Morning sunlight poured through the tall windows of the Brown mansion, gilding the halls in pale gold. For most of the world, it was the start of an ordinary day. But within the house, the air felt heavy—charged with secrets unspoken.
Lila stood at the base of the grand staircase, her handbag slung over her shoulder. She had plans to head back to the company, to search deeper into her father's archives. But before she could leave, she spotted Arie rushing down the stairs, schoolbooks clutched to her chest.
Her younger sister's face was pale, her eyes shadowed from a night of little sleep.
"You didn't rest," Lila said gently.
Arie shook her head. "How could I? I kept seeing her face—the woman from the picture. Our real mother. Every time I closed my eyes, it felt like she was trying to speak to me."
Lila placed a hand on Arie's shoulder, steadying her. "We'll find the answers, I promise. But you need to keep living your life. Go to school, act normal. Don't give Amara any reason to suspect what we know."
Arie bit her lip. "It feels wrong pretending. She's not our mother. She's been lying to us our whole lives. How am I supposed to sit at the same dinner table and smile at her?"
"You're only eighteen," Lila reminded her softly. "And she's dangerous when cornered. For now, you must play her game. Let me carry the risk. You focus on school, Arie. Focus on being safe."
Arie's eyes glistened, but she nodded. "I trust you, Lila."
They embraced briefly, and then Arie hurried out, a driver waiting to take her to the private academy where her life had once seemed so simple.
Lila watched her go, a protective ache swelling in her chest. Father, you left her so young, so unprepared. I won't let Amara use her the way she's used us both.
In another wing of the mansion, Amara stood by the dining table, a porcelain teacup balanced delicately in her hand. From the window, she had watched the sisters' quiet exchange, though their words had not carried to her. Still, she didn't need to hear them. She could see the closeness that had grown overnight, the way they leaned toward each other as if bound by a secret.
Her lips tightened.
Something had shifted. And she would not be caught unaware.
"Come," she called, her voice sharp yet elegant.
A tall man stepped into the room—slender, with a clipped mustache and eyes that missed nothing. He bowed his head respectfully.
"You sent for me, ma'am?"
"Yes, Mr. Jackson" Amara's tone was silky but firm. "I need you to keep an eye on my stepdaughters, particularly Lila. She has been spending time at the company, and I suspect her curiosity may extend beyond what is… appropriate."
Jackson's brows lifted slightly. "You believe she is looking for something?"
Amara set her teacup down with a quiet click. "I know she is. And whatever it is, it must not fall into her hands. Report everything to me—every file she opens, every person she speaks with. Quietly. If she senses you, she'll pull back."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And the younger one—Arie." Amara's eyes narrowed. "She is still in school, but do not underestimate her. If Lila has told her something, the girl may slip without meaning to. Children talk too easily."
Jackson gave a small nod. "Understood."
When he left, Amara rose gracefully, moving toward the window. The garden outside shimmered with dew, roses bending in the early light. She pressed a hand against the glass, her reflection sharp and cold.
"They think they can outmaneuver me," she whispered. "But they forget—I've been planning far longer than they've been alive."
Meanwhile, at the company headquarters, Lila entered her father's office once more. This time, she went not to the desk but to the bookshelf lining the wall. Her father had loved books—business manuals, histories, even novels—but Lila remembered how, as a child, he once told her: "Sometimes, the best place to hide something is in plain sight."
She scanned the rows of spines, running her fingers lightly along them. Halfway across, she noticed one volume thicker than the rest, its cover slightly dustier. She tugged it free, her pulse quickening.
Inside, pages had been hollowed out, leaving a cavity. And within it lay a small leather-bound notebook.
Her breath caught.
She opened it carefully. Inside, her father's handwriting filled the pages—dense, hurried, some words underlined, others scratched out. Names of board members. Notes on financial transactions. But tucked between the entries, Lila found something else:
"Arie must never know the truth until she is ready. Lila will understand one day. Protect them from Amara."
Her hands shook as she read the line again. Protect them from Amara.
A chill swept through her. Her father had known. He had known all along.
And now, she realized, the battle she and Arie faced was not just for the company, but for the truth of their very lives.
Lila closed the notebook, sliding it into her bag. She didn't notice the shadow lingering at the end of the corridor, a man pretending to study the company's bulletin board. Mr Jackson watched her quietly, his eyes narrowing as she left the office.
That evening, when Lila returned home, she found Arie in her room, textbooks spread across the bed. Her sister looked up, exhaustion on her young face.
"How was school?" Lila asked gently.
"Normal," Arie said, though her tone was bitter. "Maths, literature, friends gossiping about nonsense. I sat there thinking, 'Do they even know what it's like to feel your whole life is a lie?'"
Lila sat beside her, pulling the notebook from her bag. "We'll get answers. I found this in Father's office. He wrote about us, Arie. He wanted to protect us—from Amara."
Arie's eyes widened, fear flickering there. "Then she really is dangerous."
"Yes," Lila said quietly, her grip tightening on the notebook. "And now, we must be smarter than her. She has eyes everywhere. So whatever we do next—we do it carefully."
The sisters exchanged a solemn look, the bond between them strengthening in the shadows of betrayal.
Down the hall, Amara poured herself another glass of wine, a smile curving on her lips. She didn't yet know what Lila had found. But soon enough, she would.
And when she did, she intended to strike first.