. CHAPTER 6 — The Bellamy Lie
Charlotte recovered the way rich people do when fear threatens to become visible.
She lifted her chin, smoothed her coat, and tried to turn a crime into a misunderstanding.
“This woman is unstable,” she said. “She has been inventing stories for attention since we took her in. She trespassed on property connected to my family, she became hysterical, and she fell.”
I almost laughed, but my lip hurt too much.
Gabriel did not look at me for permission. He looked at one of his men. “Doctor.”
A woman in a dark suit stepped forward carrying a medical bag. She knelt beside me gently, asked my name, checked my pulse, examined my lip, and told me to keep breathing slowly. When she placed the small portable monitor against my belly, I nearly broke apart.
A tiny heartbeat filled the fog.
Fast. Steady. Alive.
My hands covered my face.
Gabriel bowed his head once, as if hearing that heartbeat had settled something sacred inside him.
Charlotte, however, stared at the monitor like it had betrayed her.
“Enough theater,” she snapped. “Mr. Cross, whatever Eleanor told you, she was a servant. My father gave her shelter when no one else would.”
Gabriel stood.
“No,” he said. “Your father stole her shares, erased her marriage filing, and used my company’s capital to build his political machine.”
Charlotte’s skin went pale.
He continued, each word controlled. “Eleanor Wren was not a servant when she entered Bellamy House. She was my wife.”
The fog seemed to tilt around me.
I looked at my mother’s grave. My mother, who had scrubbed floors until her wrists swelled. My mother, who had worn plain shoes and hidden old photographs in kitchen walls. My mother, who had never once told me I was born from shame, only from love.
“My father?” I whispered.
Gabriel’s expression cracked. “If you will allow me, I would like to take a proper test. But yes, Olivia. I believe you are my daughter.”
Charlotte shook her head hard. “No. That is impossible.”
“It was made impossible,” Gabriel said, “by your father’s signatures.”
One of his men opened a leather folder. Inside were copies of old transfer documents, hospital records, photographs, and a notarized statement bearing my mother’s careful handwriting.
Charlotte lunged toward it.
May you like
Gabriel’s security stepped between them.
For the first time in my life, someone protected me before I had to beg.
