Vivian pulled her coat tighter as the fall wind swept across the DeWitt estate. The old house loomed above her, its windows like judging eyes. She hadn't planned on coming back here today, but Julian had called with news about her adoption papers.
They needed to check Alexander's study for the original papers. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" Julian asked, his hand warm on her shoulder. "I can reschedule the court meeting." Vivian shook her head. "No. You need to file those papers today. I'll be fine." She wasn't good.
Every corner of this house held memories that cut like glass. But she needed answers more than comfort. "Isabella won't be home until three," Julian said, checking his watch. "Only the housekeeper and Emily should be here." Vivian's stomach tightened at the mention of Emily. The little girl with Damien's eyes. The girl Isabella claimed was adopted. "I'll be quick," she promised.
The huge front door opened before she could knock. Mrs. Jenkins, the maid who had watched Vivian grow up, stood there with a tight smile. "Miss Vivian," she said with a small nod.
"He's not here." "I know," Vivian responded. "I need something from his study." Mrs. Jenkins stepped away. "Miss Isabella is out. The child is in the porch." Vivian made her way through the marble hallway, past family pictures that no longer included her.
The house smelled the samelemon polish and old money. Ten years gone, and nothing had changed. Alexander's room was locked. Of course. She slipped the extra key from behind the knight statueher father was nothing if not predictableand stepped inside his kingdom of secrets. Filing boxes lined the walls. Birth papers. Property papers. Evidence of lives bought and sold. Vivian didn't know where to start.
A crash from down the hall made her jump. Then a small voice: "Oops." Vivian paused. She should ignore it. Find the files. Leave. But something pulled her toward the sunroom. Emily sat surrounded by broken pencils and scattered papers.
A vase lay shattered on the floor, water seeping into the rugs. The girl looked up with wide eyes. "Are you going to tell?" she asked in a whisper. Vivian shook her head and crouched beside her. "No. Accidents happen." Emily couldn't be older than eight. Her blonde hair was pulled into messy pigtails, and her dress was smudged with chalk marks. Isabella would never have allowed such chaos.
"You're Aunt Vivian," Emily said matter-of-factly. "Mommy says you're lost." Vivian swallowed hard. "I'm not lost. I'm right here." Emily nodded, pleased with this answer. She held up a drawinga stick figure with yellow hair. "This is Mommy."
"That's beautiful," Vivian said, helping Emily clean up the broken pitcher. She gathered the pieces carefully, putting them in a nearby trash bin. "I like drawing," Emily continued, looking through her pictures. "Mrs. Jenkins says I'm good."
"You are good," Vivian agreed, looking at the doorway. She needed to get back to the study. But Emily's small hand tugged at her sleeve.
"Want to see my family?" Before Vivian could answer, Emily spread her pictures across the floor. A stick figure family stood in front of a huge house.
The woman had yellow hair. The girl had yellow hair too. And beside them... Vivian's heart stopped. A tall person with dark hair and a black suit. The face was nothing but circles and dots, but Vivian would know that stance anywhere. Damien.
"Who's this?" she asked, her voice strangely steady. Emily looked toward the door, then leaned in close. "That's my real daddy," she whispered.
Her small fingers traced the picture. "Mommy says it's a secret." The room suddenly felt airless. Vivian looked at the drawing, at the unmistakable likeness to Damien. The timing. The lies. Isabella's disappearance. It all clicked into terrible place.
"Emily, honey, when did you" "What are you doing?" Isabella stood in the doorway, her face white with anger. She wore a cream fashion coat, her blonde hair perfect despite the wind outside. She wasn't supposed to be home for hours. "We're drawing," Emily said, oblivious to the stress.
"Look, I showed Aunt Vivian" Isabella crossed the room in three quick steps and snatched the picture from the floor. "Sweetheart, I told you these drawings are just for us." Emily's face fell. "I'm sorry, Mommy." Isabella crumpled the paper in her hand. "Go find Mrs. Jenkins. It's time for your snack."
"But" "Now, Emily." The little girl gathered her crayons and scurried out, throwing one last look at Vivian.
The sisters stood in silence, the crumpled drawing between them like a bomb. "You weren't supposed to be here," Isabella finally said, her voice ice. "And that's her, isn't it?" Vivian shot back.
"Damien's kid. Your girl. The reason you disappeared ten years ago. Isabella's perfect mask cracked. For a second, Vivian saw fear in those green eyes. "You have no idea what you're talking about. "I think I do," Vivian stepped closer. "You were pregnant. That's why you ran away.
That's why you faked your death. Emily is eight, Isabella. The timing fits nicely." Isabella's laugh was sharp as broken glass.
"Always the spy, Viv. Always poking into things that don't worry you."
"She has his eyes."
"Get out of my house."
"Does he know?" Vivian pressed. "Does Damien know she's his?" Something dangerous flashed across Isabella's face.
"Damien knows exactly what I want him to know." The statement hung in the air between them. "What did you do?" Vivian whispered. Isabella stepped closer, her perfume smothering.
"What I had to do. What I'm still doing. And if you say a word of this to Damienor anyoneI'll make sure you regret it."
"He deserves to know his daughter." "He deserves nothing!"Isabella snapped. Then, calming herself, she smoothed her coat.
"You need to leave. Now." Vivian didn't move. "What are you hiding, Isabella? What else don't I know?" Isabella's smile was thin and sharp. "Everything, dear sister. You know exactly nothing.
And that's how it needs to stay." The sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. Isabella tensed. "That's him," she whispered. "If you say a word"
"Isabella?" Damien's voice called from the hallway. "Is everything okay? I saw Julian going, and he looked upset." Footsteps approached the sunroom. Isabella grabbed Vivian's arm, her nails cutting into skin.
"Not a word," she hissed. "Or I'll tell him what really happened that night at the lake." Vivian froze. "What are you talking about?" Isabella's smile was frightening in its beauty.
"You really don't remember, do you? What you did to me?" Damien appeared in the doorway, surprise crossing his face at the sight of Vivian.
"What's going on here?" he asked, looking between the sisters. Vivian opened her mouth, Emily's picture burning in her mind. Tell him.
Tell him now. But Isabella's words rang louder.
What you did to me. What had happened that night at the lake? What couldn't she remember? "Nothing," Vivian finally said, her voice dead.
"I was just leaving." She pushed past Damien, ignoring his confused look. In the hallway, she passed Emily's room, the door slightly open. The little girl sat on her bed, carefully redrawing the picture Isabella had ruined.
Afamily.
A secret.
A lie.
And somewhere in Vivian's blocked memories, a truth that could kill them all.