Chapter 4 - THE BROTHER I WAS SUPPOSED TO MARRY
For several seconds, nobody moved.
My mother's words hung in the bedroom like smoke.
“She was supposed to marry your brother.”
I stared at her.
Then at Alexander.
Then back at my mother.
“What brother?”
Alexander's face had gone completely still.
My mother pressed a trembling hand against the cut above her eyebrow.
“His older brother.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No.”
I stood.
“You told me the Blackwells were dangerous.”
“They are.”
“You told me Alexander was dangerous.”
“I never said that.”
“You just said I was supposed to marry his brother.”
My mother looked away.
“His brother died.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
Alexander finally spoke.
“My brother isn't dead.”
My mother looked at him.
Her eyes widened.
Alexander stepped forward.
“Say his name.”
She didn't.
“Say his name, Margaret.”
My mother started crying.
“Jonathan.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
I felt a strange chill.
Jonathan Blackwell.
I knew the name.
I'd seen it years ago.
A newspaper article.
A photograph.
A young man standing beside Victor Blackwell at a charity gala.
He had been handsome.
Confident.
Untouchable.
And according to every article I'd ever read, he had died six years ago in a boating accident.
I looked at Alexander.
“You told me your brother died.”
“I believed he did.”
My mother's face changed.
“What?”
Alexander stared at her.
“You know something.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why did you just say Claire was supposed to marry him?”
My mother didn't answer.
Alexander's voice became colder.
“Who arranged it?”
Still nothing.
“Who?”
Finally, she whispered:
“Your father.”
Alexander stepped backward.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
My mother looked at me.
“Because your father owed him everything.”
I felt sick.
“My father owed Victor Blackwell?”
She nodded.
“Years ago, your father's company was collapsing. He had millions in debt. Banks were preparing to seize everything.”
I remembered my father as a powerful man.
A respected man.
A man whose name appeared on charity boards and university buildings.
I had never imagined him desperate.
“Victor saved him,” my mother continued.
“But nothing in our family comes free.”
Alexander's jaw tightened.
“What did Victor want?”
My mother looked at me.
“You.”
I stopped breathing.
“Me?”
“You were twenty-one.”
“I was a college student.”
“Victor believed a marriage between our families would settle the debt.”
Alexander's eyes darkened.
“And Jonathan agreed?”
“He didn't have a choice.”
I stared at my mother.
“Did you agree?”
She began crying.
“I was afraid.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“Yes.”
The word broke something inside me.
“You agreed to sell your daughter.”
“Claire—”
“You agreed to marry me off to a man I'd never met?”
“It was supposed to protect you.”
“From what?”
My mother looked at Alexander.
“From your father.”
I turned.
Alexander looked just as stunned as I felt.
“What does that mean?”
My mother lowered her voice.
“Your father wasn't just in debt.”
She swallowed.
“He was stealing.”
“Stealing what?”
“Blackwell money.”
Alexander's expression changed.
“How much?”
My mother whispered:
“Four hundred million dollars.”
The room went silent.
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because my brain couldn't process it.
“My father stole four hundred million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“From Victor Blackwell?”
“Yes.”
“And Jonathan was supposed to marry me to make the debt disappear?”
My mother nodded.
I looked at Alexander.
“Then why did Jonathan disappear?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“I don't know.”
Alexander stepped closer.
“You do know.”
“No.”
“You know what happened the night my brother supposedly died.”
My mother began shaking.
Alexander's voice became almost frighteningly calm.
“Because you were there.”
I looked at my mother.
“What?”
She wouldn't meet my eyes.
Alexander said:
“Your mother was at the warehouse six years ago.”
My heart stopped.
“The photograph?”
He nodded.
“She was there.”
My mother finally looked at me.
“I tried to stop your father.”
I couldn't speak.
She continued.
“Your father had Jonathan.”
Alexander froze.
“Jonathan was at the warehouse?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
My knees weakened.
“So the boating accident…”
“Was staged.”
Alexander's face went white.
“Where is he?”
My mother shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I swear.”
Alexander grabbed the edge of the dresser, forcing himself to remain calm.
I looked at him.
For the first time, I understood something.
He hadn't been hiding his family from me because he was ashamed.
He had been searching for someone.
His brother.
The man everyone believed was dead.
And suddenly, the mysterious photograph made sense.
I looked at my mother's bloodied face.
“Who attacked you tonight?”
She didn't answer.
Then her phone buzzed.
Everyone froze.
A message appeared.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
My mother's face went completely white.
I took the phone.
The image showed a man sitting in a dark room.
Older.
Beaten.
But alive.
I recognized him immediately.
Jonathan Blackwell.
Under the photograph were seven words:
YOUR HUSBAND ISN'T THE ONE WHO SAVED YOU.
May you like
Then another message arrived.
THIS TIME, I'M COMING FOR CLAIRE.
