Page 115 of Whispers in the Dark
That if fate hadn’t intersected our paths that day…well, who knows what would have happened.
But it’s not something I want to dwell on.
Because a world without Alina in it is not one I ever want to live in. So even though I can’t change the past, I can alter the future. Giving her a life filled with love. Every day. Until my last breath.
“I need to talk to you.”
I shake away my thoughts as I lower my fist, watching as Alex jumps into the ring with a thick stack of papers clenched between his fingers. “Everyone out,” he barks, his voice cutting through the noise of the gym. “Now.”
The men don’t hesitate as they drop everything and leave. I jerk my chin at the guard I’m sparring with, and he immediately slips between the ropes, clearing the space without a word.
I reach for my water bottle, tilting it back and draining half of it in one go. Sweat drips down my spine as I swipe my forearm across my temple, my pulse still pounding from the fight. My eyes never leave Alex as he approaches.
He drags a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of me. Whatever he’s holding has rattled him. Badly.
“I found out who runs the Alaskan port,” he says at last, his voice clipped, almost too steady. Then his jaw tightens. “It wasn’t easy. And there was a whole trail of paperwork to follow, but I found it.” He exhales sharply. “Unfortunately, it’s not good news.”
The words settle heavily in my chest.
He holds the papers out to me, but something deep in my gut twists in warning. Every instinct I have tells me not to take them. Not to look. That once I read what’s written there, nothing will be the same. That whatever is on those pages is about to cause more damage than good.
With reluctant fingers, I take them, already bracing for the damage they’re about to do.
My eyes skim the front page,the last will and testament of Anya Vasiliev.I glance up, raising a brow.
“Flip to page seven,” he says, his voice tight, uneven.
I turn the page, scanning, until something stops me cold. A single name.
Alina Fowler.
Why the hell is her name in here?
To my daughter, Alina Fowler, I leave you Port Clarence, which has been passed down in our family for generations, on one condition: to become the rightful heir, you must be of legal age and marry for sixty days. Until that time, your father, Gregory Fowler, will be the sole executor in charge of all operations.
I stare at the words, unable to look away. My pulse thunders in my ears. My stomach twists painfully as I reread it.
It can’t be. Itcan’tmean what I think it means.
As if reading my mind, Alex tells me, “She’s a Vasiliev. She’s one of them. And we had no idea.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
She’s a Vasiliev.
Everything shifts.
I curl the papers between my fingers, the thin pages crumpling as a fury unlike anything I’ve ever known coils inside my chest, vicious and consuming. It feels like a storm tearing through me, ripping away everything I thought I knew.
“I’m going to assume she married you to inherit the land and then plans on signing it over to her brothers.” He adjusts his glasses, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry, Mauro. I know what she means to you.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I never would’ve believed she’d do something like this. She grew up here. She was always one of—” He glances up, and he must see something on my face that makes him stop speaking mid-sentence.
I spin on my heels and grip the top rope, my knuckles tightening so hard they shake with rage.
She used me.
She used me to help our enemy.
She lied to me.
