The night was still when Lila finally returned to the family mansion. The corridors were cloaked in shadows, their silence pressing against her ears as though the very walls were listening. She held her purse close to her body, the DNA test results tucked safely inside, yet it felt as though their weight threatened to burn through the leather.
Upstairs, she found Arie's door half open, a faint glow of lamplight spilling across the carpet. She hesitated, her hand hovering above the wood. Her heart thundered—not from fear of her sister, but from the knowledge of what she was about to unleash.
She knocked lightly.
"Come in," Arie's voice called, soft and distracted.
Lila stepped inside. Her younger sister was curled on the armchair near the window, her hair cascading around her shoulders, a book forgotten in her lap. She looked up, eyes brightening at the sight of her elder sister.
"You're back late," Arie said with a faint smile. "I was starting to think you'd decided to sleep at the office."
Lila forced a smile, though it wavered. "I found something. Something I need to show you."
The seriousness in her tone made Arie sit straighter. "What is it?"
Lila drew the photograph from her purse, her fingers trembling slightly as she handed it over. Arie took it, confusion furrowing her brow as she studied the image. Her lips parted.
"Wait…" Her voice was barely a whisper. "That's us."
"Yes," Lila replied, her own voice low.
"And… who's—" Arie broke off, her eyes wide as they fixed on the woman standing between them in the picture. "That's not… that's not Amara."
Lila's throat tightened. "No. It isn't."
For a long moment, silence consumed the room. Arie traced the woman's face with her fingertip, as though trying to summon a memory that lingered just out of reach.
"She looks familiar," Arie whispered. "I… I remember her scent. Jasmine. She used to sing to us, didn't she? I thought it was a dream, Lila. I thought I made it up."
"You didn't." Lila's eyes glistened. "She was real, Arie. Our real mother."
Arie's head snapped up, disbelief clashing with hope. "What are you saying?"
Lila reached into her purse again, pulling free the folded document. She hesitated only a heartbeat before placing it into Arie's hands. "I had a DNA test done. Yours isn't here, but mine… it was enough. Amara is not our biological mother."
Arie unfolded the paper with trembling fingers. Her eyes darted over the clinical lines of text, the bold letters spelling out the truth. When she finished, her breath came in shallow gasps.
"No," she said at first, shaking her head violently. "That's not possible. She—she raised us. She—"
"She lied to us," Lila cut in, her tone firm though her heart ached. "All these years, she let us believe she was our mother. But she isn't. The woman in that picture… she is."
Arie pressed the photograph to her chest, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Why would Father… why would he let this happen? Why didn't he tell us?"
"I don't know." Lila knelt before her sister, taking her free hand. "But I'm going to find out. And when I do, Amara won't be able to hide behind her masks any longer."
Arie's sobs softened into ragged breaths. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, staring at Lila with a mixture of fear and determination. "What do we do now?"
Lila squeezed her hand. "We stay quiet. For now. We don't let her suspect what we know. But we search—through the company, through the house, through Father's records. Somewhere, there will be answers."
Arie nodded slowly, her tears drying into resolve. "Together."
"Always," Lila whispered.
The sisters embraced, the photograph caught between them like a fragile bond that had been broken and mended in a single night.
Meanwhile, across the mansion, Amara stood by her dressing table, brushing her hair before the mirror. Yet her eyes were not on her reflection. They were distant, calculating.
She had noticed the shift in the house—the hushed tones between the sisters, the way Lila's gaze lingered on her a little too long, searching, dissecting. Something had changed.
Amara set the brush down slowly. She walked to her writing desk, where a small silver bell rested. With a flick of her wrist, she rang it. Moments later, a servant entered, head bowed.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Has Lila been… keeping to herself lately?" Amara asked, her tone casual, almost idle.
The servant hesitated. "She has been spending much time in the late master's office, ma'am. And with Miss Arie, this evening."
Amara's lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes glittered with cold suspicion. "I see. That will be all."
When she was alone again, Amara turned toward the window, the moonlight painting her face silver. So, little Lila, you've found something.
Her smile deepened, sharp as a blade. "But whatever you think you've uncovered, remember—this is my house. My company. My world. And I will not let you take it from me."
Back in Arie's room, the sisters sat side by side, the photograph spread out on the table between them. For the first time, the mansion felt less like a home and more like a cage of secrets.
Lila touched the edge of the picture gently. "Tomorrow, I'll start digging into Father's archives. If he hid the truth about our mother, he must have left something else behind. Something that explains why."
"And if Amara tries to stop you?" Arie asked, her voice trembling.
Lila's eyes hardened, a spark of steel in their depths. "Then she'll learn I'm not the child she once controlled. I will not be silenced. Not again."
The clock on the wall struck midnight. The chimes echoed through the mansion, carrying with them the weight of revelation.
The sisters exchanged a look—fear, hope, determination—all tangled together. For the first time in years, they were united by something deeper than duty or blood. They were united by truth.
And truth, Lila knew, was a weapon.
But where is mother??