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27 Chapter 27 – A Mother’s Secret, A Daughter’s Lie
Fiona’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to meet the
brilliant Dr. Wilson!”
Mrs. Dubois smiled weakly. “I want to make things right, Elara. While I still can.”
There was something in her eyes–knowledge, perhaps, or suspicion. Did she know the truth? Had she somehow discovered who I really was–both Dr. Wilson and her daughter?
She turned to face me, and for the first time, I noticed how much Fiona resembled her
-the same delicate nose, the same curve of the cheek.
I nearly choked at that. The irony was almost too much to bear.
“Mr. Sterling wanted me to assure you that we can arrange introductions to several distinguished professors in your field,” Philip wrote. “Though Dr. Wilson is unfortunately not available for consultation at this time.”
I nodded mechanically, my mind still reeling from Genevieve’s revelation. Could it be true? Was Mrs. Dubois–the kind, gentle woman who had shown me the only real affection in this house–my biological mother?
“That’s… very generous of you,” I managed to say.
Genevieve moved to the window, staring out at the darkening garden. “Twenty–three years,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Twenty–three years of watching her live the life that should have been yours.”
“I thought… I was just trying to protect her,” Fiona whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “That man has a terrible reputation. I was worried-”
“You were supposed to suffer,” she said matter–of–factly. “That was the point. You were supposed to feel every day what it was like to be unwanted in your own home.”
The maître d‘ led them through the main dining area to a private room at the back. “Dr. Wilson is already waiting inside,” he informed them with a small bow.
“Elara, dear,” she said, her yoice frail but steady. “I need to speak with happened today.”
you. About what
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The restaurant was one of the most exclusive in the city, its private rooms accessible only to those with significant wealth or connections. Fiona looked around
appreciatively, her arm linked through Caleb’s.
“And he defended her. As usual. There was something off in her tone–not the usual bitterness, but something deeper, more complex.
I smiled grimly at the condescension. If only they knew that Dr. Wilson was standing right here, reading their message.
“I know, princess. I know.” Father pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve always been my good girl. The joy of my life.”
The room seemed to tilt around me. “What else would we be?”
“Daddy, I can explain,” Fiona stammered, her perfect composure crumbling.
I bit my lip to keep from scoffing aloud. Fiona meant well? She’d deliberately tried to drive a wedge between Arthur and me, all while pretending to be concerned.
Her eyes were sad. “Perhaps not. But they need to be given nonetheless.” She hesitated. “I’ve also arranged for someone special to join us. Someone Fiona has been eager to meet–Dr. Wilson.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and just like that, I watched Father’s anger deflate. It was a magic trick I’d seen Fiona perform a thousand times.
The tears spilled over, running perfectly down Fiona’s cheeks without smudging her makeup. “Daddy, please. I made a mistake.”
The blood drained from my face. “You switched us? You’re saying Fiona is…”
Genevieve closed the door behind us, her face unreadable. “You heard them?”
“You were born on the same day,” she said, her voice distant now. “Did you know that? Within hours of each other. Mrs. Dubois was so weak after the birth. They took her baby to the nursery while the doctor treated her. And I… I had just delivered my own daughter in secret, with only a midwife to help me.”
I watched as Father’s face darkened with rage, his knuckles white around the phone he’d just set down. The study suddenly felt too small, the air heavy with tension.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Fiona whispered, leaning into his touch. “I didn’t mean to cause
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trouble.”
I nodded warily. “Fiona lied. As usual.”
“Miss Elara? Mrs. Dubois is asking for you. She says it’s urgent.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Father’s tone softened immediately. He moved to her side, crouching beside her chair. “I know you meant well.”
I walked out of the Dubois mansion with my head held high, unsure what tomorrow would bring but certain that nothing would ever be the same again. The truth-
whatever it was–was finally coming to light.
“Explain what?” Father’s voice was deadly quiet. “That you lied about Arthur Sterling threatening Elara? That you’ve been spreading rumors that could damage our family’s relationship with one of the most powerful men in Oceanion?”
“Elara has always been… different,” Father continued. “Just like her mother. Scheming, always looking for an angle.”
My head spun. “Fiona is your daughter,” I said slowly. “I know that. You’re my mother, and Fiona is your daughter. We’re half–sisters.”
I stared at her, understanding slowly dawning. “What did you do?”
I stumbled from the room, my legs unsteady beneath me. The halls of the mansion, so familiar after years of walking them, now seemed alien and distorted. By the time I reached Mrs. Dubois’s bedroom, I had managed to compose myself outwardly, but inside, my thoughts were chaos.
He gave Fiona’s shoulder one last squeeze before leaving the room, barely acknowledging Genevieve as he passed. I pressed myself against the wall, not wanting him to see me. Once he was gone, I turned to head back to my room when Genevieve caught my arm.
The door behind me creaked open wider, and I startled, turning to find Genevieve–my mother–standing there with a strange expression on her face.
A chill ran through me. “Haven’t I suffered enough for you? What more do you want?”
“Mother, this is incredible,” she said. “How did you manage to get Dr. Wilson to agree
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to meet us here?”
Before I could respond, a soft knock came at the door. Mrs. Dubois’s nurse poked her
head in.
My breath caught in my throat. “What are you saying?”
As the door swung open, she straightened her designer dress, preparing to make the perfect first impression on the renowned scientist who would soon be the key to her social redemption.
“Enough!” Father slammed his fist on the desk. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The Sterling Group could crush us if they wanted to! And now they think we’re spreading rumors about them!”
“Things? What things?” Father’s voice rose. “Philip Mercer just told me Arthur Sterling has never threatened your sister. In fact, he said Sterling was appalled at the
suggestion.”
Mrs. Dubois was propped up against her pillows, her thin frame swallowed by the large bed. Despite her illness, there was a determination in her eyes I hadn’t seen before.
“I don’t need apologies,” I said honestly.
Fiona’s lower lip trembled as she sank into the leather armchair. “I was scared for her, Daddy. You know how men like Arthur Sterling are. I heard things—”
“Why would I lie about this? After all these years?” Genevieve shook her head. “I’ve watched you struggle. Watched you fight for every scrap of dignity in this house. And now you’re married to Arthur Sterling.” She laughed bitterly. “The universe has a sense
of humor after all.”
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked.
My chest tightened at his words. Twenty–three years of living under his roof, and he still saw me as nothing but Genevieve’s daughter–a nuisance to be tolerated.
I followed her reluctantly to her small quarters at the back of the house. The room was sparse but meticulously clean, with only a single framed photo on the bedside table— Fiona as a child, her smile bright and carefree.
Beatrice smiled thinly. “I have my ways, dear. Now, shall we?”
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“Half–sisters.” Genevieve repeated the words with a strange smile. “Is that what you think?”
“Go on,” Genevieve said, waving me away. “She’s waiting for you. Your mother is waiting.”
“Mrs. Dubois, you don’t need to-”
Genevieve laughed, the sound hollow. “You think you’ve suffered? You have no idea what suffering is. To watch the man you love dote on another woman’s child… to clean her floors and serve her meals while your own daughter calls her ‘Mother‘…”
Father stroked her hair. “You’re too trusting, my dear. Always thinking the best of people.”
Father straightened, sighing. “I’ll be right there.”
“Mr. Dubois,” she called out, her voice thinly respectful. “Mrs. Dubois is asking for you.”
As I left her room, my phone buzzed with a text message from Arthur’s assistant, Philip Mercer. It was brief and professional, offering me a list of professors I could work with as “compensation” for the “misunderstanding” with Arthur.
“Come with me,” she whispered, her fingers digging into my flesh.
“It was so easy,” Genevieve continued, as if she hadn’t heard me. “The nursery attendant stepped out for just a moment. That’s all it took. A simple switch.”
She held up a hand to stop me. “I do. I’ve been silent too long.” She took a shaky breath. “We’re going to meet tomorrow. You, me, Fiona, and Caleb. There are things that need to be said, apologies that need to be made.”
“You’re lying,” I whispered.
“What any mother would do,” she replied, her eyes glittering with a fierce pride. “I gave my daughter the life she deserved.”
“Thank you for the offer,” I replied coolly. “But I’ll make my own arrangements.”
I froze at the mention of my secret identity. How had she arranged that?
I couldn’t breathe. The walls of the tiny room seemed to close in on me.
“My daughter. My flesh and blood.” There was fierce satisfaction in her voice. “And you
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are Beatrice Hayes’s child. The true Dubois heiress.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I just don’t understand why Elara would marry him secretly,” Fiona sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Why wouldn’t she tell us? Why all the secrecy? It makes me think she’s up to something.”
I stayed hidden behind the partially open door, hardly daring to breathe. Fiona’s eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal’s.
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