Chapter 4 - THE SECRET IN THE ATTIC
The guest suite was larger than my entire apartment. It featured a king-sized bed, a private balcony overlooking the misty grounds, and a adjoining nursery equipped with state-of-the-art cribs, plush toys, and security monitors.
I laid tiny Leo down in the crib. The moment my skin lost contact with his, he stirred restlessly, letting out a soft whimpering sound. I quickly sat on the chair beside the crib, placing my hand gently on his small chest. He immediately settled back down, clutching my thumb with his tiny hand.
I sat there in the dim nightlight, staring at his sweet, peaceful face.
Who was I? Why did I look exactly like his deceased mother?
My mind raced back to my childhood. My mother, Susan, had always been secretive. We moved every year. She never spoke of my father. She never spoke of her family. Whenever I asked questions, she would brush them off, telling me that the past was a poisonous thing that was best left buried.
Now, the past was knocking on my door with a loaded gun.
Around 2:00 AM, ensuring Leo was deeply asleep, I quietly slipped out of the nursery. The hallway outside was silent, lit only by soft floor lamps. Armed guards patrolled the ground floor, but the second floor seemed quiet.
Driven by a desperation to know the truth, I crept down the long hallway. I remembered seeing a flight of narrow stairs near the end of the corridor during my tour with Mrs. Gable—stairs that led up to the manor's private archives and attic.
I tiptoed up the dark stairs, my heart pounding in my ears.
At the top of the stairs was a heavy wooden door. To my luck, it was unlocked. I pushed it open gently and stepped into a vast room filled with old portraits, covered furniture, and rows of mahogany bookshelves.
This was the memory room of the Vance family.
I walked past dusty oil paintings of stoic men in old-fashioned suits until I reached a desk near the window. Resting on the mahogany wood was a large, leather-bound photo album labeled ELENA.
With trembling hands, I opened the cover.
The first page showed a picture of a breathtakingly beautiful woman—Elena. She was wearing a white summer dress, laughing in a sunlit garden.
My breath hitched.
It was like looking into a mirror. The same dark eyes, the same soft curve of the lips, the exact same small dimple on her left cheek.
I flipped through the pages frantically. Photos of Elena and Lorenzo at their grand wedding. Photos of them traveling in Paris. Photos of Elena pregnant with Leo.
Then, tucked between two pages near the back, a loose, yellowed medical document fell onto the floor.
I picked it up. It was a birth certificate from an offshore clinic in Switzerland, dated twenty-four years ago.
It listed twin girls born to a woman named Valeria Vance.
Twin A: Elena. Twin B: Maya.
My blood ran ice cold.
Maya.
Beneath the birth certificate was a handwritten note in faded blue ink:
"To protect Twin B from the family blood war, she has been given to Susan Miller. Her name shall be changed to Mara. She must never know who she is."
I stumbled back, my hand slapping against my mouth to stifle a scream.
I wasn't a stranger. I wasn't a random waitress who happened to look like Lorenzo's dead wife.
I was her twin sister.
And little Leo wasn't just a child I was babysitting—he was my biological nephew.
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"Finding what you were looking for?" a dark, low voice echoed behind me.
I whirled around. Lorenzo was standing in the doorway, framed by the moonlight, his arms folded, his dark eyes burning into mine.
