Chapter 2 The Shadow of the Past

# Chapter 2: The Shadow of the Past

The Blackwood estate loomed like a Victorian nightmare against the twilight sky, all Gothic spires and weathered stone. As our car wound up the tree-lined drive, I felt like a character from a Brontë novel—the new bride arriving at a mansion filled with secrets.

"Welcome to Thornfield," Dorian said, his voice startling me from my thoughts.

"Excuse me?"

"It's a joke, Lila. Jane Eyre?" A faint smile played at the corner of his visible lips. "I thought English Literature was your major before you... changed directions."

The casual reference to my life after the accident—how I'd abandoned my studies and retreated into business administration—sent a chill through me. How much did he know about me?

"The house is called Blackwood Hall," he continued, seemingly unaware of my discomfort. "It's been in the family for five generations."

As we approached, the massive oak doors swung open, revealing a line of staff standing at attention. At their head stood an elegant woman in her fifties, her silver-streaked dark hair pulled into a severe bun. Something in her piercing gaze made me straighten my spine instinctively.

"That's Evelyn," Dorian said quietly. "My father's cousin. She's managed the household since my parents died."

I'd researched the Blackwoods extensively after our engagement was announced, but information about their internal family dynamics was scarce. I knew Dorian had lost his parents in his teens, but little else.

"Mrs. Blackwood," Evelyn greeted me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How... unexpected it is to welcome you into our home."

"Thank you for having me," I replied, extending my hand.

She took it with cool fingers. "I've prepared the east wing master suite for you both. I assumed you'd want to share, being newlyweds."

I felt Dorian stiffen beside me. "Actually, Evelyn, we'll be using separate rooms for now. Lila can have the master suite. I'll stay in my usual quarters."

Evelyn's eyebrows rose fractionally. "As you wish. Though it does seem... unconventional."

"When have I ever been conventional?" Dorian's tone was light, but I sensed an undercurrent of tension between them.

As a maid led me to my room, I caught Evelyn watching me with calculated interest. "We'll begin your... education on family matters tomorrow morning, Mrs. Blackwood. Breakfast is at seven. Don't be late."

My "education" began promptly at 7:05 the next morning, when I arrived five minutes late to breakfast after getting lost in the labyrinthine hallways.

"Punctuality is a virtue the Blackwoods have always valued," Evelyn said without looking up from her tea. "Along with discretion, loyalty, and knowing one's place."

Dorian wasn't present, having left for the office before dawn according to the butler. I was alone with Evelyn, who spent the next hour detailing the Blackwood family's expectations for their newest member.

"You'll need to learn the family history, of course. The business connections. The social obligations." She slid a leather-bound planner across the table. "I've taken the liberty of scheduling your first month."

I flipped through pages of charity luncheons, board member dinners, and society functions. "Don't I get any say in this?"

"Say?" Evelyn's laugh was brittle. "My dear, you gave up your 'say' when you signed the marriage contract. Your role is quite clear—be decorative, be discreet, and most importantly, don't embarrass the family name."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "We know all about the Kensingtons' recent... troubles. The embezzlement allegations against your father. The canceled IPO. Such a shame."

The threat was thinly veiled. Step out of line, and my family's remaining reputation would be destroyed.

"Now," she continued, rising gracefully, "let me show you the parts of the house you're permitted to access."

The tour was more about boundaries than welcome—rooms I could enter, wings that were off-limits, the staff I could summon and those who answered only to Evelyn or Dorian. The Blackwood Hall was a museum of old money, with priceless artworks and antiques that I was instructed not to touch.

"And this," Evelyn said, pausing before a closed door on the second floor, "is Mr. Blackwood's study. You are never to enter without his explicit permission."

Something in her tone—a hint of satisfaction at my exclusion—made me bristle. "As his wife, surely I—"

"Being his wife grants you the Blackwood name and financial security. It does not grant you access to family matters beyond your concern." Her smile was glacial. "Are we clear?"

I nodded, memorizing the location of the forbidden door.

That evening, Dorian returned late. I was curled up in the library with a book when he appeared in the doorway, his tie loosened, the day's fatigue evident in the visible half of his face.

"You're still awake," he observed.

"Your cousin's orientation was exhausting. I needed to decompress."

He crossed to the bar cart and poured himself a whiskey. "Evelyn can be... intense. She's protective of the family."

"She made that abundantly clear." I set my book aside. "Why am I here, Dorian? Really? If this is just about punishing me, there must have been easier ways."

He took a long sip before answering. "Not everything is about you, Lila. This marriage serves multiple purposes."

"Such as?"

"The business benefits are real. The merger stabilizes both companies." He moved to the window, staring out at the darkness. "And yes, perhaps there's a certain symmetry in binding your fate to mine after you nearly ended it."

I stood, approaching him carefully. "I need to know—that night, what really happened? I was so sure you were—"

"Dead?" He turned, and in the lamplight, I could see the edge of his scar extending beyond the mask. "Nearly. Punctured lung. Internal bleeding. Traumatic head injury. I spent three months in the hospital and another year in rehabilitation."

The guilt was overwhelming. "I'm sorry. I was young and terrified and—"

"And you left me there to die." His voice was soft, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. "Do you know what it's like to lie on wet asphalt, choking on your own blood, watching headlights disappear into the distance?"

I felt tears burning behind my eyes. "I can't change what I did. But I've lived with it every day since."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or doubt. Before he could respond, Evelyn appeared in the doorway.

"Dorian, I wasn't aware you'd returned." Her gaze flicked between us, noting our proximity. "There are some documents requiring your immediate attention in the study."

The moment broken, Dorian's demeanor cooled. "Of course. Goodnight, Lila."

After they left, I wandered the silent house, too restless for sleep. My steps led me back to the second floor, to Dorian's forbidden study. The door was ajar, light spilling into the hallway.

I knew I should walk away. Instead, I inched closer, hearing Evelyn's voice from within.

"—getting too close. Remember why she's really here."

"I haven't forgotten." Dorian's tone was clipped.

"Good. Because sentiment would be a dangerous mistake. Especially with her."

I backed away, heart pounding, but not before glimpsing something on Dorian's desk—a folder with newspaper clippings visible. From my angle, I could just make out a headline and date: "Unidentified Man Critical After Highway Accident - June 15, 2009."

The next morning, I found a note slipped under my door: "Meeting with the Foundation board at noon. Car will be waiting. -D"

As I dressed for the meeting, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something crucial. What had Evelyn meant about why I was "really here"? What purpose did I serve beyond the merger and Dorian's sense of poetic justice?

The Blackwood family had secrets, and somehow, I was entangled in them. As the car pulled away from the mansion, I made a silent promise to myself: I would discover what game Dorian Blackwood was playing—and what role I had been cast in—before it was too late.