodded.

"Tomorrow morning."

She started to leave.

"Melody?"

She turned.

Blake looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Finally, he said, "About what happened outside the house—"

"There's nothing to discuss."

"I didn't mean to make you feel—"

"Don't."

Her voice broke slightly.

"Please don't be kind to me one moment and cruel the next. I don't know which version of you to believe."

Blake stared at her.

For the first time, he had no answer.

Melody walked away.

He remained in the doorway long after she had disappeared.

Then he looked down at his wedding ring.

For twenty years, he had believed revenge would bring him peace.

Now he was beginning to fear that the woman he had married to punish her family might become the one person he couldn't bear to lose.

And that terrified him more than any enemy ever could.

At 11:58 p.m., Melody heard a knock at her bedroom door.

She opened it.

A woman stood in the corridor.

She wore a black coat and a hat pulled low over her face.

Melody's heart stopped.

The woman slowly removed the hat.

Silver-streaked hair framed a pale face.

Her eyes were exactly like Blake's.

"Who are you?" Melody whispered.

The woman looked toward the staircase.

Then back at Melody.

"My name is Eleanor Anderson."

Melody stumbled backward.

Blake's mother.

The woman who had supposedly died fourteen years ago.

Eleanor stepped into the room and shut the door.

"I don't have much time," she whispered. "Victor knows I've returned."

Melody could barely breathe.

"Why are you here?"

Eleanor took both her hands.

"Because you and Blake are in terrible danger."

"Why?"

The older woman's eyes filled with tears.

"Because the men who destroyed our families are still alive."

Melody's stomach twisted.

"Who are they?"

Eleanor glanced toward the door.

Then she leaned close and whispered the words that would change everything.

"Your father and Blake's father were innocent. But the person who ordered their deaths was someone both of you called family."

Melody shook her head.

"Who?"

Eleanor opened her mouth.

A loud crash sounded downstairs.

Then came the unmistakable sound of footsteps running toward them.

Eleanor went white.

"They've found me."

The bedroom door handle began to turn.

Melody grabbed Eleanor's arm.

"Tell me who it is!"

The older woman looked into her eyes.

"Your husband already knows the answer."

The door flew open.

Blake stood there, his face pale with shock.

Behind him, two security guards held a struggling man in a black suit.

Blake looked at the woman standing beside Melody.

His lips parted.

For a moment, he looked twelve years old again.

"Mother?"

Eleanor began to cry.

"My son."

Blake took one unsteady step forward.

Then another.

He stopped just inches from her.

"You're alive."

Eleanor nodded through her tears.

Blake stared at her, searching her face as though afraid she would disappear.

Then he asked the question Melody would never forget.

"Why did you let me bury a stranger?"

Eleanor covered her mouth.

And before she could answer, the man held by the guards suddenly laughed.

A cold, mocking laugh.

Everyone turned toward him.

He looked directly at Blake.

Then he smiled.

"Because, Mr. Anderson, your mother wasn't the only person who faked her death."

He tilted his head toward Melody.

"Ask your wife why her father is still alive."

TO BE CONTINUED…

SCENE 5

“Ask your wife why her father is still alive.”

The words struck the room like a gunshot.

Melody stared at the man held between the two security guards.

“What did you just say?”

The man smiled.

“Your father, sweetheart. The man you buried in your memories. The man whose death supposedly forced your family into poverty.”

He tilted his head.

“He's alive.”

Melody shook her head violently.

“No. That's impossible.”

“Is it?”

“His funeral—”

“Was a lie.”

The room fell silent.

Melody looked at Blake, desperately searching his face for an explanation.

He had none.

Beside them, Eleanor Anderson gripped the edge of a chair. Her face had turned pale, and her eyes were fixed on the prisoner.

“Richard,” she whispered.

The man smiled at her.

“Hello, Eleanor. It's been a long time.”

Blake immediately stepped between his mother and the prisoner.

“You know him?”

Eleanor's lips trembled.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Richard laughed.

“Oh, come now. After everything we've been through together, that's how you introduce me?”

Blake grabbed the front of Richard's jacket.

“Stop playing games. Who is Melody's father, and where is he?”

Richard glanced at Blake's hand.

“Careful, young man. Violence won't bring your father back.”

Blake's expression darkened.

Richard leaned closer.

“But the truth might explain why he died.”

Blake released him abruptly.

“Take him to the security room,” he ordered.

The guards dragged Richard toward the door.

Before disappearing into the corridor, the prisoner looked over his shoulder at Melody.

“Your father has been waiting for you for twenty years.”

Then he was gone.

Melody stood motionless.

Twenty years.

Her entire childhood had been built around the belief that her father was dead.

Her mother had cried at his funeral. Their relatives had offered condolences. His photographs had been placed beside the family Bible.

Had all of it been a lie?

She turned toward Eleanor.

“Please tell me he's lying.”

Eleanor lowered her eyes.

Melody felt something inside her break.

“You know something.”

The older woman began to cry.

“I'm sorry, child.”

“Don't call me child!”

Her voice cracked.

“My father is dead. I watched my mother grieve for him. I grew up believing that we had lost everything because of his death. And now you're telling me he might be alive?”

She stepped closer.

“Where is he?”

Eleanor opened her mouth.

Then closed it again.

“Where is my father?”

“I don't know where he is now.”

Melody stared at her.

“But you knew he was alive?”

Eleanor's silence answered the question.

Melody backed away.

For the second time in two days, she found herself surrounded by people who had decided that she was too fragile to know the truth.

She was tired of being protected.

Tired of being manipulated.

And most of all, she was tired of being lied to.

She turned and ran from the room.

“Melody!” Blake called.

She didn't stop.

Melody locked herself in her bedroom.

For several minutes, she stood in the middle of the room, unable to move.

Then she walked to the mirror.

Her wedding dress lay folded across a chair, waiting to be collected by the dry cleaner. Her diamond necklace rested on the dressing table.

Everything about the wedding seemed like a cruel joke.

She had married Blake to save her family.

But what if her family had never needed saving?

What if the debts, the threats, and the circumstances that had forced her into this marriage were all part of a larger plan?

Her phone rang.

Mum.

Melody stared at the screen.

For a moment, she wanted to reject the call.

Then she answered.

“Mum?”

“Melody, darling. Are you safe?”

The question nearly made her laugh.

“Am I safe?”

“What's wrong?”

Melody wiped her eyes.

“Is Dad alive?”

Silence.

“Mum, answer me!”

Grace began to sob.

“Oh, my God.”

“Tell me the truth!”

“I wanted to protect you.”

“By making me believe my father was dead?”

“I had no choice!”

Melody's chest tightened.

“Everybody keeps saying that. Blake married me because he wanted revenge. You hid my father's survival from me. Eleanor knows something about my family, and now a stranger has walked into my husband's house and told me my father has been waiting for me.”

She took a shaky breath.

“I'm asking you one last time. Is my father alive?”

A long silence followed.

Then Grace whispered, “Yes.”

Melody sank onto the bed.

The world seemed to tilt around her.

“Where is he?”

“I can't tell you over the phone.”

“Why?”

“Because the people who wanted him dead may still be watching us.”

Melody closed her eyes.

“Who wanted him dead?”

Her mother's voice dropped to a whisper.

“Victor Anderson.”

Melody's eyes flew open.

Blake's uncle.

The man who had attended their wedding.

The man who had comforted Blake after his father's supposed death.

The man who had advised him to leave the past buried.

Her mother continued.

“Victor wanted control of both families' fortunes. Your father discovered what he was doing. Blake's father discovered it too.”

“And they were both killed?”

“I don't know what happened to Blake's father. But your father survived the fire.”

Melody could barely breathe.

“Then why did you tell everyone he was dead?”

“Because Victor threatened you. You were only three years old, Melody. He told me that if I ever revealed your father's survival, you would disappear forever.”

Her mother's voice broke.

“I thought keeping you away from the truth was the only way to keep you alive.”

Melody covered her mouth.

She wanted to be angry.

She was angry.

But beneath the anger was something even more painful.

The realization that her mother had spent twenty years living in fear.

“Mum, where is Dad now?”

“I don't know.”

“Then how can I find him?”

Grace hesitated.

“He left something for you. Something he told me to give you when you were old enough to understand.”

“What is it?”

“A letter.”

Melody stood abruptly.

“Where?”

“In the old house. Hidden behind the loose brick in your father's study.”

The old house.

The house that had supposedly burned down twenty years ago.

Melody's heart began racing.

“Mum, that house is gone.”

“No, darling. The house burned, but your father's study was in the stone wing. It survived. I never told anyone because I was afraid Victor would discover what your father had hidden there.”

Melody grabbed her handbag.

“I'm going there.”

“No! Melody, please. Don't go alone.”

But Melody had already ended the call.

For the first time in her life, she was going to search for the truth herself.

And nobody—not even her billionaire husband—was going to stop her.

Blake found Melody downstairs twenty minutes later.

She was standing near the front entrance, holding her handbag and searching for her car keys.

“Where are you going?”

She didn't look up.

“Out.”

“At two in the morning?”

“Have you suddenly developed an interest in my movements?”

“Melody.”

She finally faced him.

“What?”

He studied her expression.

“You've been crying.”

“Congratulations. Your eyesight works.”

He ignored the sarcasm.

“What did your mother say?”

Melody hesitated.

She remembered her mother's warning.

Victor could be watching them.

She couldn't trust anyone yet.

Not even Blake.

“Nothing useful.”

He took a step closer.

“Don't lie to me.”

She laughed bitterly.

“That's rich coming from you.”

His jaw tightened.

“I'm trying to help you.”

“No, Blake. You're trying to control everything because that's what you do. You control people with money, threats, and fear. You controlled my family. You controlled my wedding. You even tried to control what I was allowed to know about my own father.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

Pain.

But Melody was too hurt to care.

“I don't need another man telling me what to do.”

She reached for the door.

Blake caught her hand.

“Please.”

The word stopped her.

He seemed surprised by it too.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Blake released her.

“Whatever you're about to do, don't go alone.”

Melody looked at him suspiciously.

“Why should I trust you?”

He swallowed.

“You shouldn't. Not yet.”

His honesty caught her off guard.

Blake continued.

“But someone has threatened your life, and your father may be alive. If you go looking for him, I want to make sure you come back safely.”

She studied his face.

“Why do you care?”

He looked away.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he answered quietly.

“Because I know what it feels like to lose a parent without ever getting the truth.”

Melody's anger softened, but only slightly.

She had no intention of forgiving him.

Not yet.

“Fine,” she said. “But I'm going because I want answers. Not because you're my husband.”

Blake picked up his car keys.

“Understood.”

As they stepped outside, Melody failed to notice the black car parked across the road.

Inside it, a man held a phone to his ear.

“They're leaving now,” he reported.

A familiar voice answered.

“Good.”

The man watched Blake's car disappear into the night.

“Should we follow them?”

There was a pause.

Then the voice replied coldly.

“No.”

Another pause.

“Let them find the letter.”

The caller smiled.

“By the time they finish reading it, they'll wish they had never been born.”

The old Bennett property stood at the edge of town, surrounded by overgrown grass and broken stone walls.

The main house had been destroyed by fire, but a smaller stone wing remained standing.

Melody stepped out of Blake's car and stared at the ruins.

She hadn't visited the property since childhood.

The memories came rushing back.

Her father carrying her on his shoulders.

Her mother singing in the kitchen.

The smell of fresh bread.

Then the fire.

The screaming.

The smoke.

She pressed a hand against her chest.

Blake came to stand beside her.

“Are you all right?”

“No.”

He nodded.

“Fair enough.”

For some reason, that simple answer made her want to cry.

He didn't tell her to be strong.

He didn't tell her everything would be fine.

He simply stood beside her.

After a moment, Melody walked toward the stone wing.

The door resisted before finally opening with a groan.

Inside, dust covered the furniture. Broken glass littered the floor, and the walls were stained black.

Melody moved slowly through the ruined rooms.

“Dad's study was here.”

She stopped before a narrow wall beside the fireplace.

As a child, she had often watched her father hide things behind a loose brick.

She knelt and ran her fingers over the damaged stone.

“Help me move this.”

Blake crouched beside her.

Together, they loosened the brick.

Behind it sat a small metal box.

Melody's fingers trembled as she pulled it out.

The box was locked.

Blake examined it.

“Do you have any idea where the key might be?”

Melody shook her head.

Then she noticed a tiny inscription on the lid.

For my little girl, when the truth can no longer be hidden.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“It's from him.”

Blake gently took the box.

“Let's open it.”

Inside lay three items.

A photograph.

A letter.

And a small silver key.

Melody picked up the photograph first.

It showed her father standing beside Blake's father.

Both men were smiling.

Behind them stood Victor Anderson.

But Victor wasn't smiling.

He was holding a gun.

Melody's breath caught.

Blake snatched the photograph from her.

His face turned white.

“My father.”

He stared at the image as though the ground had vanished beneath his feet.

Then he turned it over.

A date was written on the back.

The date of the fire.

Below it were six words.

ONE OF US WILL NOT SURVIVE TONIGHT.

Blake looked at Melody.

“My father knew he was going to die.”

Melody opened the letter.

The handwriting was unmistakably her father's.

My dearest Melody,

If you're reading this, then I have failed to return to you.

I need you to understand that your father loved you more than life itself. Everything I did was to protect you.

Victor Anderson is not the man he pretends to be. He has spent years stealing from our families and turning us against one another.

But there is something even more dangerous.

The man you know as Blake's uncle is not the only person involved.

Melody's fingers tightened around the paper.

Someone in our own family helped him.

She stopped reading.

Blake looked at her.

“Keep going.”

She swallowed and continued.

The evidence is hidden where the two families first became one.

Find the key. Find the truth.

And whatever you do, do not trust the woman who raised you.

Melody stopped breathing.

She read the final sentence again.

Then she looked at Blake.

“My mother?”

Blake said nothing.

A terrible silence filled the ruined study.

Her mother had sacrificed twenty years to protect her.

Her mother had cried at her father's funeral.

Her mother had warned her against Victor.

And now her father's letter suggested that the woman who raised her could not be trusted.

Melody shook her head.

“No. This doesn't make sense.”

Blake folded the letter carefully.

“Someone may have wanted your father to believe that.”

“Or he knew something about my mother that I don't.”

She looked down at the silver key.

“What does it open?”

Blake examined it.

There was a tiny engraving on its handle.

A serpent.

The same symbol they had seen on the ring in the photograph.

Blake's expression changed.

“I know where I've seen this before.”

“Where?”

“My uncle's private vault.”

Melody stared at him.

“You mean Victor has the other half of whatever this key opens?”

“Possibly.”

Blake put the key in his pocket.

“We need to leave.”

A sudden crash sounded outside.

They both turned.

Footsteps approached the entrance.

Blake grabbed Melody's hand.

“Stay behind me.”

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

Then a man's voice spoke from the darkness.

“I'm glad you found the letter.”

Melody's heart stopped.

She recognized that voice.

It belonged to the man who had supposedly died twenty years ago.

Her father.

“Daddy?” she whispered.

The man stepped into the light.

He looked older, thinner, and deeply scarred.

But it was him.

Melody ran toward him.

“Daddy!”

He caught her in his arms.

For one beautiful second, the world stopped.

She was no longer a frightened woman trapped in a forced marriage.

She was a little girl who had finally found her father.

She clung to him, sobbing against his chest.

“I thought you were dead!”

Her father held her tightly.

“I know, my darling. I'm so sorry.”

She pulled back to look at his face.

“Why didn't you come back? Why did you let me believe you were dead?”

His eyes filled with tears.

“Because if I had returned, Victor would have killed you.”

Melody shook her head.

“What does he want from us?”

Her father glanced at Blake.

Then his expression changed.

Fear crossed his face.

“Blake Anderson.”

Blake stepped forward.

“You knew my father?”

“I knew him better than anyone.”

“Then tell me who killed him.”

Melody's father looked toward the broken doorway.

For a moment, he seemed to be listening for something.

Then he whispered, “We don't have much time.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small photograph.

It showed a woman standing beside Victor Anderson.

Melody stared at the woman.

Her mother.

Grace Bennett.

Her father looked at her with unbearable sadness.

“Melody, there's something you need to know about your mother.”

She shook her head.

“Please. Not another secret.”

He gripped her shoulders.

“Your mother didn't help Victor because she wanted money.”

“Then why?”

Her father took a shaky breath.

“Because twenty years ago, Victor threatened to kill you unless she helped him destroy the evidence against him.”

Melody's eyes filled with tears.

“So Mum was protecting me?”

“Yes.”

Her father looked at Blake.

“But that isn't the worst part.”

Blake's expression hardened.

“What could possibly be worse?”

Melody's father lowered his voice.

“Victor didn't order your father's death, Blake.”

Blake went completely still.

“What?”

“He didn't kill your father.”

“Then who did?”

Melody's father looked between them.

Then he delivered the words that shattered their fragile peace.

“Your father was killed by the one person he trusted enough to hand over the keys to his kingdom.”

Before Blake could demand an answer, headlights swept across the ruined windows.

A car had arrived.

Melody's father went pale.

“They've found us.”

Blake moved toward the entrance.

“Who?”

Her father grabbed his arm.

“Don't go outside!”

A gunshot shattered the silence.

Melody screamed.

Her father staggered backward, clutching his chest.

“DADDY!”

Blake caught him before he hit the floor.

Outside, an engine roared to life.

The car sped away.

Melody dropped to her knees beside her father, pressing both hands against his wound.

“Please! Somebody help us!”

Her father struggled to breathe.

He caught her wrist.

“Melody…”

“Don't talk, Daddy. Please don't talk!”

His eyes shifted toward Blake.

“Protect her.”

Blake nodded urgently.

“I will. I promise.”

Her father looked at his daughter one last time.

Then he whispered a name.

A name Blake Anderson had spent his entire life trusting.

“Victor…”

His hand fell limp.

Melody screamed.

And somewhere in the darkness outside the ruined house, a phone vibrated with a new message.

The girl has found her father.

A reply came almost immediately.

Then make sure she never finds out who really killed him.

TO BE CONTINUED…

SCENE 6

The gunshot echoed through the abandoned Bennett estate.

For one terrible second, Melody couldn't hear anything else.

Then she saw the blood.

“Daddy!”

She dropped to her knees beside her father, pressing both hands against the wound in his chest. His blood soaked through her fingers, warm and frighteningly real.

“No, no, no!” Her voice broke. “You can't leave me again. Please, Daddy, open your eyes!”

Her father struggled to breathe. His lips moved, but only a faint sound escaped.

“Victor…”

Then his eyes rolled back.

“DADDY!”

Melody shook him desperately.

Behind her, Blake stood frozen for a fraction of a second before instinct took over.

“Melody, move!”

He pulled off his jacket, pressed it firmly against the wound, and reached for his phone.

“Daniel, I need an ambulance at the old Bennett estate immediately. Bring the police, too. Someone has been shot.”

He ended the call and knelt beside Melody.

“Look at me,” he ordered gently. “Keep pressure on the wound.”

“He's dying!” she cried.

“We don't know that yet.”

“It's my fault!” Tears streamed down her face. “I brought him here. I should never have come!”

Blake caught her trembling hands.

“Melody, listen to me. You didn't pull that trigger.”

She stared at him, her eyes filled with terror.

“Someone followed us.”

His expression hardened.

“Yes.”

“Someone wanted him dead.”

“Yes.”

“And they might still be here.”

Blake looked toward the broken windows. The darkness beyond them seemed to be watching.

He pulled Melody behind him, shielding her with his body.

“Stay close to me.”

A second later, headlights swept across the ruined building.

Melody flinched.

Blake reached inside his jacket.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

“I don't know.”

He moved toward the entrance, keeping himself between Melody and the door.

Then a familiar voice called out.

“Blake!”

Daniel rushed inside with two paramedics behind him.

Relief flashed across Blake's face.

“Over here!”

The paramedics took over immediately. One checked Melody's father's pulse while the other prepared to transport him.

“His pulse is weak,” the first paramedic said. “We need to move now.”

Melody reached for her father's hand.

“Daddy, please. You have to survive. I have so many questions. You can't leave me before you answer them.”

The paramedic gently moved her aside.

“We're doing everything we can.”

As they carried her father out, Melody followed, her legs barely holding her up.

Blake caught her arm.

“I'm coming with you.”

She looked at him.

For the first time since meeting him, she didn't know whether she wanted him beside her or far away from her.

Because her father's final word had been Victor.

And Blake's uncle was Victor Anderson.

The same man who had welcomed her into the Anderson mansion with a smile.

The same man who wore the serpent ring.

The same man whose name had followed her father into the darkness.

At the hospital, the waiting room smelled of antiseptic and fear.

Melody sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her father's blood still stained the cuffs of her dress.

Blake had offered to get her clean clothes, but she had refused to move.

She couldn't bear the thought of leaving the hospital corridor while her father fought for his life.

Daniel stood near the window, speaking quietly on his phone.

When he ended the call, he approached Blake.

“We have a problem.”

Blake looked up. “What kind of problem?”

“The police found something at the estate.”

“What?”

Daniel hesitated.

“A gun.”

Melody's head snapped up.

“What does that have to do with us?”

Daniel looked uncomfortable.

“The weapon was found near the place where you and Blake were standing.”

Blake's jaw tightened. “I didn't have a gun.”

“I know,” Daniel replied. “But the police have more questions.”

As if summoned by the words, two uniformed officers entered the waiting room.

One approached Blake.

“Mr. Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“We need you to answer a few questions about the shooting.”

“Go ahead.”

The officer opened a small notebook.

“Witnesses reported a black luxury vehicle leaving the area shortly before emergency services arrived. Your vehicle matches the description.”

“Because I was there,” Blake said coldly. “I called the ambulance.”

“Did you argue with Mr. Bennett before the shooting?”

“No.”

“Did you have a reason to want him dead?”

Melody stood abruptly.

“What kind of question is that?”

The officer turned toward her.

“Ma'am, we're investigating a shooting.”

“Then investigate the person who fired the gun! Blake was trying to save my father!”

“We'll establish the facts.”

The second officer stepped closer to Blake.

“Sir, we'd like you to accompany us to the station.”

Blake rose slowly.

“Am I under arrest?”

“Not at this time. We need your statement.”

Melody grabbed his wrist.

“Blake, you can't go.”

He looked down at her hand.

“Melody—”

“They're trying to frame you!”

“Maybe,” he replied quietly. “But running away won't help me.”

He turned to Daniel.

“Get the security footage from every road leading to that property. Find out who owns the gun and trace every vehicle that passed through the area.”

Daniel nodded.

“Consider it done.”

Blake turned back to Melody.

“I'll be back.”

She tightened her grip.

“You promised you'd protect me.”

Something softened in his eyes.

“And I will.”

“Then don't leave me alone.”

For a moment, the billionaire who commanded boardrooms and frightened his enemies seemed unable to find the right words.

Finally, he lifted her hand and pressed it gently between both of his.

“I married you for revenge,” he said. “I won't insult you by pretending that wasn't true. But whatever happens now, I will not allow anyone to hurt you.”

His gaze held hers.

“Not even if that person shares my blood.”

Melody's fingers loosened.

Blake followed the officers out.

She watched him disappear through the hospital doors, a terrible feeling settling inside her.

She had married a man who claimed to hate her family.

Now that same man was the only person she wanted to believe.

Nearly an hour passed before Daniel returned.

He carried a brown envelope and wore the expression of a man who had discovered something he wished he hadn't.

“Where is Blake?” Melody asked immediately.

“Giving his statement.”

“Will they arrest him?”

“Not unless they find stronger evidence.”

Melody exhaled shakily.

Daniel sat beside her.

“I need to ask you something about your father.”

She turned toward him.

“What?”

“Before the shooting, did he say anything that could help us identify the person responsible?”

Melody swallowed.

“He said one name.”

Daniel leaned forward.

“Which name?”

“Victor.”

Daniel went still.

“Victor Anderson?”

“I think so. I don't know. He was losing blood. He could barely speak.”

Daniel opened the envelope and removed a photograph.

It showed Victor Anderson standing outside an old building beside a man Melody had never seen before.

The date printed on the back was twenty years old.

“Do you recognize this man?” Daniel asked.

“No.”

“His name is Richard Hale. He was the former chief financial officer of Anderson Holdings. He disappeared the night Blake's father died.”

Melody remembered the man captured at the estate.

Richard Hale.

The man who had claimed to know what happened to both families.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because Richard is missing again.”

Her stomach tightened.

“But he was at the estate!”

“By the time the police searched the surrounding area, he was gone. Someone helped him escape—or someone took him.”

Melody stared at the photograph.

Victor.

Richard.

Her father.

Blake's dead father.

Every answer seemed to lead to another secret.

“Daniel,” she whispered, “what if Blake's uncle really killed them?”

“Then we need proof.”

“And what if Blake is involved?”

Daniel studied her carefully.

“Do you believe he is?”

Melody opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

She remembered Blake shielding her when the headlights appeared. His hands pressing against her father's wound. His promise that no one would hurt her.

But she also remembered his cold eyes on their wedding night.

I married you to make your family pay.

“I don't know,” she admitted.

Daniel placed the photograph back inside the envelope.

“Then be careful who you trust.”

He rose to leave.

“Daniel?”

He stopped.

“Do you think my father will survive?”

His expression softened.

“The doctors are still working on him. Don't give up hope.”

After he left, Melody lowered her head into her hands.

She was so tired of secrets.

So tired of being afraid.

And so tired of wanting to trust a man who had every reason to destroy her.

It was almost midnight when Blake returned.

His white shirt was creased, his tie was missing, and exhaustion shadowed his face.

Melody sprang to her feet.

“What happened? Are you under arrest?”

“No. They released me after taking my statement.”

She hurried toward him.

“Did they find anything?”

“Not enough to charge me.”

He paused, then added, “But someone wants the police to believe I killed your father.”

Melody's throat tightened.

“Why would they do that?”

“Because if I'm arrested, I can't investigate what happened.”

“Or perhaps because you know more than you're telling me.”

The words escaped before she could stop them.

Blake went still.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then he nodded slowly.

“You're right to question me.”

That answer surprised her.

“I am?”

“I have lied to you before. I have kept things from you. And I married you with intentions I am not proud of.” He looked directly into her eyes. “You don't owe me blind trust.”

Melody's eyes burned.

“Then why should I trust you at all?”

He stepped closer but stopped before touching her.

“You shouldn't trust my promises just because I make them. Watch what I do.”

She looked away.

“I'm afraid, Blake.”

His expression changed.

Not with anger.

With something far more vulnerable.

“I know.”

“My father might die. My mother has been hiding things from me. Your mother may not be dead. Your uncle may be responsible for everything.” She struggled to breathe evenly. “And I don't know whether the man sleeping in the same house as me is my protector or my enemy.”

Blake was silent for a long moment.

Then he said, “When I was a boy, I believed my father could fix anything. If a business deal failed, he fixed it. If I was frightened, he sat beside me until I fell asleep. I thought nothing could happen to him.”

His voice grew quieter.

“Then one night, he was gone. And everyone told me to accept it.”

Melody looked at him.

“I spent years believing your father had destroyed my family. Revenge became the only thing that made his death bearable.”

“Did you ever consider that you might be wrong?”

“Every day.”

The admission hung between them.

“Then why continue?” she whispered.

“Because if I stopped hating your family, I would have to face the possibility that I had wasted years punishing the wrong person.”

Melody's heart ached for the boy he had once been.

But she couldn't forget the man who had forced her into a marriage she never wanted.

“Your pain doesn't excuse what you did to me,” she said.

“I know.”

“Do you regret marrying me?”

Blake looked at her for a long time.

“I regret the reason I married you.”

Her breath caught.

“That isn't the same thing.”

“No,” he said softly. “It isn't.”

For the first time, his eyes held no threat, no calculation, no coldness.

Only the truth he was afraid to say aloud.

Melody felt herself moving toward him before she understood why.

Then she stopped.

“Don't make me fall for you just because you're hurting.”

Blake's face tightened.

“I would never ask that of you.”

“Good.”

She turned away, wiping her tears.

Behind her, Blake made a promise so quiet she almost missed it.

“I will find the person who did this. And when I do, you will have the truth—even if it destroys me.”

At two in the morning, a nurse approached them.

“Mr. Anderson?”

Blake stood immediately.

“Yes?”

“The doctor would like to speak with the patient's family.”

Melody's knees weakened.

“Is my father alive?”

“The doctor will explain everything.”

Blake caught her hand before she could stumble.

They followed the nurse down a long corridor to a private consultation room.

The doctor entered a few minutes later.

“Your father lost a significant amount of blood,” he explained. “We've managed to stabilize him, but his condition remains critical. The next twenty-four hours will be important.”

Melody covered her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Can I see him?”

“For a short time, yes. But he needs rest.”

Blake squeezed her hand.

“He's still fighting,” he murmured.

Melody nodded, unable to speak.

When she entered the intensive care room, she found her father lying motionless beneath the white sheets, surrounded by machines.

She moved to his bedside and gently took his hand.

“Daddy, it's me.”

His fingers didn't move.

She bent forward, pressing her forehead against his hand.

“You came back into my life, and I barely got to know you again. You owe me answers. You owe me so many years.”

Her voice broke.

“So please, don't leave me.”

Behind the glass, Blake watched her.

Something inside him shifted.

He had spent months imagining Melody crying because her family had lost everything.

He had never imagined that her pain would hurt him.

And he certainly hadn't expected to want to take it away.

His phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

He opened the message.

You should have let the old man die.

Blake's blood ran cold.

Another message arrived.

Now that he has spoken, your wife is in danger.

Blake immediately called the number.

It was switched off.

He stared at the screen, his mind racing.

The sender knew about the shooting.

They knew Melody's father had spoken.

And they knew exactly where Melody was.

A third message appeared.

This time, it included a photograph.

Blake opened it.

The picture showed Melody standing beside her father's hospital bed, taken from somewhere inside the hospital.

Underneath it were six words:

Your wife won't survive the truth.

Blake looked up sharply.

Through the glass, Melody was still holding her father's hand.

He rushed into the room.

“Melody, we have to leave.”

She turned, startled.

“What? Why?”

He showed her the message.

The colour drained from her face.

“Someone took this picture just now.”

“Yes.”

“Inside the hospital?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze flew toward the door.

“Who would do this?”

Blake pulled her away from the bed and placed himself between her and the entrance.

“Someone who knows we're getting close.”

A sound came from the corridor.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Unhurried.

Blake reached for Melody's hand.

“Stay behind me.”

The door handle began to turn.

Then his phone rang.

The caller ID made his entire body go rigid.

UNCLE VICTOR.

Blake answered without taking his eyes off the door.

“Where are you?” Victor asked calmly.

“Why?”

“I heard about the shooting. I wanted to make sure you and your wife were safe.”

Blake's jaw clenched.

“How did you know Melody's father was shot?”

A brief silence followed.

Then Victor gave a low, humourless laugh.

“Because, Blake, some mistakes should never have been repeated.”

The call ended.

At that exact moment, the hospital room door swung open.

A nurse stood outside, pale and breathless.

“Mr. Anderson,” she whispered, “you need to come quickly.”

“What's happened?”

She looked at Melody.

Then she delivered the words that made Melody's blood run cold.

“Your father's bed is empty.”

Melody stared at her.

“Empty?”

“The patient is gone.”

Blake released her hand and ran toward the corridor.

Melody followed, her heart pounding.

Her father had been too weak to stand.

He couldn't have walked out by himself.

Someone had taken him.

And as Blake reached the nurses' station, his phone vibrated one final time.

A message from Victor appeared on the screen.

If you want the old man alive, bring me the serpent key. Come alone.

Blake looked down at the key hidden inside his jacket—the key they had found at the burned Bennett estate.

Then he looked at Melody.

She had seen the message over his shoulder.

“Blake,” she whispered, “what is the serpent key?”

He said nothing.

Because the truth was suddenly clear.

Victor hadn't merely been hiding the past.

He had been waiting for Blake to find the key.

And now he had Melody's father.

SCENE 7

“Bring me the serpent key. Come alone.”

Blake read the message again, his jaw tightening.

Across the hospital corridor, Melody stood frozen beside the nurses' station. Her father had vanished from a secured hospital room, and the only person who seemed unsurprised was the man who had spent twenty years hiding the truth.

Victor Anderson.

Blake's uncle.

The man who had helped raise him after his father's death.

The man who had just threatened the life of Melody's father.

“Blake,” Melody whispered. “We have to call the police.”

“We will.”

“Then why are you looking at that message like you're planning to do something foolish?”

He slipped his phone into his pocket.

“Because Victor expects me to follow his instructions.”

“And you're going to?”

“No.”

Melody stared at him.

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Give him exactly what he expects.”

He started toward the exit.

Melody caught his arm.

“Wait!”

He turned.

“You are not going anywhere alone.”

“Melody, this isn't a game.”

“Neither is my father's life!”

Her voice echoed down the corridor. A passing nurse glanced at them before hurrying away.

Melody lowered her voice, but the determination in her eyes remained.

“Your uncle took my father. If you think I'm going to sit here while you risk your life trying to rescue him, you don't know me at all.”

Blake stared at her.

For a moment, he saw something beyond her fear.

Courage.

The same stubborn courage that had infuriated him on their wedding day.

The same courage that was slowly destroying every reason he had invented to hate her.

“You're staying here,” he said.

“No.”

“Melody—”

“You can order your employees around. You can intimidate business partners. You can even pretend our marriage is a contract you control.” She stepped closer. “But you cannot tell me to sit quietly while my father is in danger.”

His expression darkened.

“And if something happens to you?”

“Then at least I won't have to spend the rest of my life wondering why I let you face it alone.”

The words struck him harder than she intended.

Blake looked away first.

“Fine,” he said at last. “But you do exactly what I tell you when we get there.”

Melody folded her arms.

“Only if your instructions make sense.”

Despite everything, a faint smile touched his mouth.

“You are impossible.”

“You married me.”

“Unfortunately.”

She raised an eyebrow.

For the first time that night, his smile became real.

Then it disappeared.

“Let's go.”

The serpent key was hidden inside Blake's jacket.

He had not shown it to the police, and he hadn't told Daniel about Victor's demand.

He knew it was a dangerous decision.

But if Victor was prepared to kidnap a critically injured man, Blake couldn't afford to wait while the authorities followed every legal procedure.

That didn't mean he intended to walk blindly into a trap.

Before leaving the hospital, he sent Daniel a message containing Victor's threat, the photograph of Melody in the hospital room, and the location of the old Anderson warehouse.

Find us before midnight. Bring backup. Don't alert my uncle.

Daniel replied almost immediately.

Understood. I'm on my way.

Blake slipped the phone into his pocket.

Melody watched him.

“You contacted Daniel.”

He looked at her sharply.

“How did you know?”

“Because you have the face of someone who thinks he's being clever.”

He almost laughed.

Almost.

They drove through the city in silence, leaving the bright streets behind as the road narrowed into an industrial district.

The old Anderson warehouse stood beyond a rusted iron fence. Its windows had been boarded up, and weeds covered the cracked driveway.

Melody stared at the building.

“Why would your uncle bring us here?”

Blake parked the car.

“This warehouse belonged to my father.”

She turned toward him.

“I thought your father's company headquarters were in the city.”

“They are now. This was where he stored documents and equipment before Anderson Holdings became the empire it is today.”

He paused.

“After he died, Victor ordered the warehouse closed.”

“Why?”

“He said there was nothing left worth keeping.”

Melody looked at the dark building.

“And you believed him?”

“I was seventeen.”

The answer silenced her.

Blake stepped out of the car and opened her door.

“Stay close.”

They passed through the broken gate.

At the entrance, Blake noticed a fresh set of tire marks in the dirt.

Someone had arrived recently.

He drew his phone and activated its flashlight.

“Blake,” Melody whispered.

He turned.

“What?”

“Look.”

A thin line of light shone beneath the warehouse door.

Someone was inside.

Blake placed a finger against his lips and pushed the door open.

The hinges groaned.

The warehouse smelled of dust, damp wood, and old machinery. Rows of abandoned shelves stretched into the darkness.

At the far end, a single lamp illuminated a metal table.

And beside it stood Victor Anderson.

Impeccably dressed.

Calm.

Smiling.

“Blake,” he said. “You brought the key.”

His gaze shifted to Melody.

“And your wife.”

Blake moved in front of her.

“You took her father.”

Victor's smile faded slightly.

“Your accusations are becoming tiresome.”

“Where is he?”

“Alive. For now.”

Melody stepped around Blake.

“If you've hurt my father—”

Victor raised one hand.

“Please, Melody. We are all adults here. There is no need for theatrics.”

She looked at him with disgust.

“You kidnapped a dying man.”

“I relocated a person who knows things he should never have known.”

“That's kidnapping.”

“Call it whatever helps you sleep.”

Blake's hands curled into fists.

“Enough. Tell me why you want the key.”

Victor's eyes dropped to Blake's jacket.

“Because your father made a foolish mistake before he died. He trusted the wrong people with the wrong information.”

“Was my father murdered?”

For the first time, Victor's expression changed.

Only slightly.

But Blake saw it.

“Your father was a complicated man,” Victor replied.

“That wasn't my question.”

“And you have always been impatient.”

Blake stepped closer.

“Did you kill him?”

Victor sighed.

“Your father is dead, Blake. Nothing you discover now will bring him back.”

“Did you kill him?”

Silence filled the warehouse.

Then Victor said, “Give me the key.”

Blake didn't move.

“Where is Melody's father?”

Victor nodded toward a metal door behind him.

“Safe. For the moment.”

Melody rushed toward it, but Blake caught her hand.

“Wait.”

Victor chuckled.

“You see? You are finally learning to think before acting.”

Blake ignored him.

“Show us the man first.”

Victor studied him for several seconds before reaching into his pocket.

He removed a small remote and pressed a button.

A monitor flickered to life on the wall.

The screen showed a narrow room with a single chair.

Melody gasped.

Her father sat in the chair, pale and visibly weak, with his wrists secured to the armrests.

“Daddy!”

He lifted his head at the sound of her voice.

“Melody?”

She rushed toward the screen as though she could reach him through it.

“I'm here, Daddy! We're going to get you out!”

Victor switched off the monitor.

“You have seen him. Now give me the key.”

Blake's expression was murderous.

“If he dies, you won't have anywhere left to hide.”

Victor smiled without warmth.

“My dear boy, I have been hiding in plain sight for twenty years.”

Blake took the serpent key from his jacket.

Victor's eyes followed it greedily.

“Where did you find it?”

“At the old Bennett estate.”

Victor's face hardened.

“So Richard finally led you there.”

“Richard Hale?”

“Ah.” Victor tilted his head. “You've met him.”

“Where is he?”

Victor ignored the question.

“You have no idea what that key opens.”

“Then explain it.”

“Give it to me first.”

“No.”

Victor's smile vanished.

“You have your father's stubbornness. It will be the death of you.”

“Perhaps it was the death of him, too.”

For several seconds, the two men stared at each other.

Then Victor laughed softly.

“You really do believe Melody's father is innocent, don't you?”

Blake's eyes narrowed.

“I believe someone is terrified of what he knows.”

“And what if I told you that your beloved wife has been lying to you from the beginning?”

Melody stiffened.

“What are you talking about?”

Victor looked at her.

“Ask your mother why she kept your father alive in secret. Ask her why she never told you that your father and Blake's father were planning to expose a criminal organization operating inside their company.”

Melody's face went pale.

“What organization?”

Victor smiled.

“The serpent was never just a symbol. It was the mark used by a group of men who controlled money, information, and people from behind closed doors. Your father and Blake's father discovered what they were doing.”

Blake's voice dropped.

“And you were one of them.”

Victor's expression became cold.

“Careful.”

“Were you?”

Victor looked at the key.

“Your father found out too much. Melody's father helped him. And both men paid a price.”

Melody shook her head.

“No. My father said you—”

“Your father said many things while he was frightened.”

“You killed them!”

Victor stepped toward her.

Blake immediately blocked his path.

“Touch her, and I'll forget you're my uncle.”

For a moment, Victor looked almost pleased.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“The weakness I was afraid of.”

Blake said nothing.

Victor's eyes shifted toward Melody.

“You were supposed to hate her, Blake. You were supposed to use her family to settle an old score. Instead, you've become protective.”

Melody felt Blake stiffen beside her.

Victor continued.

“Love makes intelligent men stupid.”

Blake's face revealed nothing.

But Melody noticed his hand move closer to hers.

Their fingers brushed.

Neither pulled away.

“Enough,” Blake said. “Take me to her father.”

Victor extended his hand.

“The key.”

Blake placed it in his palm.

Victor turned and walked toward the centre of the warehouse.

He stopped beside a large wooden cabinet and pressed a concealed switch.

A section of the concrete floor shifted with a heavy mechanical groan.

Beneath it lay a narrow metal staircase descending into darkness.

Melody stared.

“What is that?”

“The original records room,” Blake replied.

Victor glanced back at him.

“Your father built it to protect documents he believed were too dangerous to leave in the main building.”

He descended the stairs.

“Come along. The truth is waiting.”

Blake took Melody's hand.

“Whatever happens, don't let him separate us.”

She squeezed his fingers.

“I won't.”

Together, they followed Victor underground.

The room beneath the warehouse was smaller than Melody expected.

Metal cabinets lined the walls. A desk stood in the centre, covered with old folders and photographs.

At the far end sat a heavy safe bearing the serpent symbol.

Victor inserted the key.

It turned with a sharp click.

Blake stared at the safe.

“My father built this.”

“Yes.”

“What did he hide inside?”

Victor opened the door.

“Everything that could destroy the people responsible for his death.”

He removed a thick folder and placed it on the desk.

Melody stepped forward.

The first page contained a list of company accounts, dates, and names.

Her father's name appeared beside Blake's father's.

Below them were several signatures.

One belonged to Victor Anderson.

Another belonged to Richard Hale.

Melody's stomach twisted.

“Your uncle signed the same documents as our fathers.”

Blake scanned the page.

“These accounts were used to move money out of the company.”

Victor folded his arms.

“Your father discovered the transfers and threatened to report them. He believed he could force the people involved to confess.”

“Who were the people involved?” Blake demanded.

Victor tapped the folder.

“Look at the final page.”

Blake turned it over.

A list of names appeared beneath a handwritten heading.

THE INNER CIRCLE.

At the bottom was a name Blake recognized immediately.

ELEANOR ANDERSON.

His mother.

Blake stopped breathing.

“No.”

Melody looked at him.

“Blake?”

He read the name again, as if the letters might rearrange themselves into something less terrible.

“My mother was dead before any of this came to light.”

“Was she?” Victor asked.

Blake grabbed him by the collar.

“You told me she died.”

Victor did not resist.

“I told you what you needed to believe.”

Blake's grip tightened.

“Where is she?”

Victor's eyes remained steady.

“Ask the woman who visited Melody's mother.”

Melody remembered the woman in black.

Eleanor.

The woman who had appeared at the mansion and claimed that someone in their family had ordered both fathers' deaths.

“She said she was innocent,” Melody whispered.

Victor looked at her.

“She would.”

Blake released him and stepped back, his face drained of colour.

“Why would my mother be on that list?”

“Because she knew more than she admitted.”

“Did she help kill my father?”

Victor's silence was answer enough to make Blake's stomach turn.

Melody moved toward him.

“Blake, look at me.”

He didn't.

“My mother was part of it,” he whispered. “I spent years blaming Melody's father. I built my entire life around revenge. And now—”

His voice failed.

Melody gently took his hand.

“You don't know the whole truth yet.”

He finally looked at her.

“What if the truth is worse than anything we've imagined?”

“Then we'll face it.”

He stared at her, searching her expression for pity or deceit.

She offered neither.

Only her hand.

For the first time, Blake allowed himself to hold it without pretending the gesture meant nothing.

Victor watched them with visible displeasure.

“How touching,” he said. “But you are both wasting time.”

He reached into the safe and removed a second folder.

“This is the document your fathers were killed to protect.”

Blake turned sharply.

“What document?”

Victor opened the folder.

Inside was a single sheet bearing the signatures of both fathers.

At the top, in bold letters, were the words:

SUCCESSION AND OWNERSHIP AGREEMENT.

Blake read the first paragraph.

Then he read it again.

His expression changed.

Melody leaned closer.

“What does it say?”

Blake looked at her.

“According to this agreement, if my father died before the investigation was completed, control of the hidden assets would pass to the legal guardian of his only child.”

“That's you,” Melody said.

“Yes.”

Victor smiled.

“And that is why your marriage to Melody was so convenient.”

Blake's gaze snapped toward him.

“What are you saying?”

Victor pointed to a paragraph near the bottom.

“Your father added a condition. If you married into the Bennett family, the person holding the original key would have to surrender it to the rightful heir.”

Melody stared at the document.

“So this marriage—”

“Was never just about revenge,” Victor said. “It was about bringing the key back into the Anderson family.”

Blake's face darkened.

“Who knew about this agreement?”

“Your father. Melody's father. Richard Hale.” Victor paused. “And your mother.”

The room seemed to shrink around them.

Melody remembered her wedding day.

Blake's cold stare.

The way he had insisted that she belonged to him now.

Had Victor known about the agreement before Blake married her?

Had Blake been manipulated just as she had been?

Or had Blake known more than he admitted?

She slowly withdrew her hand from his.

Blake noticed.

“Melody—”

“Did you know?”

“No.”

“Did you know this key was connected to our marriage?”

“No.”

She searched his face.

For once, he looked as shaken as she felt.

“I swear to you,” he said, “I didn't know.”

Before she could answer, a metallic sound echoed behind them.

The safe door slammed shut.

Victor stepped back.

The lights flickered.

Then the underground room plunged into darkness.

Melody screamed as a hand seized her from behind.

“BLAKE!”

He lunged toward her voice.

A heavy blow struck the back of his head.

He fell against the desk.

When he struggled to rise, a bright light shone directly into his eyes.

Victor stood near the staircase, holding the serpent key.

Beside him was a masked man restraining Melody.

“You should have listened to me,” Victor said.

Blake tried to stand.

“Let her go!”

Victor shook his head.

“You still don't understand. I don't need you dead, Blake. I need you to believe the right person is guilty.”

He turned toward Melody.

“And now, thanks to your little investigation, we can finally finish what your fathers started.”

Melody struggled against the masked man's grip.

“Victor, what do you want?”

Victor smiled.

“The one thing your father refused to give me.”

He raised the document.

“The truth about who really owns Anderson Holdings.”

Blake forced himself upright.

“You're lying.”

“Am I?”

Victor pulled a second sheet from his pocket and unfolded it.

Then he read the name printed at the bottom.

“Melody Bennett.”

Melody froze.

“What?”

Victor's smile widened.

“Your father didn't merely help Blake's father expose the Inner Circle. He made certain that if anything happened to either family, the entire fortune would pass to you.”

Blake stared at Melody.

Melody stared back.

Neither could speak.

Then Victor leaned close to Blake.

“You married the heiress to the empire you wanted to protect. You just didn't know it.”

He nodded to the masked man.

“Take her.”

“NO!” Blake roared.

He charged forward, but the man struck him again.

Melody screamed his name as she was dragged toward the staircase.

Blake reached for her hand.

Their fingers touched for one desperate second.

Then she was pulled away.

“BLAKE!”

He watched her disappear into the darkness.

Victor crouched beside him and placed the serpent key on the floor.

“Now you have a choice, my boy,” he whispered. “Save your wife—or save the empire your father died for.”

Then Victor stood and walked away.

The metal door slammed shut.

Blake lay in the darkness, blood trickling down the side of his face.

His phone vibrated beside him.

A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.

If you want Melody back, ask your mother what happened on the night your father died.

Blake stared at the words.

Then another message arrived.

She was the one who pulled the trigger.

SCENE 8

She was the one who pulled the trigger.

Blake stared at the message until the words blurred before his eyes.

His mother.

Eleanor Anderson.

The woman he had mourned for twenty years.

The woman who had supposedly died when he was seventeen, leaving him alone in a world that suddenly made no sense.

The woman who had appeared in his mansion claiming she knew the truth about his father's death.

Could she really have killed the man she claimed to love?

“No,” Blake whispered.

He pushed himself off the floor, ignoring the sharp pain at the back of his head.

“It's a lie.”

But his hands were trembling.

Victor had spent years manipulating him. Perhaps this was another trick designed to destroy what little remained of his family.

Or perhaps the message was the one truth he had spent his entire life avoiding.

Blake picked up the serpent key.

Melody was gone.

His uncle had taken her, and every second he spent questioning the past was another second she remained in danger.

He opened his contacts and called Daniel.

The investigator answered immediately.

“Blake? Where are you? I've been trying to reach you!”

“Victor has Melody.”

“What?”

“He took her from the warehouse. I need you to find her.”

“I'm tracing the vehicle now. Are you injured?”

“I'm fine.”

“Blake, don't lie to me. Your voice sounds terrible.”

“I said I'm fine!”

Silence followed.

Then Blake took a shaky breath.

“Daniel, listen carefully. I found documents connecting Victor to the deaths of our fathers. There's also an ownership agreement naming Melody as the heir to certain Anderson assets.”

“Melody? Why would she inherit Anderson assets?”

“That's what we're going to find out.”

He paused.

“And Daniel?”

“Yes?”

“I need you to find my mother.”

Another silence.

“You mean Eleanor?”

Blake closed his eyes.

“Yes.”

“I thought she was dead.”

“So did I.”

He ended the call and looked at the message again.

She was the one who pulled the trigger.

If his mother had killed his father, then everything he believed about his childhood was built on a lie.

But if Victor was trying to turn him against Eleanor, there was only one way to know.

He had to find her.

And he had to find Melody first.

Melody woke to the sound of dripping water.

Her head throbbed.

For several seconds, she couldn't remember where she was. She tried to sit up, but her wrists were tied behind a wooden chair.

Then the memories returned.

The warehouse.

Victor's smile.

Blake reaching for her hand.

The masked man pulling her away.

“Blake?”

Her voice sounded small in the empty room.

No answer.

She struggled against the ropes.

“Is anybody there?”

A door opened somewhere beyond the wall.

Footsteps approached.

Melody forced herself to stop struggling and listen.

The door swung open.

Victor entered carrying a glass of water.

“Good morning, Melody.”

She glared at him.

“Where is my father?”

“Alive.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Safe?” She laughed bitterly. “You kidnapped a critically injured man and dragged me into this place. Don't insult me by using that word.”

Victor placed the glass on a table.

“You have your father's temper.”

“And you have the conscience of a murderer.”

His expression hardened.

“Be careful.”

“Or what? You'll kill me too?”

Victor studied her for a long moment.

“Your father and Blake's father were good men. They made one terrible mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“They believed honesty was more powerful than money.”

Melody's stomach tightened.

“What did they discover?”

Victor walked toward the window. It was covered with metal bars, allowing only a thin strip of daylight to enter.

“Twenty years ago, Anderson Holdings was expanding rapidly. Investors trusted the company. Banks competed to lend us money. We were building an empire.”

“And you were stealing from it.”

“I was protecting it.”

“By murdering people?”

Victor turned sharply.

“You know nothing about what happened!”

“Then tell me!”

For a moment, his anger seemed to overwhelm his usual composure.

He stepped closer.

“Your father discovered that money was being diverted from the company. He believed it was theft. He threatened to expose everyone involved, including people whose names could have destroyed the business overnight.”

“Was he wrong?”

Victor said nothing.

Melody's heart began to pound.

“Was he wrong, Victor?”

“No,” he admitted at last. “But he was naive.”

She stared at him.

“So you killed him?”

Victor's jaw tightened.

“I did not say that.”

“You didn't have to.”

He leaned toward her.

“Listen carefully. Your father was not the innocent hero you imagine him to be. He made deals. He kept secrets. He signed documents that could have destroyed your family if they had ever become public.”

Melody thought of the letter found in the metal box.

Do not trust the woman who raised you.

Her mother had hidden her father's survival. Eleanor had appeared from the dead. Blake had married her for revenge.

Everyone had a secret.

Everyone except the girl who had spent her life believing the stories she was told.

“Why do you need the key?” she asked.

Victor's expression changed.

“Because it opens more than a safe.”

“What does that mean?”

“The serpent key gives access to a second set of records. Records that reveal who truly controls the hidden assets of Anderson Holdings.”

“And those records name you.”

“Among others.”

Melody swallowed.

“Who else?”

Victor smiled faintly.

“You're beginning to ask the right questions.”

He walked toward the door.

“Untie me first.”

“No.”

“Victor!”

He stopped.

“If you hurt Blake, I swear—”

“Blake is the least of my concerns.”

His voice dropped.

“You are the problem, Melody. You were supposed to be an ordinary girl from a ruined family. Instead, your father left you holding the one thing that can bring the entire empire down.”

He opened the door.

Before leaving, he turned back.

“One more thing. If Blake comes looking for you, don't assume he has come to save you.”

Melody stared at him.

“Why?”

Victor's smile was cold.

“Ask him what his father planned to do with your family before he died.”

The door slammed shut.

Melody sat motionless.

For the first time, she wondered whether Blake's revenge had begun long before their wedding.

And whether the marriage itself had been part of a plan neither of them understood.

Across the city, Eleanor Anderson stood inside a small apartment with the curtains drawn.

She had not slept.

On the table before her lay an old photograph of her husband, Thomas Anderson, holding a little boy in his arms.

Blake.

He had been smiling in the photograph, his face bright with the careless happiness of a child who believed his family would always be there.

Eleanor touched the picture.

“I'm sorry, my son.”

A knock sounded at the door.

She immediately reached for the small pistol hidden in a drawer.

“Who is it?”

“Daniel Cross.”

She didn't move.

“Show me your identification.”

A card appeared beneath the door.

She checked it, then opened the door only a few inches.

Daniel stood outside, his expression serious.

“Mrs. Anderson, I need to speak with you.”

“You shouldn't be here.”

“Your son is looking for you.”

Eleanor's face lost colour.

“Is Blake safe?”

“For now. But Melody Bennett has been kidnapped.”

Eleanor closed her eyes.

“Victor.”

“You know about it?”

“I know what Victor is capable of.”

“Then tell me where he might have taken her.”

Eleanor hesitated.

Daniel watched her carefully.

“You told Blake that someone in the family ordered his father's death. Now we have documents linking Victor to financial crimes and a message claiming you pulled the trigger.”

Eleanor went completely still.

“What message?”

“Someone sent it to Blake.”

For a moment, she seemed unable to breathe.

Then she whispered, “Victor has started the final game.”

Daniel stepped inside.

“Mrs. Anderson, did you kill your husband?”

Eleanor looked at him with such pain that he almost regretted asking.

“No.”

“Did you know who did?”

She lowered herself into a chair.

“I know who was in that room when he died.”

“Who?”

Eleanor's hands trembled.

“Victor was there. Richard Hale was there. I was there.”

“Then why did you tell everyone you were dead?”

“Because Victor threatened my son.”

She looked up.

“He told me that if I spoke, Blake would die too.”

Daniel sat opposite her.

“What happened that night?”

Eleanor stared at the photograph.

“Thomas had discovered the missing money. He planned to turn the evidence over to the authorities. Richard was helping him. I had begged Thomas to wait until we could protect Blake.”

“Did he listen?”

“No. He believed the law would protect us.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“That night, I went to the office to persuade him to change his mind. When I arrived, Victor and Richard were already arguing with him.”

Daniel leaned forward.

“About what?”

“The documents. The hidden accounts. The ownership agreement.”

“And then?”

Eleanor covered her mouth.

“I heard a gunshot.”

Daniel waited.

“By the time I reached the room, Thomas was on the floor. Victor stood over him. Richard was holding a gun.”

Daniel's eyes narrowed.

“Richard shot your husband?”

“I don't know.”

“You were there.”

“I saw Richard holding the gun. I did not see him pull the trigger.”

“Then why accuse Victor?”

“Because Victor was smiling.”

Eleanor's voice broke.

“He looked at my dying husband and smiled.”

She pressed her fingers against her forehead.

“I wanted to scream. I wanted to call the police. But Victor told me that if I spoke, he would make sure Blake suffered the same fate.”

“So you disappeared.”

“I had to make Victor believe he had won. I left the country, changed my identity, and allowed the world to believe I was dead.”

Daniel sat back.

“Why didn't you contact Blake?”

Eleanor looked at the photograph again.

“Because Victor was watching him. Every time I tried to get close, someone sent me proof that Blake was being followed.”

She swallowed.

“I thought staying away was the only way to keep him alive.”

Daniel rose.

“Where did Victor take Melody?”

“I don't know.”

“Think carefully. He wouldn't choose a location without a reason.”

Eleanor stared at the floor.

Then her eyes widened.

“The old estate.”

“Which one?”

“The Anderson summer house. It was sold years ago, but Victor still owns the land through a private company. There is a cellar beneath the eastern wing.”

Daniel immediately reached for his phone.

“That's where we're going.”

Eleanor stood.

“I'm coming with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Mr. Cross, I have spent twenty years hiding while my son hated the wrong family. I'm finished hiding.”

She picked up the photograph and slipped it into her handbag.

“If Victor has Melody, then the only way to save her may be to tell Blake the truth.”

Blake arrived at Eleanor's apartment just as Daniel was preparing to leave.

He stopped in the doorway.

For a moment, neither mother nor son moved.

Eleanor looked older than he remembered. Her hair had silver strands, and the lines around her eyes told a story of years spent living in fear.

But she was alive.

His mother was alive.

“Blake,” she whispered.

He stared at her.

“You're supposed to be dead.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“I know.”

“You let me bury you.”

“I never wanted you to suffer.”

“You let me believe I had lost both parents!”

His voice cracked.

Eleanor took a step toward him.

He stepped back.

“Don't.”

She stopped.

Blake's hands shook.

“Did you kill my father?”

Eleanor looked at him, horrified.

“No.”

“Then explain this.”

He showed her the message.

She was the one who pulled the trigger.