Chapter 30 Safe deposit..

Chapter 30 Safe deposit..
Damien’s POV

She hasn’t said a word since last night.
The silence between us was sharp and unforgiving.

Elena stands by the window of my study, sunlight cutting across her hair, making her look both fragile and impossibly defiant. I watch her reflection in the glass as I button my shirt. The tension between us hums like static.

“You didn’t sleep,” I say quietly.

She doesn’t turn. “Neither did you.”

I move closer, but stop when I catch the stiffness in her shoulders. “You’re still angry.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Her tone is soft, but each word is precise, measured. “You’ve been watching me, tracking me, deciding what I can or can’t know. You don’t get to control that anymore, Damien.”

Her voice cuts deeper than she knows. I want to tell her the truth—that control is the only thing keeping her alive—but I bite it back. She wouldn’t understand. Not yet.

“Elena,” I start, “some truths—”

“Are better hidden?” she finishes sharply, turning to face me. “You’ve said that before. Maybe it’s true. Or maybe it’s just convenient for you.”

Her eyes hold mine for a moment that feels too long, then she grabs her bag from the table.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” she says simply.

“Elena—”

She walks past me, her perfume brushing against my senses like a ghost of temptation and defiance. “Don’t,” she says softly without looking back. “Don’t follow me.”

But I do.

\---

The camera feed flickers to life the moment she steps out of the house. Adrian’s voice crackles through the earpiece. “You really think she’ll go where you think?”

“She’s heading to the city,” I say, adjusting my cufflink. “Probably to the bank.”

“You gave her that stub, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” I reply tightly. “Someone else did.”

That’s what bothers me the most. Someone has been feeding her clues. Whoever left that note knew about the key—and now they’re pushing her toward something I haven’t been able to trace.

I grab my coat, step into the waiting car, and tell the driver, “Follow her. Keep distance.”

As we drive, I open the live feed from Adrian’s car. Elena moves through the streets with purpose, her posture tense, guarded. She’s not just wandering—she knows exactly where she’s going.

When she enters the marble-fronted building of Royal City Bank, I get out of the car. The security guards recognize me instantly.

“Mr. Cade,” one says, straightening immediately. “Can we—?”

“I need access to your surveillance control room,” I say. My tone leaves no room for refusal.

“Of course, sir. This way.”

Power has always been my armor. The Cade name opens doors most people can’t even see. Within minutes, I’m standing before a wall of monitors showing every corner of the bank. I watch Elena approach the reception desk, hand over an envelope, and speak quietly to the manager.

“She’s here for a safe deposit box,” I tell the head of security. “I want the feed from that room.”

He hesitates, then nods. “Understood, sir.”

The screen shifts. Elena sits at a small table in the private viewing room. Her movements are careful, almost reverent, as the banker places a long metal box in front of her and leaves.

She exhales slowly, then opens it.

Inside, I see fragments of something metallic—broken prototype pieces. My father’s handwriting flashes on one of the labels: Seraphim Core Unit.

My pulse quickens.

She takes out a small black ledger next, flipping through its brittle pages. I can’t see the contents clearly, but the name Martin appears several times alongside my father’s initials.

I feel my throat tighten. “Zoom in,” I order.

The guard hesitates. “Sir, that’s a client’s private—”

“Now.”

He obeys.

The ledger shows financial transfers, research codes, signatures. Every line bleeds into the next until I see something that makes my blood run cold.

Seraphim Project – Asset Relocation Authorized.
Partners: M. Martin / R. Cade / T. Kells.

T. Kells.

A third name. Unknown.

I stare at the screen, fury boiling in my chest. Someone has been erasing trails, rewriting history, and feeding Elena just enough to push her closer to the truth—but not all of it. Not the part that could burn us both alive.

Elena looks pale as she studies the contents. She reaches for a folded note inside the ledger and reads it. Her lips move silently, but I can guess the words from her expression—shock, confusion, disbelief.

She takes out a photograph next. Her hand trembles as she turns it over.

I lean closer to the screen. My heartbeat spikes.

The image shows Martin and my father, as expected—but between them stands another man. A stranger. The same T. Kells.

No.

Not just him.

My stomach twists as I recognize the faint outline of someone else in the blurred background—Elena.

A younger Elena, maybe twelve, standing near the corner of the frame, half-hidden behind her father.

“What the hell…” I whisper.

The guard glances nervously at me. “Sir?”

“Leave,” I say quietly.

He hesitates. “But—”

“Leave.”

He obeys immediately.

When the door shuts, I let the anger show. My hand slams against the console hard enough to make the monitors flicker.

Someone planted that box. Someone wanted her to find that photograph—to see her father and mine together, to drag her deeper into this conspiracy. But the worst part? The photograph proves she was there. She’s tied to all of this, even if she doesn’t remember.

I rub my temples, fighting the growing ache in my chest.

“Elena,” I murmur to the empty room, “what did they make you forget?”

On the monitor, she closes the box and stands. Her eyes are glassy, her movements mechanical. She leaves the room without looking back.

As soon as the door closes behind her, I step out of the control booth. The bank manager approaches, flustered. “Mr. Cade, is everything alright?”

“Give me access to that box,” I say.

“I’m afraid—”

I meet his gaze. “You’re not afraid enough. Do it.”

Within minutes, the same box sits in front of me. My reflection stares back from its polished surface as I open it. The fragments are there, the ledger too. The note. The photograph.

I lift the photo closer to the light. There she is again—the little girl at the edge of the frame. Her hand resting on her father’s arm, eyes bright with trust.

She doesn’t remember this day. That’s clear.

But I do.

Because that same lab, that same project, was where everything started to fall apart.

My father destroyed it. Hers died because of it.

And now… someone is rebuilding it.

The realization settles like ice in my stomach. Whoever left that clue for her isn’t trying to help. They’re trying to finish what our fathers started.

I drop the photo back into the box, shut the lid, and press both hands against the cold metal.

Whoever is pulling the strings—this Kells—has her in his sights.

Not as a journalist. Not even as a witness.

But as a weapon.

I take one last look at the photo, at the innocent girl who became the woman standing in my house now—my wife, my mistake, my only weakness.

Then I slide the box across the table to the manager. My voice is calm, but it burns with warning.

“No one touches this again,” I say. “Not unless they want a war.”

Outside, as I step back into the sunlight, my phone buzzes. Adrian’s voice fills my ear.

“Sir, we just intercepted an encrypted message. It’s about her.”

My grip tightens. “From who?”

“We don’t know yet,” he says. “But it mentions a name—Kells.”

The name hits me like a strike to the chest.

I stare across the street where Elena’s car is just pulling away, her profile faint behind the glass.

The past we buried is clawing its way back.

And this time, it’s coming for both of us.