The night felt longer than it should have.
Julian remained seated in the study long after Clara left, staring into the remnants of the fire. The silence wasn't peaceful. It was damning. A reminder of every word he should have said and every wall he had built instead.
He reached for her phone.
Her screen was still lit.
Two messages. One from Allegra, the other from Vincent Hale.
And both dangerous.
He didn't open them. That would be a boundary crossed too far. Instead, he walked the phone upstairs and gently placed it on her nightstand, next to the copy of Charlotte's Web she read to calm herself on restless nights.
She had underlined a line weeks ago. He remembered because he had asked about it.
"You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing."
He stared at the book. Then he turned away.
Downstairs again, he went to the cabinet behind the liquor cart. Not for a drink. But for what he had hidden months ago, right after the wedding. A metal lockbox embedded into the wooden floorboard beneath the Persian rug.
He hadn't looked inside it since.
It took him a while to unlock it. The key, long buried in a drawer beneath tax files, felt heavier in his hand than it should have.
Inside the box were five folders.
Three were business-related. One was from a legal firm he hadn't used since his father's passing.
And the fifth?
It was the one that mattered now.
Julian pulled it out and placed it on the desk.
The title on the front read:
CONFIDENTIAL – BLACKWELL FAMILY ESTATE HOLDINGS
But inside, buried beneath layers of financial transactions and mergers, was a document his father had hidden.
A nondisclosure agreement. Dated six years ago.
One of the names on the list was familiar. Vincent Hale.
But what made Julian's breath stop cold was the other name.
Clara Wynter.
He stared at it, the ink dancing in his vision.
There had to be an explanation.
Had they crossed paths before? Could it be a clerical error?
Or had his father somehow known Clara — or tried to use her — long before Julian ever laid eyes on her?
His heart pounded. Every instinct told him to close the folder and forget it. To protect her from this.
But another part of him whispered that she deserved to know.
And more than that — he needed to know.
Suddenly the room felt colder. The walls of the estate, so carefully curated to exude power and comfort, felt like they were closing in.
Julian rose from the desk and headed toward the butler's wing.
There was only one person left alive who might have answers about this file.
Mr. Han.
The man who had served his father for thirty years.
The man who had stood silent during every storm.
And Julian was about to ask him to finally speak.
Mr. Han stood in his modest quarters at the far end of the estate, placing a stack of clean linen onto a shelf when Julian appeared at the door.
He turned calmly, his expression unreadable.
"You are awake late, Mr. Blackwell."
Julian closed the door behind him, folder in hand. "I need to ask you something. And I need the truth. No more protecting the family. No more pretending."
The older man studied him for a long moment before nodding once. "Sit. Please."
Julian did, folding his sleeves up as if that would make the questions easier. "This file. It has Clara's name in it. Dated six years ago. My father's signature is on it."
He slid the document across the table.
Mr. Han looked at it. Then he looked away.
"You knew?"
"I suspected," Mr. Han admitted, voice low. "I was not involved in that particular file, but I remember your father speaking of a young woman he tried to approach for a business scheme involving educational grants and small publishing houses. He was attempting to disguise certain holdings under charitable fronts."
Julian's grip on the table tightened. "So Clara was one of them."
"She refused. That much I remember clearly. She walked out of the meeting. Called him a fraud."
Julian exhaled slowly. "He tried to recruit her. Or use her."
"Yes. But she never signed anything. No payment was made. Your father considered it a failed prospect. He was not used to being refused."
Julian sat back, mind spinning. All this time, Clara never mentioned it. Did she even remember? Did she realize who he was when they met that night?
Or had she buried that encounter completely?
Mr. Han added gently, "She likely did not know you were his son. She might not have known the company was connected at all."
"She once said my name felt familiar," Julian whispered. "But she brushed it off."
Mr. Han's voice softened. "Your father had many secrets. This house remembers them all. But you are not him, Julian."
Julian looked up.
"You have the choice to be better."
Silence fell again, but this time it was filled with something heavier than anger. The weight of legacy. The ache of not knowing how much of your life is yours, and how much was shaped by someone else's sins.
Julian rose. "Thank you."
Mr. Han nodded, but as Julian turned to go, the butler added one more thing.
"She loved you even before she realized it. And if you tell her the truth gently, she will love you still."
Clara sat curled on the living room sofa, a half-read manuscript resting on her lap. Rain tapped against the windows, soft but steady. She hadn't turned the page in fifteen minutes.
Her phone buzzed again.
Vivienne Ashcroft: Still want to believe he's different? Check your email.
Clara stared at the message. She wanted to ignore it. She wanted to pretend the ache in her chest wasn't growing louder with every minute Julian was gone.
But her fingers moved before her thoughts could stop them. She opened the email.
One PDF file.
"Client Assessment: Clara Wynter."
She froze.
It was on Blackwell Capital letterhead.
It detailed her background, education, finances, even the time she was late on a medical bill for her mother's stroke treatment. At the bottom, a note: "Low-risk. Unaware of familial ties. Proceed with subtle integration under supervision."
Clara's vision blurred.
The room swayed.
She barely registered the front door opening. Julian entered, soaked in rain, eyes searching.
"Clara."
She stood slowly, still holding the phone, her voice small but clear.
"You knew who I was before we met again. Didn't you?"
Julian hesitated. Just for a breath.
And that was all the answer she needed.
Clara's heart cracked open like glass under pressure.
"You lied to me."
He stepped forward. "It wasn't like that. I didn't know at first. But when I found out—"
"You stayed silent."
"I was trying to protect you."
"No," she said, her voice trembling. "You were protecting yourself."
He reached out, but she stepped back.
"I need air."
"Clara, please—"
She was already turning away. Already reaching for her coat.
And outside, the rain fell harder. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
As the door closed behind her, Julian stood alone in the room, holding nothing but regret.
And on the table behind her, the phone still buzzed with another message.
This one from an anonymous source:
"She deserves the truth. All of it. Before someone else tells her."