Chapter 4: Smoke and Secrets.
---
Alyssa wasn't trying to eavesdrop.
Not exactly.
She'd wandered into the guest library to escape the stifling silence of her wing. The penthouse, despite all its luxury, felt more like a glass prison than a home. Too clean. Too curated. Every corner watched, every silence weighed.
Even her solitude felt artificial.
She just needed air that didn't feel owned.
But quiet turned to tension when she heard voices from the hallway—low, male, urgent. The door to the study was ajar, just enough for sound to spill out.
One voice was unmistakable. Damon's. Cold. Smooth. Calculated.
The other was unfamiliar—older, rough, and laced with a kind of power that didn't need volume.
She told herself to walk away.
But something in Damon's tone... it wasn't arrogance this time. It was clipped. Controlled. Edging on defensive.
So she stepped closer.
"...I've upheld my end of the contract," Damon said. "The board saw the wedding photos. The press is eating it up. There's no reason to delay the transfer."
"Don't be hasty, Damon," the older man replied. His voice rasped like gravel. "Chairman Blackwood might have bought the fairy tale, but the board wants more than pretty pictures. They want loyalty. Proof. A paper marriage won't hold up if the vultures start circling."
A pause. The sound of a glass being set down.
Alyssa's heart began to pound. They were talking about the marriage. About her.
"I gave them what they needed," Damon said, the edge in his voice sharpening. "I did what none of you were willing to do—tie myself to a woman I barely know, just to protect this company. I expect the board to honor their side."
"Don't get sentimental now. You've always played the villain well. Just remember—if she talks, if she slips... this entire empire crumbles."
Alyssa's breath caught.
It wasn't just about inheritance.
This marriage was a move on a much darker chessboard.
She began to step back—quietly, carefully—but her heel creaked against the wooden floor.
Silence.
Then—
"Alyssa," Damon's voice cut through the air like a blade. "You can come in now."
Her stomach clenched, but she didn't let it show. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, spine straight, head high.
Damon sat in a deep leather chair, one leg crossed, a glass of scotch resting in his hand like it belonged there. His eyes locked on her—steady, unreadable.
Across from him sat a man in his sixties, tall and broad with silver hair and a scar running along his jaw. He looked at her like she was a wild card someone had dared to play.
"I wasn't listening," she said coolly. "Didn't realize this part of the house was... off-limits."
Damon didn't blink. "And yet, when you heard my voice, you didn't leave."
"I figured you were just negotiating another soulless merger. Turns out, I was the deal."
The older man chuckled, slow and deep. "I like her. Sharp tongue."
Damon didn't smile. "This is Thomas Greaves. Board member. One of many who think they run my life."
Greaves rose and extended a hand. Alyssa didn't take it.
He lowered it with a smirk. "Smart girl. She's got claws."
"She has boundaries," she corrected. "Unlike some people in this room."
Damon's eyes darkened, but he stayed silent.
Greaves finished the last of his drink, set the glass down with a soft clink, and straightened his tie. "Well, I've seen enough. If she can keep that fire on camera, we might just survive the storm."
He walked past her with a smug nod and disappeared into the hallway.
When the door closed, Damon rose and walked to the bar. He poured himself another drink, back turned to her.
Alyssa didn't move. Her arms crossed, her voice steady. "Want to explain what 'this whole empire falls' means?"
He didn't turn. "It's not your concern."
"Really?" she said, stepping forward. "Because I'm the one being paraded around like your trophy wife. I think that makes it my business."
"Keep your voice down," he said, sharper this time.
She stepped closer. "You dragged me into this circus, Damon. At least have the decency to tell me what I'm standing in the middle of."
He finally turned to face her, glass in hand. His expression was cool, but there was tension in his jaw.
"This marriage was never just about family approval," he said. "It's about control. The board is on edge. The press is circling. Investors are nervous. One slip—one scandal—and they'll tear me down."
"So your solution was a fake wife to calm the wolves?" she asked.
He stared at her. "To buy time."
"Time for what?"
He said nothing.
Instead, he walked past her, his shoulder brushing hers deliberately.
She didn't flinch.
"You wanted rules," he said. "Here's another: Stay out of things you don't understand."
---
She didn't sleep that night.
Not because of guilt. But because the silence was loud with questions.
She went back to the guest library—this time not for quiet, but for answers.
She searched through public records, news articles, and buried blogs that had barely survived lawsuits and threats. Behind firewalls and forgotten URLs, she found fragments of the past.
Whispers of a hostile takeover attempt. A quiet internal investigation that vanished mid-process. Deleted files. Drowned headlines.
And a name that hadn't surfaced in years.
Gregory Hart.
Her father.
Dragged through the mud in an accounting scandal he didn't survive.
The same scandal that ruined her family, drove her mother into depression, and left her and Evan clinging to survival.
Every document she uncovered painted a darker picture.
The dates aligned.
The timeline screamed corruption.
And Blackwood Global was at the center of it.
Whether Damon orchestrated it or inherited it—he was part of the chain.
---
The next morning, Alyssa didn't dress for fashion. She dressed for war.
A black dress hugged her frame—flawless and unapologetic. Gold accents glinted like armor. Her heels echoed down the hallway with confidence. Her lipstick? A vivid red. Not for seduction. For blood.
She stepped into the living room where Damon stood adjusting his cufflinks.
He looked up, eyes pausing for a heartbeat too long before he masked it with a nod. "You're early."
"I have a photoshoot," she said. "Wouldn't want to disappoint your board."
He picked up his watch and slipped it on. "Camille's waiting downstairs."
She walked toward him slowly, letting each step make a point.
"One more thing," she said as she stopped in front of him.
His gaze met hers.
She leaned in, close enough for her words to touch only his ears.
"You're not the only one good at pretending."
Then she stepped past him—and didn't look back.