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The name Beatrice hung in the air like poison, instantly choking the warmth out of the room. / Chapter 2 / 8

Chapter 2 - THE DEAD GIRL'S SECRETThe words echoed in the narrow corridor like a gunshot.

Beatrice isn't dead.

Caleb froze. The anger on his face flickered, replaced for a split second by pure confusion, before hardening back into rage. "Shut up! Shut your mouth! I went to her funeral! I stood by her open casket!"

"You stood by a closed casket, Caleb!" Katherine shouted back, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "They told you her body was too damaged from the river to open it! Don't you remember? You never saw her face!"

Robert looked between Caleb and Katherine, his hands clenched into tight fists. "Katherine... what are you saying? You need to make sense right now. If you are lying to protect yourself—"

"I’m not lying!" Katherine fell to her knees, unable to support her own weight. I rushed to her side, ignoring Caleb’s warning glare. I wrapped my arm around her shaking shoulders, feeling the heat radiating from her bruised cheek.

"Mom... please listen to me," Katherine begged, gripping my sleeve. "Six years ago, I lived in Chicago. I worked as a junior accountant at a firm owned by Beatrice’s father, Arthur Pendelton. I found out that Arthur was embezzling millions of dollars from his clients. When I threatened to go to the police, Arthur framed me. He used my IP address to launch cyberbullying campaigns against several people, including his own daughter, to cover up his digital footprint!"

"Why would a father do that to his own daughter?!" Caleb roared, stepping toward us. Robert immediately stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"Because Beatrice found out what he was doing too!" Katherine cried. "Arthur didn't want his daughter to ruin his empire. The night Beatrice was supposed to have jumped off the bridge, her father faked her death! He paid off the local coroner, buried an empty casket, and shipped Beatrice away to a private psychiatric facility in Switzerland under a fake name so she could never talk!"

I stared at Katherine in absolute horror. "A father fake his own daughter's death? That’s insane..."

"I spent the last three years tracking her down," Katherine said, looking directly into my eyes. "I didn't come to Oakhaven Springs to target Caleb. I came here to find proof to clear my name and bring Arthur Pendelton down! But when I met Caleb... I genuinely fell in love with him. I wanted to tell him the truth after the wedding... after I got Beatrice out."

Caleb shook his head, taking a step back, laughing hysterically. "You're insane. You're a pathological liar! You built this entire fairy tale just to gaslight me!"

"If I'm lying," Katherine said softly, pulling a small silver key from inside her torn dress bodice, "then why does this key fit the master lock of Room 402 at the Saint-Cloud Sanatorium in Geneva? And why is Beatrice’s medical file sitting in a safe inside your father’s office right now, Caleb?"

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Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering wheel of his matte-black Bentley, staring at the imposing wrought-iron gates of his own estate. To the world, the Sterling name was synonymous with untouchable wealth, bleeding-edge tech investments, and a picture-perfect modern family. But as the automated gates slid open with a soft, expensive hum, Arthur didn't feel like a master of a universe; he felt like a stranger walking into a trap he had built with his own hands.

Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering...

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverberating directly through the plaster of the master bedroom's walk-in closet wall.

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverbe...

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang of the Boston Harbor. It hit Dileia like a physical blow, cutting right through the thin polyester of her service uniform. She shivered, though she refused to wrap her arms around herself. Doing so would look like weakness, and tonight, weakness was a currency she couldn't afford to spend.

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang...

Caleb’s face went dead white.

Suddenly, the front door downstairs shattered. The sound of breaking glass and heavy footsteps burst through the house.

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