Chapter 6 THE LOCKED DRAWER

I shouldn't have been in the office.

I knew that the second I stepped through the door.

It was quiet in a way that made the room feel heavier. The desk was large, polished, intimidating, the kind of desk that seemed to demand respect.

I didn't respect it.

I needed answers.

After everything I'd heard tonight, curiosity wouldn't let me leave things alone. Lena's words kept circling through my head, along with Damon's warning and the things he'd refused to explain.

Something had happened before I came here.

Something involving him. And somehow, my father was part of it.

The room smelled of wood and leather, with a faint trace of coffee underneath it. I looked around until my eyes landed on a locked drawer at the side of the desk.

I walked toward it.

I didn't know what I expected to find. I only knew I needed to look.

My fingers hovered over the keyhole.

I shouldn't.

Every instinct told me to step back, but I had spent years piecing together fragments of my past, trying to understand the man my father was, or wasn't.

Maybe tonight I'd finally get a clue.

I opened the top drawer first, pretending I was looking for something harmless, pens or paper, anything that could explain why I was even there.

Bills.

Receipts.

A few notes.

Nothing important.

Then I saw it.

A small envelope tucked beneath the papers.

My father's name was written on the front. My heart slammed against my ribs.

I pulled it out slowly.

The envelope was thick. There were documents inside, letters, photos, things I knew I wasn't supposed to see.

My hands began to shake.

A photo slipped from the stack and landed on the desk.

I picked it up.

It was my father.

Younger than I remembered, standing beside someone whose face had been partly cut off by the edge of the photo.

I turned it over.

Nothing.

I reached for the next piece of paper.

There was a folded note.

The handwriting was precise and familiar, but it wasn't my father's.

I unfolded it.

I barely had time to read the first line before I heard the click of the door behind me.

“Seraphina.”

The single word made me turn. Damon stood in the doorway.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His eyes dropped to the envelope in my hands.

Something changed in his expression.

Not anger.

Recognition.

“You shouldn't be here,” he said.

“I needed to know.”

“You were looking through my things.”

“My father's things.”

His jaw tightened.

“Give me the envelope.”

“No.”

The answer came faster than I expected. I held it closer to my chest.

“Why is my father's name in your office?” I asked. “Why do you have photos of him? Letters? Why have you been keeping all of this from me?”

“You don't know what you're looking at.”

“Then tell me.”

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“You always had questions, Seraphina. I knew that before you even walked through this house.”

I stared at him.

“What does that mean?”

His gaze stayed on me.

“I knew more about your life than you think.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

“How much?”

He didn't answer.

“How much did you know about me?”

“Enough.”

“That's not an answer.”

“No,” he said quietly. “It isn't.”

My grip tightened around the envelope.

“Why?”

Something shifted in his face, so quickly I almost missed it.

“Because you were never just Catherine's daughter to me.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

He looked away for a moment, then back at me. “You don't understand what you're connected to.”

“Then explain it.”

“You're not ready.”

I laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. “That's what you always say.”

“You don't know what you're asking for.”

“I've been asking questions about my father for years.”

“And I've been trying to keep you alive long enough to get the answers.”

The room went still.

I stared at him.

“What did you just say?”

Damon's expression hardened again, as if he'd said more than he intended.

“You need to leave this alone.”

“You just told me you've been protecting me.”

“Yes.”

“From what?”

He didn't answer.

“From my father?”

His eyes changed. That was all the answer I needed.

My chest tightened. “What happened to him?”

“Seraphina—”

“What happened to my father?”

He looked at the envelope in my hands.

“Not everything in there is what you think it is.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

“You don't need to know tonight.”

“Stop deciding what I need!”

My voice echoed through the room.

Damon went quiet.

I could see the restraint in his face, the same restraint I'd seen every time he'd refused to answer one of my questions.

But this time, I wasn't willing to let him walk away.

“You've been watching me since I came here,” I said. “You knew things about me before I told you. You knew about my movements. You knew when I went out. And now I find my father's name locked inside your office.”

His jaw tightened. “I'm not your enemy.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

For several seconds, he said nothing. Then his eyes dropped to the envelope again.

“You really shouldn't have opened that.”

My stomach twisted.

“Why?”

“Because once you know what's inside, you won't be able to go back.”

I looked down at the papers in my hands.

The folded note was still there. I hadn't finished reading it.

“What does it say?”

Damon's expression changed.

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

“Seraphina.”

“No.”

He took a step toward me.

I stepped back.

His eyes stayed on mine.

“You don't understand what you're touching.”

“Then help me understand.”

Something almost broke across his face.

Pain.

Fear.

Regret.

Then it was gone.

“You were never just Catherine's daughter to me,” he said again, quieter this time.

And before I could ask what he meant, he turned and walked out.

I stood there, staring at the closed door. For several seconds, I didn't move.

I pulled the folded note from the stack and opened it again.

This time, I read the first line.

If anything happens to me, keep Seraphina away from Blackwood.

My blood ran cold.

I read it again.

Then again.

Blackwood.

Damon.

My fingers tightened around the paper.

Whatever had happened between my father and Damon wasn't some old secret that had nothing to do with me.

My father had known him. He had feared something.

And somehow, I had been at the center of it long before I ever walked through Damon's front door.

I looked toward the door Damon had disappeared through.

For the first time, I wasn't wondering what he was hiding.

I was wondering what my father had been trying to protect me from.

And why Damon had brought me into the one place my father had warned me to stay away from.