Chapter 7 Dual Revelations

# Chapter 7: Dual Revelations

The hospital discharged me the following afternoon with instructions to rest and avoid smoke exposure. Dorian insisted I stay at the Blackwood penthouse downtown while the mansion underwent restoration, the fire damage having rendered the east wing temporarily uninhabitable.

"The investigators confirmed it was arson," Dorian told me as his driver navigated through midday traffic. "Someone soaked rags in accelerant and lit them outside your door."

"Who would want me dead?" I asked, my voice still raspy from smoke inhalation.

Dorian's jaw tightened beneath his mask. "I have my suspicions."

"Evelyn?" The thought had occurred to me during my sleepless night in the hospital. Her hatred of me had been obvious from the beginning, but attempted murder seemed extreme.

"She was at her sister's grave when the fire started. I checked the security footage myself." He sighed, rubbing his temple. "But she has allies in the household who might act on her behalf."

The penthouse occupied the top two floors of a sleek high-rise overlooking the river. Unlike the Gothic opulence of Blackwood Hall, the apartment was modern, all clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows. It felt like neutral territory, unburdened by the mansion's weight of history and secrets.

"You should rest," Dorian said, showing me to a spacious bedroom suite. "I've arranged for Dr. Morris to visit this evening to check your lungs."

His solicitousness still surprised me. "Where will you be?"

"I have meetings I can't postpone." He hesitated. "Your friend Caleb called the hospital after we left. He's quite insistent about seeing you."

I caught the undercurrent of suspicion in his voice. "You don't trust him."

"I don't trust his timing." Dorian's visible eye studied me intently. "Why would he appear now, claiming to have information about the accident?"

"I don't know. Caleb and I were close once, but we lost touch after... after that night."

"You never mentioned him before."

"There are many things we haven't told each other." I met his gaze steadily. "I'd like to hear what he has to say."

Dorian nodded slowly. "I've asked him to come here at seven. Security will escort him up." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Whatever he tells you... I'd appreciate hearing it, afterward."

After he left, I sank onto the bed, exhaustion overtaking me. Despite the luxury surrounding me, I felt untethered, caught between the man I'd married for all the wrong reasons and the friend from my past who promised answers I wasn't sure I wanted.

I woke hours later to the gentle knock of the housekeeper, informing me that Caleb had arrived. I quickly freshened up, trying to calm my racing heart as I made my way to the living room.

Caleb stood by the windows, silhouetted against the city lights. He turned when I entered, his familiar face breaking into a relieved smile.

"Li." He crossed the room in three strides, enveloping me in a careful hug. "God, I've been worried sick. When I heard about the fire..."

I returned his embrace, struck by the strange dichotomy of comfort and awkwardness. Five years had passed since we'd last seen each other, yet his presence evoked the easy friendship we'd once shared.

"It's good to see you, Caleb," I said as we separated. "But I'm confused. How did you know about the fire? About my marriage?"

He gestured for me to sit, taking a seat across from me. "That's part of what I need to tell you. I've been investigating the accident for years."

"The accident?" My throat tightened. "Why?"

"Because the story never made sense." He leaned forward, earnest intensity in his expression. "You remember how I was studying forensic science back then? After you disappeared from campus, I started looking into what happened that night. The police reports, the medical records—they were full of inconsistencies."

My pulse quickened. "What kind of inconsistencies?"

"For starters, there were two victims that night, not one."

The statement hit me like a physical blow. "That's not possible. I only hit one person."

"Yes, you did." Caleb reached for his briefcase, withdrawing a folder. "But Dorian Blackwood wasn't that person."

My hands trembled as I accepted the folder. Inside were police reports, medical records, and photographs I'd never seen before—the accident scene from multiple angles, the damaged guardrail where my car had swerved, and most disturbingly, two separate ambulances at the scene.

"I don't understand," I whispered.

"Dorian Blackwood was already at the scene when you arrived," Caleb explained. "His car went off the road first, due to brake failure. He had gotten out and was trying to help another driver when your car came around the curve."

I stared at the photos, trying to reconcile this new information with my memories of that night—the rain, the figure suddenly in my headlights, the sickening impact.

"The man you hit was named James Harlow," Caleb continued. "He died at the scene. Dorian was injured trying to pull him out of your way."

"That's not..." I shook my head, memories fragmenting. "I checked his pulse—there was nothing."

"You checked Harlow's pulse. Dorian was thrown several feet by the impact. By the time the authorities arrived, you were gone, Harlow was dead, and Dorian was unconscious but alive."

My mind reeled with implications. "So Dorian wasn't trying to cross the road? He was trying to save someone?"

"Yes. The police report confirms he called 911 before your arrival, reporting Harlow's accident."

I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to make sense of it all. "If that's true, why wouldn't Dorian tell me? Why maintain this fiction that I nearly killed him?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out." Caleb's expression darkened. "After the accident, all the records were sealed. Harlow's name disappeared from official reports. Someone with considerable influence sanitized the whole incident."

"The Blackwoods," I murmured.

"Exactly. And when I heard you'd married into that family..." He reached for my hand. "Li, I was terrified for you. Whatever game they're playing, you're at the center of it."

Before I could respond, a cold voice cut through the room. "What an interesting theory, Mr. Reynolds."

We both turned to find Evelyn standing in the doorway, elegant as always in a tailored charcoal suit. I hadn't heard her arrive.

"Ms. Blackwood." Caleb stood, positioning himself slightly in front of me. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Yet you've been quite busy investigating my family." She moved into the room with predatory grace. "Digging up old accidents, spinning conspiracy theories."

"They're not theories when backed by evidence." He gestured to the folder in my lap.

Evelyn's laugh was brittle. "Fabricated evidence is still fabrication, Mr. Reynolds. I wonder what your journalism employers would think of such creative reporting."

Caleb stiffened. "How do you know where I work?"

"I make it my business to know everything about those who threaten my family." Her gaze shifted to me. "Lila, darling, your taste in friends is as questionable as your driving skills."

"Get out," I said, rising to my feet despite the lingering weakness from smoke inhalation. "You have no right to be here."

"I have every right. The Blackwood name on the deed gives me access to all family properties." She smiled thinly. "Unlike your temporary claim through marriage."

"Leave now," Caleb demanded, "or I'll call security."

"Security works for me, you naive boy." Evelyn's composure slipped, revealing a flash of the rage beneath. "Do you think you can destroy years of careful planning with your amateur detective work? The accident served its purpose. Dorian received the sympathy and support he needed to take control of the company from his father's incompetent partners. The Kensington girl provided the perfect scapegoat when we needed to explain his injuries to the board."

My blood ran cold as the implications of her words sank in. "You used the accident? Planned it?"

"Not the accident itself. But its aftermath? Absolutely." Her eyes gleamed with a zealot's fervor. "Dorian was too soft before. Too ethical. The accident hardened him, made him understand what it takes to survive in this world. Everything I've done has been for him, to secure his birthright."

"By manipulating him into a marriage based on lies?" Caleb challenged. "How does that serve him?"

"The merger with Kensington Holdings completed our corporate takeover strategy. And marrying Richard Kensington's daughter?" Her smile was venomous. "Poetic justice for the man who tried to kill my nephew."

"My father's actions have nothing to do with me," I said.

"Don't they? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." She turned back to Caleb. "As for you, I suggest you take your fabricated evidence and leave town. Journalists with records of substance abuse rarely fare well in credibility contests."

Caleb paled. "How did you—"

"I told you. I know everything about those who threaten us." She withdrew an envelope from her jacket and tossed it onto the coffee table. "Your rehab records from three years ago. Your termination from the Boston Globe. The plagiarism allegation that was quietly settled. Should I continue?"

"That's blackmail," I said, disgusted.

"That's protection." Evelyn's voice hardened. "Walk away now, Mr. Reynolds, or these documents find their way to your current employer."

The tension in the room was palpable. Before anyone could speak, the elevator doors opened, and Dorian stepped into the penthouse. He froze, taking in the scene before him—Caleb and me standing together, Evelyn's threatening posture, the scattered accident photos on the coffee table.

"What's happening here?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Your aunt is threatening my friend," I said, holding his gaze. "And we've just learned some interesting facts about the accident."

Dorian's eye flicked to the photographs, recognition dawning. "Evelyn, what have you done?"

"Only what was necessary," she replied, chin lifting defiantly. "What you were too weak to do yourself."

"Get out." His voice was lethal in its softness. "Now."

For the first time, I saw uncertainty cross Evelyn's face. "Dorian, you don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." He moved toward her, every line of his body radiating controlled fury. "I've suspected for years that you manipulated the accident investigation, but I had no proof. Now, it seems, Mr. Reynolds has provided it."

"Everything I did was for you!" Her composure cracked. "After what Richard Kensington did to you—"

"Was using an innocent man's death part of your plan? James Harlow died that night because I couldn't save him. I've carried that guilt for five years while you used it to further your agenda."

The name confirmation sent a shock through me. Caleb had been telling the truth.

"Leave, Evelyn," Dorian continued. "Before I forget you're family."

After she departed, silence descended on the penthouse. Dorian stood motionless, his back to us, staring out at the city lights.

"You should go too," I told Caleb quietly. "I need to speak with my husband."

Caleb hesitated. "Li, are you sure? After what we just learned—"

"I'm sure." I squeezed his hand gratefully. "Thank you for bringing me the truth. We'll talk tomorrow."

After Caleb left, I approached Dorian cautiously. "You knew," I said, not a question but a statement. "You knew I didn't hit you that night."

He turned slowly to face me, reaching up to remove his mask with deliberate movements. Without its shield, his expression was raw, vulnerable.

"Not at first," he admitted. "I was unconscious when you fled. By the time I woke in the hospital, Evelyn had already crafted the narrative—you as the reckless driver who hit me and fled the scene. It was months before I pieced together what really happened."

"But you let me believe I'd nearly killed you. You married me for revenge over something I didn't even do."

"By then, your father's involvement in tampering with my brakes was clear. The revenge wasn't misplaced, just... redirected." His voice softened. "And then I met you, really met you, and nothing was simple anymore."

I sank onto the sofa, overwhelmed. "Who was James Harlow?"

"A college student. Wrong place, wrong time." Grief shadowed his face. "I saw his car go off the road after mine. I was trying to help him when you came around the curve."

"So the foundation..."

"Was established in his memory, though few know that. His family received an anonymous settlement and signed NDAs." He joined me on the sofa, keeping a careful distance. "I never intended to deceive you this way, Lila. By the time I understood my feelings for you, we were too entangled in Evelyn's web of manipulations."

I studied his unmasked face—the scars that had become familiar to me, the blue eyes that couldn't hide his torment. "Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know." He reached for my hand tentatively. When I didn't pull away, his fingers intertwined with mine. "But for the first time in five years, I'm facing the truth without masks or pretense. And I'm hoping... I'm hoping you can do the same."

In that moment, surrounded by the scattered evidence of lies and manipulation, I realized we'd both been pawns in a larger game. Yet somehow, against all odds, something genuine had grown between us—something neither Evelyn's schemes nor our complicated past could fully extinguish.

"The truth," I whispered, squeezing his hand. "It's a start."