The paper feels heavier in my hands than it should. My name is there, in bold, black ink, but I don’t understand the rest.
Because the words aren’t in English.
They aren’t in any language I recognize.
The writing twists and curls, ancient and unreadable, like something out of a forgotten world. The ink shimmers in the dim light as if the letters are alive, shifting when I try to focus on them.
A chill runs down my spine.
This isn’t normal.
I flip through the pages, my hands trembling slightly. My mind screams at me to stop—to put the contract down and pretend I never saw it. But I can’t.
I need to know what this is.
I need to know why my name is on it.
And more than anything… I need to know why Damian has been hiding it from me.
The sound of footsteps makes me snap my head up.
I shove the contract back onto the desk and turn, just as Damian walks in.
The moment he sees me, his body tenses. His sharp blue eyes flick to the desk, and I know immediately—he knows what I found.
His entire posture changes. He doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t have to. The air between us shifts.
I take a slow step forward, my heart pounding. “What the hell is this, Damian?”
He doesn’t answer.
His silence makes my stomach tighten.
I grab the contract and hold it up. “My name is on this. This contract was made years ago, and it has my name on it. Explain.”
Damian’s jaw tightens. “Put that down.”
I ignore him. My voice rises. “What does it say? What language is this?”
He doesn’t move.
His expression is unreadable—his usual mask of indifference, but his hands are clenched into fists.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Damian look afraid. But right now, he does.
Just for a second.
And that scares me more than anything.
I take another step toward him, shoving the paper against his chest. “Tell me, Damian. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve been part of some twisted plan for a very long time.”
Finally, he speaks.
His voice is low, almost dangerous. “You shouldn’t have found that.”
“But I did.”
I lift my chin, daring him to lie to me.
His blue eyes darken, but he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t try to deny it.
I shake my head, disbelief washing over me. “How long, Damian? How long have you known about this?”
A beat of silence. Then—his lips part, like he’s about to say something. But before he can, the sound of voices echoes from the hallway.
I freeze. Damian’s eyes flick to the door. The voice is deep. Cold. Commanding.
Elias Calloway. Damian’s father. I inch closer to the door, my pulse pounding.
Elias’s voice is low, but I hear him clear as day.
“She can’t find out the truth.”
The breath leaves my lungs.
I turn back to Damian, my vision tunneling. “What truth?”
His expression flickers—guilt, hesitation, something else.
I take a step back.
Oh, my God.
I don’t know what terrifies me more—that I don’t know the truth… or that Damian does.
My mind races.
I turn to the desk, flipping through the contract again, desperate to understand. But the words are still foreign, unreadable.
Then, I see it.
At the bottom of the page.
A second name.
Ivy Monroe.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.
The contract wasn’t just for me, it was for Ivy too.