The sun was barely rising when Lily stepped into the mansion's library, a large coffee mug clutched in her trembling hands. Her entire body ached from the intensity of the night before, but her mind—her mind was a storm.
Damian's touch still lingered on her skin. His words echoed louder than any memory she couldn't reclaim.
"You're not a pawn. You're my wife."
She should've felt safe. Protected. But instead, a dull throb behind her ribs reminded her that even now—especially now—she couldn't afford to let her guard down.
If Damian was right, then her whole life had been forged in lies. If John wasn't her father, then… who was she?
The study had been locked again this morning. Damian had vanished before she awoke, no doubt burying more of his secrets deeper in drawers she couldn't touch.
So she had to start elsewhere.
She opened the family computer in the corner of the library, grateful it didn't require a password. The screen lit up, and she began typing: "John Keller business partners." Then: "Keller adoption records." Then, more daringly, "Kevin Moretti daughter missing."
Every result felt like falling into a bottomless hole.
There was nothing. Not about her. Not about any stolen baby.
She leaned back, frustrated, then tried something riskier. She opened Damian's email.
Most of the folders were encrypted—but one caught her eye. Anton.
She clicked. There were several emails from someone named Anton Fedorov. The most recent one read:
> Subject: The Keller Case—Unresolved Ends
Damian,
I'm telling you, someone else helped John. He couldn't have falsified those birth records alone. There was a doctor—retired now, lives off the grid near Volgograd. Name's Dmitri Kovalenko. I've enclosed coordinates.
Be careful. If he talks, everything could unravel. —Anton
Lily stared, her heart hammering.
A doctor helped John fake her identity? She scribbled down the name and coordinates, her fingers shaking.
She closed the computer, returned the mug to the kitchen, and tried to look casual as the nanny passed by. "I'm going for a walk," she said. "I need fresh air."
The gates were open for the gardener's van.
She slipped out without anyone noticing.
---
Thirty minutes later, she was in the back seat of a cab, directing the driver to a hotel she spotted on the map. She needed Wi-Fi and quiet. She needed to dig deeper.
She pulled up a secure VPN browser and searched for Dmitri Kovalenko.
There wasn't much. A few medical journals. A blurry picture from the early 2000s. But there was one old article from a Russian crime blog—an exposé on mafia-affiliated doctors.
> "Dr. Kovalenko, once a renowned pediatrician, disappeared after his license was revoked for 'ethical violations.' Unconfirmed reports link him to a missing child case at St. Lucia Hospital…"
Her heart thudded.
St. Lucia. That was where John said she'd been born.
Lily clenched her fists. It couldn't be a coincidence. This man—Dmitri—had to know the truth. And if he did, she had to find him.
But there was a problem.
Volgograd was in Russia.
And she had no passport. No documents. No memory of even how to travel alone.
Still… a seed of resolve hardened inside her.
She wouldn't let Damian's silence stop her.
---
Back at the mansion, she pretended nothing had happened. She smiled for Mikhail, played in the garden with him, kissed his forehead as he napped. But inside, she planned.
That night, when Damian returned, she watched him from the hallway—his tall frame removing his coat, his face unreadable.
"I need to talk to you," she said quietly.
He looked over, surprised. "About?"
"About my father."
He tensed.
"I need to know everything," she added. "Not just what you think I can handle. If I'm going to stay here… be a wife… a mother… I need the truth."
He didn't move for a long moment. Then he nodded once. "Tomorrow. You'll come with me to see someone."
"Who?"
"A man who used to work for John," he said. "He's been hiding ever since the accident. I think it's time he talked."
Lily's breath caught. It was exactly what she needed.
But something in Damian's eyes made her uneasy.
---
Later that night, she stood on the mansion's balcony, wrapped in a thick robe, watching the stars above the treetops. She didn't hear Damian approach until his hands slid around her waist.
"You're restless again," he murmured into her neck.
"I have a lot to be restless about."
"I know." His voice was softer now. "And I know I've failed you, Lily. When you were in that hospital… I stayed away because I didn't know how to face you. I thought if you never remembered… maybe it would be easier to let you go."
She turned to him, shocked.
"Let me go?" she whispered.
His jaw tightened. "Because I don't deserve you."
Her breath caught. There it was again—vulnerability beneath the armor.
"I don't remember much," she said, "but I feel like I knew that part of you before… the part that doesn't believe it can be loved."
He looked away, jaw clenched. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"See me like I'm still that man in your memories. That version of me died the night you crashed that car."
Her heart twisted.
And then he kissed her again—desperate this time. Less like a conqueror and more like a man trying to reclaim something already lost.
---
The next morning, they left before sunrise.
Lily sat beside Damian in the back of a bulletproof SUV as it sped down the highway out of the city. Armed guards followed in a second vehicle. The sky lightened gradually, and as they moved farther from the familiar streets, her pulse quickened.
"Where are we going exactly?" she asked.
"Safehouse," Damian said. "One of John's old associates is hiding out. He knew about the adoption. I think he can confirm what Dmitri did."
"Does Anton know?"
Damian gave her a sideways glance. "You've been digging in my email?"
"I had to," she said unrepentantly. "You weren't exactly forthcoming."
He didn't argue.
"Then you know about the doctor," he said. "Kovalenko."
She nodded.
"I plan to deal with him. Personally."
"Why?"
"Because he helped steal you," Damian said darkly. "And men like that don't get to live comfortably while you suffer."
Lily looked at him. "But what if he's the only one who can give me the truth?"
"That's why we'll talk first. Then he pays."
The car fell into silence.
---
The safehouse was an old countryside villa surrounded by thick forest. The associate—a grizzled man named Ilya—opened the door slowly when Damian knocked.
He looked at Lily with widened eyes. "So it's true. She lived."
"She did," Damian said. "Tell her what you told me the night John died."
Ilya hesitated.
"He lied to her," Damian said. "She deserves the truth."
Ilya gestured them inside, voice shaking. "John took the girl from a hospital. He paid Kovalenko handsomely. The real parents were Italian. But he told me he wanted to raise her into something better—untainted by crime."
"He was crime," Lily snapped.
"He thought he could do better," Ilya said, coughing. "But when Kevin Moretti got close to finding her, John panicked. He came to me, begging for help hiding documents. I said no. That night… his car exploded."
"Did you see who did it?" Lily asked.
"No. But it wasn't your husband," Ilya said, nodding to Damian. "He was with me the whole night."
A beat of silence stretched.
Lily felt like she couldn't breathe.
"So all this time… I hated the wrong man."
Damian looked at her then—his eyes unreadable. "I never asked you to love me."
"No," she whispered. "But I did."
And just like that, the ache of betrayal wrapped around her again.