Chapter 3 - The Fractured Reflection"Mother! Answer me!" Julian’s voice snapped Eleanor out of her paralyzing flashback.
He was standing between Eleanor and Clara, his body angled protectively in front of his bride. The raw confusion in his eyes was giving way to a dark, dangerous suspicion. He looked at Eleanor’s trembling hands, then down at the jade pendant in Clara’s hand, and finally back to Eleanor’s ashen face.
"You know that pendant," Julian stated, not asking. It was a cold, flat accusation. "You looked at it and you looked like you saw a ghost. What aren't you telling us?"
Eleanor swallowed hard, her throat burning. She tried to find her voice, tried to summon the imperious authority that had cowed boardrooms and society boards for decades, but it was gone. She was just an old, broken woman standing in the wreckage of her own sins.
"Julian..." Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking. She took a single, faltering step forward, reaching out a trembling hand toward Clara. "Clara... let me... let me see the back of that pendant."
Clara stepped back, her eyes flashing with lingering fury and hurt. She clutched the jade tightly against her chest, as if protecting herself from a physical blow. "Stay away from me! You just ripped my dress off, you insulted my parents, and now you're acting insane because of a piece of jewelry? Are you trying to find a new way to ruin my life?"
"Clara, please," Eleanor begged, tears finally spilling over her mascara-stained cheeks, cutting tracks through her heavy makeup. "Just... turn it over. Please."
Clara hesitated, looking at Julian. Julian gave her a curt nod, his own mind racing to piece together the bizarre puzzle.
Slowly, Clara turned the jade phoenix over in her palm.
On the smooth, polished back of the green stone, carved in microscopic, exquisite calligraphy, were two initials: E.S.
Eleanor Sterling.
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. He looked from the initials on the pendant up to Eleanor’s initials monogrammed on her diamond brooch. The math was inescapable.
"How..." Julian whispered, his voice trembling now. "How did she get that? That's your family crest. That's your personal monogram."
"Because..." Eleanor choked out, her knees finally giving way completely. She sank to the marble floor, ignoring the dirt and the shredded lace of Clara’s dress pooling around her. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with agonizing sobs. "Because that’s Catherine. That’s my baby girl. My daughter... whom I lost twenty-four years ago."
The cathedral erupted.
The guests, who had been whispering quietly, burst into a deafening wall of sound. Flashbulbs from hidden paparazzi—sneaking into the gallery despite the strict security—flashed blindingly in the dim light.
Clara stood completely paralyzed, the pendant burning hot against her skin.
"No," Clara whispered, shaking her head violently. "No! That's a lie! You hate me! You've hated me since the day Julian introduced us! You tried to buy me off with a check, you threatened my father's business, you called me trash! If I'm your daughter... why did you treat me like dirt?!"
"Because I didn't know!" Eleanor wailed, pressing her forehead against the cold marble floor. "I didn't know! If I had known... God help me, I would have given you the world!"
Julian stood frozen, the ground beneath his feet shifting into an abyss. He looked at Eleanor, then at Clara. And then, a sickening, impossible realization washed over him, freezing the blood in his veins.
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If Clara was Eleanor’s real daughter...
Then what did that make him?
