Chapter 2 - The Photograph on the Wall Proved Clara Had Been Connected to Dominic’s Family Long Before She Became His SecretaryDominic's private residence was nothing like Clara expected.
She had imagined marble.
Guards.
Weapons.
Cold rooms.
Instead, the estate was surprisingly quiet.
Warm wood.
Books.
A kitchen that looked used.
Photographs.
It was a home.
Not a fortress.
At least not on the inside.
Clara stepped through the front doors on crutches.
“This feels wrong.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What does?”
“Being here.”
“You almost died.”
“That doesn't mean I belong here.”
“You belong somewhere safe.”
“I don't need babysitting.”
“You broke your wrist.”
“And I still know how to walk.”
He looked at the crutches.
“Debatable.”
She glared.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then an older woman entered.
“Dominic.”
“Maria.”
The housekeeper approached Clara immediately.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Clara stiffened.
Maria smiled.
“Don't worry. He gets less frightening once someone feeds him.”
Dominic frowned.
“Do I?”
“No.”
Maria walked away.
Clara laughed.
Dominic stared at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You smiled.”
“So?”
“I've never seen you smile at me.”
“Maybe you've never been funny.”
He looked offended.
That was the beginning of something neither of them recognized yet.
For the first time in years, Dominic's house felt alive.
But the peace ended that afternoon.
Marco entered carrying a file.
“We found something.”
Dominic looked at Clara.
“Stay here.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“You're injured.”
“And I'm still involved.”
Marco glanced at Dominic.
Dominic nodded.
Marco opened the file.
“The attacker wasn't targeting your secretary because of her work.”
Clara frowned.
“Then why?”
“Because of who she is.”
Marco placed a photograph on the table.
A little girl.
Clara stared.
Her own face stared back.
Seven years old.
Standing beside Elena Romano.
Dominic's dead sister.
Clara's breath caught.
“I've never seen this.”
Dominic stared at the image.
He knew it.
He had seen it once.
Twenty-three years ago.
His sister had shown it to him the week before she disappeared.
“Where did you get that?”
Marco answered:
“Old family archive.”
Clara looked at Dominic.
“What is happening?”
He didn't answer.
Marco placed another photograph beside it.
Elena.
A baby.
And a woman Clara didn't recognize.
Her mother.
Clara's hands started shaking.
“My mother knew your sister.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We don't know yet.”
Clara stood.
“You're saying I knew Elena?”
“You were a child.”
“I don't remember her.”
“You were seven.”
She looked at the photograph again.
Something stirred in her memory.
A garden.
A blue swing.
A woman laughing.
A necklace.
Then smoke.
A car.
A voice shouting:
Don't let Dominic see her.
Clara staggered.
Dominic caught her.
“Easy.”
She pulled away.
“I remember.”
“What?”
“My mother.”
“What did she say?”
Clara closed her eyes.
“She told me to hide.”
“From who?”
“I don't know.”
Dominic studied her.
“You didn't tell me your mother had been connected to my family.”
“I didn't know.”
“Why are you shaking?”
“Because I remember the fire.”
Dominic froze.
“What fire?”
“The night your sister died.”
Silence.
Clara opened her eyes.
“I was there.”
Dominic's face became white.
“No.”
“I remember.”
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
She covered her face.
“There was a car.”
“A red one?”
“Yes.”
“Who was driving?”
“I can't see.”
Dominic knelt.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“What else?”
“A man.”
“Who?”
“Dark coat.”
“Face?”
“No.”
“Voice?”
She trembled.
“He said my name.”
“Clara?”
She shook her head.
“Camilla.”
Dominic froze.
Camilla.
That was the name Elena had given her unborn child.
He had always believed it was simply a name his sister liked.
But now—
He looked at the photograph.
The girl's face.
Clara's face.
His heart began racing.
“Did Elena ever call you Camilla?”
“I don't know.”
“You need to remember.”
“I can't.”
“It's okay.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“It isn't.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Because if I was there that night, then my mother lied to me my entire life.”
Dominic wanted to comfort her.
But something else was bothering him.
Elena had not died in a random accident.
Everyone had believed she was caught in a warehouse fire.
But the official report contained inconsistencies.
The body had been identified through dental records.
The child she was supposedly carrying was never recovered.
The family had assumed the unborn baby died.
Now Dominic wondered whether that had ever been true.
He called his private physician.
Then the family archivist.
Then an investigator who had worked with his father.
By evening, they had uncovered a hidden record.
A birth certificate.
Female.
Mother: Elena Romano.
Father: Matteo Romano.
Date: twenty-three years ago.
Status: classified.
Clara stared.
“That's my birthday.”
Dominic nodded.
“And Matteo was your father.”
She looked at him.
“Who is Matteo?”
Dominic's face darkened.
“My brother.”
Clara whispered:
“You had another brother?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
“How?”
“Twenty-three years ago.”
She looked at the document again.
“Then I was their daughter.”
Dominic's world shifted.
His sister had a child.
His brother was the father.
And Clara Bennett—the woman who had worked for him for five years—was their daughter.
His niece.
The child he had believed was dead.
He looked at her.
She looked back.
Neither spoke.
Then Marco rushed into the room.
“Boss.”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
“We found the man with the scarred hand.”
“Who?”
Marco placed a photograph on the table.
Clara recognized him instantly.
The passerby from the crash.
The man who had broken her car window.
The man who had saved her life.
His name was Joseph Hale.
And he had been Dominic's father's personal driver twenty-three years ago.
Clara stared.
“That man saved me.”
Marco nodded.
“And now he's missing.”
Dominic's face hardened.
“What else?”
Marco swallowed.
“He called before disappearing.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked for you.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said…”
Marco hesitated.
“Tell Dominic the girl is finally home.”
Clara's heart stopped.
Dominic looked at her.
The word echoed between them.
May you like
Home.
But neither knew what it meant yet.
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