Chapter 4: Secrets and Lies

Elena's fingers trembled as she slid the phone from beneath her mattress. The penthouse was silent except for the hum of the air conditioner and the distant city noise filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Damon had left an hour ago, his parting words still echoing in her mind: "Don't leave this floor. Don't touch anything." As if she were a child. As if she were nothing. She had found the phone two days ago, tucked in the back of a drawer in the guest room's nightstand—an old model, prepaid, still holding a faint charge. The previous occupant must have hidden it, hoping for a chance to call for help. Or maybe it was a trap. But Elena didn't have the luxury of paranoia. She needed information. Her father had sold her to Damon Blackwood for a price she didn't know, but she knew one thing: Marcus Vance never made a deal without a backup plan. He had secrets—hidden accounts, blackmail files, illegal trades. If she could find proof of his dealings, she could use it. She could destroy him. But first, she needed to understand the penthouse. Damon had given her a tour on the first day: the living room with its leather sofas and abstract art, the kitchen with marble countertops, the bedroom with a bed so large it felt like a stage. He had pointed out the doors that were off-limits—a study, a secure room, and a door at the end of the hallway that he called "storage." Storage. The word had made her suspicious. A man like Damon didn't keep secrets in a place he called storage. She slipped out of the guest room, her bare feet silent on the cold marble floor. The hallway stretched before her, lined with doors. The one at the end was plain, painted the same shade of gray as the walls, with a simple knob—no keypad, no visible lock. She tried the handle. It turned. Her pulse hammered as she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was small, windowless, with a single desk and a filing cabinet. A laptop sat on the desk, dark and silent. She moved to the cabinet, pulled the top drawer. Locked. The second drawer was also locked. But the third—she tugged, and it slid open with a metallic scrape. Inside were manila folders, neatly labeled with names she recognized: Vance, Marcus. Vance, Lydia. Crimson Fang. Her air snagged in her lungs. She pulled out the folder labeled with her father's name and flipped it open. Inside were bank statements, loan agreements, and a letter written on Crimson Fang letterhead. The words blurred as she scanned them: "...outstanding debt of two million dollars... interest accruing monthly... failure to pay will result in seizure of assets..." Her father was in debt to the Crimson Fang. The same rogue pack that had been hunting Damon's pack. The same pack that dealt in forced mates and illegal trades. The pieces clicked together: Marcus had sold her to Damon to pay off his debt. But why would Damon accept her as payment? What did he gain? She reached for the Crimson Fang folder. Inside were photographs—images of men in dark suits, meeting in a warehouse. A list of names, some crossed out. And a map of the city with locations marked in red. Her hands shook as she pulled out her hidden phone and began photographing every page. Click. The sound was too loud in the silence. She cursed under her breath and worked faster, her eyes darting to the door. She had to finish before Damon returned. She had to have proof. The last page was a contract, dated six months ago. It bore her father's signature and the Crimson Fang's seal. The terms: Marcus Vance would deliver a female of Vance bloodline to the Crimson Fang within one year, in exchange for debt forgiveness. But the contract had been voided—a stamp in red ink declared it "CANCELLED." Voided. Because Damon had bought her first. Damon had intercepted the deal. She didn't know whether to feel grateful or sick. He had saved her from the Crimson Fang, yes, but he had also bought her for his own purposes. What did he want? Why had he paid two million dollars for her? A sound echoed from the hallway—the front door opening. Elena's blood turned to ice. She shoved the folders back into the drawer, closed it as quietly as she could, and slipped out of the room. Her heart hammered as she tiptoed back to the guest room, barely making it inside before she heard footsteps approaching. She dove onto the bed, shoving the phone under her pillow, and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. The footsteps stopped at her door. A pause. Then a knock. "Elena." Damon's voice was low, controlled. "I know you're awake." She didn't move. Maybe he would go away. Maybe he hadn't seen her. The door opened. She felt his presence fill the room, the weight of his gaze on her. "Get up," he said. "We need to talk." She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, keeping her expression neutral. "What is it?" He was holding his phone, his jaw tight. "The Crimson Fang wants a meeting. Tomorrow night." His eyes narrowed, studying her face. "They've asked for you specifically." Her stomach dropped. "Why?" "That's what I intend to find out." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Is there something you want to tell me, Elena?" She met his gaze, her heart racing. He couldn't know about the files. He couldn't. "No," she said, her voice steady. "Nothing." He held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Then he turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him. She heard his footsteps retreat down the hall, and she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. But the danger wasn't over. The Crimson Fang wanted her. Her father was in debt to them. And Damon suspected something. She had to move fast. She had to use what she'd learned before it was too late. She reached under the pillow and felt the phone, cold and solid. Evidence. Leverage. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.