The rain tapped steadily against the windows, a slow, relentless rhythm that matched the storm building inside Peter's chest.
He wasn't even sure what had drawn him to his father's old study that night — maybe it was instinct, maybe guilt, maybe something else.
The room had been locked for years.
After his father's passing, Peter hadn't found the courage to dig through the dust and ghosts.
But tonight felt different.
He pushed open the creaking door, the scent of old paper, cologne, and varnish clinging to the air like memory.
His footsteps echoed across the wooden floor as he walked past the towering shelves, past the untouched books, to the desk.
Everything was exactly how it had been — frozen in time.
He didn't know what he was looking for.
He just… looked.
Opening drawers at random, Peter found the usual: old receipts, business letters,
company records — all marked with his father's name and the heavy seal of Brooks Logistics.
He skimmed without thinking… until he reached the last drawer.
It stuck.
He tugged.
It gave.
Inside was a single worn file.
Thick. Yellowed. Labeled only with a date.
A date he knew all too well.
The day Hazel's parents died.
Peter's breath hitched as he reached for it. His fingers trembled.
He told himself he was being paranoid — that it was a coincidence — but deep down,
something screamed this was what he had tried for years to avoid.
He flipped it open.
At first, it was logistics reports — a route schedule, shipping manifests, fuel logs. Then came internal memos… and beneath that, a police report.
Peter's heart sank.
There it was in black and white: "Collision involving Brooks Logistics truck and private vehicle.
Two fatalities. One child survivor."
Hazel.
His chest tightened as he read further.
The driver had been speeding, swerving, and driving with a suspended license.
The report should have led to a criminal investigation.
But it didn't.
There was another paper — signed, sealed, buried. An internal memo from his father to the driver:
"Handle this quietly. I will pay you off. Move to Ghana under a false name. No lawsuits. No press. I'll deal with the child — she's being sent to an orphanage. Nobody needs to know."
Peter's vision blurred.
He stumbled back from the desk, the file dropping to the floor with a soft thud that echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
Hazel.
Her entire life — her pain, her grief, her loss — had been orchestrated into silence by his own family.
He pressed his hand to his mouth to keep from crying out.
This wasn't just about his father's sins.
Peter had benefited from the silence.
The Brooks name had stayed clean. The company thrived.
He had lived a life of comfort while Hazel spent her childhood in an orphanage, her soul bruised by abandonment and grief.
He felt like he couldn't breathe.
And then another memory hit him like a freight train.
That day, years ago. The accident.
He was young, driving recklessly through the hills near their summer home.
He had always assumed it was just a bad day — a near miss with another car.
His father had yelled at him, furious, and made the whole thing disappear.
But now the memory sharpened.
A car had swerved to avoid him. A silver sedan. With a family inside.
No.
No.
Was that Hazel's parents?
Peter sat heavily on the leather couch, his hands shaking. Could it be? Could he
have played a part, even unknowingly, in the death of the only parents Hazel ever had?
The timeline matched. The roads matched. It was a horrifying possibility.
And if true—even if unintentional-it would destroy everything.
Hazel would never look at him the same way again.
He buried his face in his hands.
This wasn't something he could explain away.
This wasn't something love could fix.
This was everything — and it all came back to him.
And now Alexander… Peter had sensed it.
The way he looked at him. The questions. The tension.
That man knew something.
And Peter feared he was just waiting for the right time to bring it all crashing down.
Hazel.
Peter stood and picked up the file slowly, almost reverently.
He had to protect her from the truth, pain, and himself.
He couldn't let this destroy her again. Not after all she had rebuilt.
But the secrets were piling up.
And Peter wasn't sure how much longer he could hold the dam.