Chapter 1 - The Ashes of a Lie
Andrew’s breath hitched in his throat. The lullaby’s final words echoed off the marble walls like a ghost whispering from the grave.
"Sleep now, my little stars, until the sun washes away the dark."
It wasn't a commercial song. It wasn't a classic nursery rhyme. It was a melody Eleanor had composed herself on the piano in their old lake house—a song she had sung to the boys every night before the fire tore their lives apart.
Andrew fell to his knees. The pristine fabric of his tuxedo creaked as he collapsed onto the cold hardwood floor. He reached out, his trembling fingers hovering inches away from the maid’s scarred wrist.
"Eleanor...?" his voice broke, barely higher than a whisper.
"Andrew, stop this madness!" Victoria, the woman in the blue silk dress, yanked hard on his arm. Her sharp, manicured nails dug straight through his suit jacket. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with a vicious panic. "She’s a fraud! She listened through the windows! She paid off the old staff! Can’t you see she’s trying to extort you?"
"Shut up, Victoria," Andrew snarled, not even looking at her. His eyes were locked on the crying woman before him.
The maid—the woman he had hired just three days ago through an obscure agency— slowly lifted her head. Her dark brown hair, pinned up in a cheap plastic clip, began to slip down, framing a face marred by faint, jagged skin grafts along her jawline. But behind the scars were the unmistakable, emerald-green eyes he had wept over for three long years.
"I didn't mean to hurt them, Andrew," she sobbed, clutching the two boys who refused to let go of her waist. "I just... I needed to see them one last time before I left the country. I couldn't bear living in the shadows anymore while another woman took my place."
"Left the country?" Andrew grabbed her shoulders, his composure completely shattering. "You were dead! I identified your body! I buried you in the family vault!"
"You buried a stranger, Andrew," Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking. "Because the woman standing right beside you paid the coroner to swap the dental records."
A gasp rippled through the doorway. Unnoticed by anyone, Andrew’s personal bodyguard, Marcus, was standing at the entrance of the dining room, holding an open briefcase of financial documents.
Victoria snapped. "She's lying! Guards! Call security! Throw this beggar out of my house!"
"This isn't your house, Victoria," Andrew stood up slowly, his height looming over her like a dark cloud. The grief on his face had hardened into pure, lethal rage. "Marcus... lock the doors. Nobody leaves this room."
Victoria took a step back, her blue silk dress swishing against her heels. "Andrew, darling, you're emotional. You're losing your mind just like you did after the accident. Remember what the doctor said? You suffer from visual hallucinations when you're stressed..."
"I'm not hallucinating the scar on her wrist, Victoria," Andrew said, taking a step toward her. "The scar she got when she burned her hand saving our youngest son from a boiling kettle when he was two years old. I never put that in any police report. I never told the media. How does a random maid know about that scar?"
Victoria’s posture stiffened. The sweet, caring persona she had maintained for the past three years stripped away, revealing a cold, calculating creature.
"You always were too sentimental, Andrew," Victoria whispered, her lip curling into a sneer. "That was your biggest flaw."
Before Andrew could react, Victoria pulled a tiny, silver cylinder from her evening clutch and pressed a button on its side.
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Click.
Suddenly, the grand chandelier above them cut out, plunging the dining room into absolute darkness.
