Chapter 2: The Bitter Morning
The interrogation that followed was brutal. Arthur moved his family—if they could still be called that—into the library, locking the doors. Helena was cornered, her makeup running, her facade of the perfect socialite shattered.
“You replaced her,” Arthur said, the realization hitting him with the force of a tidal wave. “This girl… she isn’t Elara’s child. You took her from somewhere else. You brought her here to replace the daughter I lost, to keep me bound to you.”
The girl in the blue dress—no, the girl who was now a stranger—laughed. It was a brittle, sharp sound. “I’m not a prop, Arthur. I’m a victim. Helena took me when I was three. She raised me to be a pawn in her marriage. She forced me to wear the lenses, to pretend I couldn’t see, so you would never look too closely at my features. If you had seen my eyes, you would have known I wasn’t your blood.”
Helena screamed, lunging for a letter opener on the desk, but Arthur caught her wrist, pinning her against the mahogany shelving.
“Where is my daughter?” he roared. “Where is Elara’s child?”
“Dead!” Helena shrieked. “She died that night! I didn’t kill her, Arthur, the accident did! I just… I couldn’t lose you. You were so rich, so broken. I found this girl in a shelter, a lookalike, and I molded her. I made her yours.”
Leo, the boy, stepped forward. He reached into his sack and pulled out a small, tarnished silver rattle. “She’s lying, Mr. Sterling. I’ve been living in the servant’s crawlspaces for months. I heard them talking. Your daughter isn’t dead. Helena sold her. She sold her to a family in the next state because she couldn’t bear the guilt of keeping a living reminder of your first wife.”
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Arthur felt his world spinning. He looked at the girl—the fake daughter—and saw the hollow agony in her face. He looked at Helena, the woman who had poisoned his life for two decades.
“Leo,” Arthur said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Call the police. And tell them to bring the forensic team. We have a lifetime of crimes to dig up.”
