The Blackmail contract Bride - Chapter 49: Chapter 49

Lena POV:
I didn’t sleep much after that night.
Not with Dominic lying so close, his hand still resting on my belly like it belonged there.
Not with his words echoing through my head: “You’re home now. And you’re never leaving again.”
Even as my I lay still on that bed, my mind was wide awake, spinning.
I thought about Cane. His warmth. His voice. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t a problem to fix, but a person to protect. My feelings towards Dominic was different, more intense, but I hated how he treated me.
I thought about Emma. Alone. Sick. Waiting.
And I thought about this mansion, how every wall, every hallway seemed to hum with secrets.
Something was wrong. Not just with Dominic, but with everything.
And I had to find out what.
The next morning was cold and quiet. Too quiet.
Breakfast was left at my door like I was a guest, or a prisoner. No knock. No voice.
Just a tray of food I didn’t touch.
Instead, I paced.
There was a room I always remembered being off-limits. At the far end of the second floor. A black door with a gold handle. Always locked. Always guarded. And when I’d asked Dominic about it in the past, he had waved it off like he did every thing.
But now I wondered.
Why did he need a locked room in a house already full of guards, safes, and secrets?
Why did it sit untouched, even when the rest of the mansion was alive?
Today, there were no guards by the door. No cameras pointing that way, either. Not anymore. I made sure of that.
I waited until the halls were quiet, until the staff disappeared behind closed doors.
Then I walked up to the door.
And held my breath.
I pressed gently on the handle.
It didn’t budge.
Of course it didn’t.
But then I remembered the spare key.
Months ago, I’d seen a ring of keys in Dominic’s office drawer. He never locked that drawer, too confident no one would dare snoop.
He was right. I never dared.
Until now.
It took me five minutes to sneak into his office and grab the keyring. My hands trembled as I tried each one, one after the other, until finally—
Click.
The door creaked open.
Dust floated in the air, dancing through the slivers of sunlight cutting through the dark curtains.
It was nothing like the rest of the house.
No chandeliers. No velvet. No glass floors.
Just metal shelves. Filing cabinets. Folders. Boxes. A single desk with a small lamp.
The air was heavy. Not just with dust—but with something else. Like grief.
Or guilt.
I stepped in, heart racing.
I didn’t know what I was looking for.
Maybe proof that Dominic had planned all this. That he knew I’d run. That he’d expected me to come back.
Maybe something to help me understand why he was the way he was.
But what I found was worse.
On the far shelf, I saw a thick black binder labeled: EMMA STONE.
My hand froze.
I pulled it down slowly, flipped it open.
Medical reports. MRI scans. Handwritten notes from doctors. The name of a clinic I’d never heard of.
And then, there it was:
“Patient transferred to private care under order of: Dominic Romano.”
My mouth went dry.
Dominic had Emma moved?
Why? Why didn’t he tell me?
There were prescriptions she’d never received. Treatments she was approved for but denied.
One page stood out—the ink darker, newer than the others.
> “Stage 2 renal failure stable. No organ rejection risk as previously suggested. Condition manageable with routine care and medication.”
I read that line three times.
Manageable?
Emma wasn’t dying?
She never was?
I dropped into the chair beside the desk, heart crashing in my chest like a wave against rock.
Was it all a lie?
Had he used her illness?
A noise broke me out of my thoughts.
Footsteps. Light. Slow. Then fading.
I rushed to gather the papers, shoving them back into the folder. But something fell out. A photo.
I picked it up.
And froze.
It was Emma.
Younger. Healthier. Laughing.
Standing beside a woman I didn’t know—and Dominic.
But it wasn’t just any photo.
The woman beside Emma looked familiar.
Then I saw the note scribbled on the back.
> “Mira Romano + Emma | Private facility visit | 4 years ago.”
Mira Romano.
His sister?
I blinked, trying to make sense of it.
Why was Dominic’s sister with Emma?
Why had I never seen this woman before?
What was she doing at a clinic with my sister?
None of it made sense.
Unless… unless Emma had been part of this longer than I thought.
Unless Dominic had been pulling strings from the very beginning.
I stuffed the file back in the cabinet, locked the door again, and returned the key.
My head throbbed from trying to make sense of it all.
Had Dominic known Emma before I ever did?
Was this all part of some twisted game?
Was he keeping her sick?
My stomach turned.
I ran back to my room and collapsed onto the bed.
I buried my face in the pillow and screamed. Not loud. Not long. Just enough to stop myself from shaking.
How could I have missed it?
How could I have thought any of this was about love?
Later that evening, Dominic came to my room. Dressed in black again. Always in control.
He smiled like he always did when he thought he’d won something.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“I thought maybe we could talk tonight. About the baby. About names.”
I looked up, forcing myself to speak.
“Did you know Emma before I met you?”
His eyes flickered.
Then he smiled again—slower this time.
“Where did that come from?”
“Answer the question.”
He walked closer, sitting beside me on the edge of the bed. His hand brushed my arm like I belonged to him.
“I’ve always kept an eye on the people I care about,” he said softly. “Emma was sick. I had the means to help. I did what I had to.”
“You moved her. Without telling me.”
“She’s alive, isn’t she?” he said coldly. “You should be grateful.”
My voice shook, but I didn’t stop. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
Dominic stood, straightening his sleeves. “You ask too many questions, Lena. You should be resting.”
“I want to see her.”
He turned sharply. “What?”
“I want to see Emma. You said I’m safe here. Fine. Then prove it. Take me to her.”
There was silence.
Then, a quiet, “Soon.”
“Now.”
He walked to the door.
“You’re pregnant. Emotional. Tired. Let’s talk about this when you’re thinking clearly.”
And just like that, he was gone.
I stared at the door long after it closed.
He was lying.
Again.
I curled up on the bed, hands over my belly. The baby still wasn’t kicking. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was something worse.
I didn’t know.
But I knew this:
Dominic might have brought me back…
…but this time, I was leaving on my own terms.
With Emma.
With my baby.
And not even fireproof walls would keep me trapped forever.