Chloe's heart raced as she stood at the doorway of her bedroom.
The drawer she had tucked her child's photo into was open.
And the photo,gone.
She stepped inside slowly, her bare feet brushing the soft carpet, her eyes scanning every corner of the room as if she might find it lying carelessly on the floor. But it wasn't. Whoever took it had done so intentionally. Silently. And recently.
Her hand trembled as she closed the drawer, her mind racing.
Was it Mark?
Had he found out?
No. He couldn't have. He still thought she was Zoe.
Was it Mrs. Squibb?
The woman had been watching her closely,searching for something to prove that Chloe wasn't who she claimed to be. Maybe she had found it. A picture of a child that Zoe Thompson never had.
Chloe sat down at the edge of the bed, barely able to breathe. The thought of someone knowing about her son,her baby,sent panic spiraling through her chest.
She grabbed her phone and dialed quickly.
One ring. Two.
Then a sleepy voice answered, "Hello?"
"Aunty Remi, is he okay?" Chloe whispered.
The older woman on the other end paused. "Chloe? It's the middle of the night. Of course, he's okay. He's sleeping."
Chloe exhaled shakily. "Are the doors locked? The windows?"
"Chloe," Remi said gently, "what's going on?"
"I… I just need you to be careful. Keep him safe. I'll explain soon."
"You're scaring me."
"I know. I'm scared too."
***
The next morning came far too quickly. Chloe barely slept. When the sun finally rose, she was already dressed,hair brushed, lips glossed, and face composed. She had learned how to look unbothered, even when her world was falling apart.
As she stepped into the grand dining room, Mark was already seated at the end of the long marble table, sipping coffee, a newspaper folded beside his plate.
He looked up when she entered, eyes scanning her like always,searching for something out of place.
"You didn't come back to bed last night," he said casually, gesturing for her to sit.
"I had a headache," Chloe replied smoothly.
Mark nodded but didn't press. "I had a conversation with Mrs. Squibb this morning."
Chloe tensed. "Oh?"
"She's concerned about you. She thinks your behavior's... off."
Chloe forced a light chuckle. "And since when has Mrs. Squibb ever cared about my behavior?"
Mark smirked, but his eyes were still sharp. "Good point."
There was a pause.
Then he asked, "Did you go back to your old room last night?"
Chloe hesitated. "Yes. I needed to remember who I was."
Mark leaned back in his chair. "And? Did you?"
She looked at him. "I think I'm still figuring it out."
His phone buzzed, and he picked it up quickly, his brow furrowing at the screen.
"I need to step out," he muttered. "Emergency meeting with a board member."
As he stood, he gave her one last look. "Stay out of trouble."
And just like that, he was gone.
Chloe's shoulders sagged once he was out of sight.
***
Later that day, Chloe walked the halls again, careful to avoid Mrs. Squibb. She returned to Zoe's room,her room now, at least in name,and opened the loose floorboard again. The box was still there. She opened it slowly and pulled out the documents again.
The birth certificate.
A second one,Zoe's.
And a third,a death certificate.
But not for Zoe.
For her mother.
Name: Amara Smith
Cause of Death: Unknown
Witness: Crepe D.
Chloe stared at the name. Mrs. Crepe. The nanny.
Memories started to rise,faint and fragmented. A woman's voice. Gentle hands. Then a scream. A child crying.
She was that child.
She was taken.
And her mother… was murdered.
Suddenly, everything made sense. The hatred in Mrs. Squibb's eyes. The guilt in Mr. Thompson's silence. The fear that had followed Chloe since the day she stepped into this mansion.
She had been given away.
She had been erased.
And Zoe had been left behind, only to be silenced when she got too close to the truth.
Tears filled Chloe's eyes, but she blinked them away. There was no time for breaking. She needed answers. She needed justice.
She needed revenge.
***
That evening, a gala was hosted at the mansion,a celebration of Mark and Zoe's "wedding." Chloe walked in beside Mark, her hand in his, her expression serene.
But inside, she was fire.
Mrs. Squibb watched her the entire time from across the room, her eyes sharp, almost daring her to crack.
But Chloe didn't.
She smiled. She danced. She played the role perfectly.
Until she saw it.
A man standing near the bar,dressed in black, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, holding a glass of wine. He looked vaguely familiar.
Then he smiled.
And the blood drained from her face.
She knew that smile.
Years ago. The man who used to visit Mrs. Crepe. The man who had watched her when she was little, always lingering, always quiet.
He had something to do with this.
Chloe excused herself and followed him down the hallway as he stepped outside onto the balcony. The air was crisp and cool, and the music from inside faded.
"Why are you here?" she asked him, her voice low.
The man turned, pulling off his glasses slowly. "So you do remember me."
"Who are you?"
"I work for the woman who raised you," he said softly. "Mrs. Crepe."
Chloe's chest constricted. "She's alive?"
He nodded. "And she wants to meet you."
Chloe took a step back. "She gave me away. She killed my mother."
"She says she saved your life," he said. "And she says it's time you knew the whole truth."
Chloe stared at him, torn between fury and fear.
"Where is she?"
"She'll find you."
And with that, he disappeared into the night.
***
Back inside the mansion, Mrs. Squibb walked briskly toward her study. She opened her drawer and pulled out the photograph she had taken from Chloe's room,the one of the child.
She flipped it over.
On the back, scrawled in a child's handwriting, were the words:
"My son. My miracle."
Mrs. Squibb's eyes narrowed.
She picked up her phone and made a call.
"We have a problem," she said.
"She has a child."