The knock at the penthouse door came just as the late afternoon sunlight was beginning to fade, painting long shadows across the marble floor. It was soft, hesitant, almost polite, but in the quiet stillness of the expansive space, it rang with unexpected urgency.
I wasn't expecting anyone. The day had been filled with the usual blurred meetings, guarded smiles, and endless media cycles swirling around my name and Aiden's. I had barely had a moment to breathe.
Curious and cautious, I made my way to the door, the heels of my stilettos clicking softly on the polished floor.
When I opened it, standing there was a woman I did not recognize.
She was tall, statuesque, and wore a sleek, sharply tailored black blazer that gave her an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, framing a face both beautiful and intense. Her eyes were sharp, like dark gemstones set deep with secrets.
"Scarlett Reid?" Her voice was calm, smooth — the kind of voice that demanded attention without raising its volume.
I nodded, my heart quickening with a mixture of apprehension and suspicion.
"I'm Victoria Blackwood," she said without hesitation. "Aiden's sister."
The weight of her name hit me like a hammer. Blackwood. The name tied her to the man I'd married only months ago, the man whose icy gaze and elusive warmth had both drawn me in and kept me at arm's length.
A mixture of fear and curiosity tightened in my chest.
Before I could utter a word, Victoria stepped inside.
She didn't wait for an invitation.
Her presence was commanding — filling the penthouse with a chill I hadn't noticed before.
The air seemed to thicken.
With a practiced movement, she pulled a slim, leather-bound folder from her bag and laid it deliberately on the kitchen island.
"Open it," she said, her voice low, almost a command.
I hesitated. My fingers trembled as I lifted the cover.
Inside were photographs.
Candid, private moments of me.
Not the polished, posed images the public saw — but raw, vulnerable snapshots.
A stray tear on my cheek. A smile forced through pain. An empty hospital waiting room where hope had slipped away.
These photos felt like shards of my soul pinned down for inspection.
Beneath the pictures lay yellowed letters, folded carefully. The familiar sharp script of Aiden's handwriting was unmistakable.
My breath caught as I read lines filled with cold calculation.
He wasn't writing to a lover.
He was writing to an ally — or perhaps a conspirator.
Mentions of me as "the perfect pawn" and warnings that I was "useful, but dangerous if allowed to see too much."
A chill seeped through me.
I flipped to a letter dated months before our wedding.
The words burned into my mind:
"I don't want her to know the truth yet. She's useful — but if she finds out, she'll be dangerous."
My hands shook.
I looked up.
Victoria's dark eyes locked onto mine, unblinking.
"Did Aiden ever tell you the whole truth?" she asked, voice quiet but sharp.
"No," I whispered, voice barely steady.
She stepped closer.
"Then you don't know who you married."
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Claustrophobic.
I wanted to scream, to demand everything from her.
Instead, I slumped into a chair, the folder slipping from my numb fingers onto the marble floor with a soft thud.
My mind raced.
Was I just a pawn in some elaborate game?
Had every touch, every whispered word, been calculated?
Aiden's coldness, his rare warmth — was it all a mask?
Victoria watched me with a mix of pity and caution.
"Why now?" I asked.
"Because," she said, voice rougher now, "I'm not sure I'm on his side anymore."
The sting of her words sliced through me.
His own sister, turning away.
"What do you mean?" I pressed.
Victoria's eyes flickered with shadows.
"This family is more dangerous than you realize. Power, wealth — they protect their secrets with everything. Even family."
I swallowed hard.
"Are you warning me?"
"More than that. I'm telling you the truth. Before it destroys you."
—
I needed air.
The weight of the folder and Victoria's words crushed me.
I escaped to the balcony.
The city stretched beneath me — glittering lights fading into the deepening dusk.
I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breath.
My phone vibrated.
Aiden's name flashed on the screen.
"Are you okay? I can explain everything."
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Could I trust him?
Should I?
—
Victoria's voice broke through my thoughts.
"Whatever you do," she said quietly, "don't confront him without proof."
Her words echoed in my head.
The line between trust and betrayal had become razor-thin.
And I was standing on it alone.
The world I thought I'd stepped into — the one where love might bloom between two damaged souls — suddenly felt like a trap.
The night fell with heavy silence.
I sat alone in the penthouse, surrounded by the trappings of a life I wasn't sure I owned.
I turned the folder over in my hands again, trying to piece together the man I thought I knew.
Aiden Blackwood.
Lover.
Husband.
Manipulator.
Protector.
—
The shadows outside the windows seemed to creep closer.
And with them came the terrifying realization:
I wasn't just fighting for love.
I was fighting for the truth.