Chapter 5 The Weight of Secrets
I told myself I was not going to look.
I spent the week focused on Isabelle's wedding. Venue scouting. Caterer tastings. Endless emails. I buried myself in work, the way I had for five years whenever something threatened to crack me open.
But at night, when the girls were asleep, I stared at my phone. Damian Blackwood had no social media presence. His public profiles were managed by a PR team. I searched for birth records. Nothing. I searched for adoption filings. Nothing. Whoever these twins were, he had erased them from public view.
I was hitting a wall.
On Saturday, I took the girls to the park near our apartment. Lily ran straight for the swings, her dark curls bouncing behind her. Rose followed more slowly, her gray eyes scanning the playground with quiet seriousness. They were so different, yet both carried pieces of him I saw every day.
I sat on a bench and watched them, my mind still turning over the same questions.
"Mommy, push me!" Lily called.
I stood and walked to the swings. I pushed her higher. She laughed, a wild, happy sound that made everything else fade for a moment.
Rose climbed onto the swing beside her sister and waited. I pushed her too, gentler, the way she liked.
"You're thinking about something," Rose said quietly.
I looked at her, surprised. She was only four, but sometimes she saw things she should not.
"I'm just tired, sweetheart."
"You're always tired when you come home from the tall building."
Lily giggled. "The tall building is scary."
I smiled despite myself. "It's just an office."
"Then why do you look sad?" Rose asked.
I did not have an answer for her.
Monday morning brought an unexpected message from Damian's assistant.
Mr. Blackwood has requested a site visit. He will pick you up at your office at two o'clock.
My stomach tightened. A site visit meant being alone with Damian outside his office. But it also meant access. Access to information about the twins.
I confirmed.
At two, a black car arrived. The window rolled down, and Damian looked out at me. "Ms. Winters."
I opened the door and slid into the back seat. The leather was warm. The air smelled like him. Suddenly, I was twenty-three again, sitting beside a man who made me believe in forever.
"You did not have to pick me up," I said.
"I was in the area." He focused on his tablet. "The venue coordinator expects us at two thirty."
We drove in silence. My heart beat too fast.
"The twins," I said before I could stop myself.
Damian's hand stilled. "What about them?"
"Your assistant mentioned them. I was curious. Are they yours?"
The silence that followed was heavy. His jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. Pain. Or maybe anger.
"That is none of your concern," he said finally. His voice was cold, a door slamming shut.
He answered his phone, turning toward the window. The conversation was over.
My heart pounded. He had not said yes or no. Which meant the twins were real, and they were important enough to guard.
What was he hiding?
The venue was a grand hotel with marble columns. Damian walked through the ballroom with efficiency. He pointed out structural columns. He negotiated with the coordinator. He did not acknowledge my question.
I took notes. I asked the right questions. I smiled when appropriate. But inside, I was falling apart.
His twins. Who were they? Had he moved on? Had he started another family while I was raising his daughters alone? The thought twisted in my chest, sharp and painful.
After the tour, he turned to me. "I will expect a revised floor plan by Wednesday. Isabelle will want the bridal suite in the east wing. Do not let her."
I nodded. "Understood."
He studied me. "The twins are not a topic I discuss. I trust that will not be an issue."
"It will not."
We walked to the car in silence. I slid inside, grateful for the barrier between us. Damian stood on the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear. His jaw was tight. He looked tired. Guarded. There were shadows under his eyes I had not noticed before.
He got in.
At my office, I gathered my bag. "I will send the floor plan."
"Ms. Winters." His voice stopped me with my hand on the door handle.
I turned.
He was watching me with an unreadable expression. "You asked about the twins. Why does it matter to you?"
I could have lied. "I have children, too. Two girls. They are almost five. When I heard you had children, I wondered what kind of father you are."
His expression softened. "What conclusion did you reach?"
"I have not reached one yet."
He studied me for a long moment. Then he said, "Perhaps someday you will."
I stepped out. The car pulled away. My hands were shaking.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
It was nice to see you today. Perhaps someday you can tell me more about your daughters.
Damian's personal number. He was reaching out, not as a client, but as a person. A person with twins, he would not discuss. A person who had looked at me with something almost human when I mentioned my girls.
I typed back: I would like that. Thank you.
I set the phone down and pressed my hands to my face.
The truth was coming. I could feel it building, a pressure behind my ribs that would not stop. Every conversation with Damian, every glance, every moment of kindness, pushed me closer to the edge.
I had come here for revenge. But Damian was not the monster I had made him into. Somewhere in this city, there were two children he was protecting with a fierceness I recognized. It was the same fierceness I felt for my own daughters.
Who were his twins? Why would he not speak of them? And what would happen when my secret and his finally collided?