Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Everything is vacant.
So we head down the hallway to the main wing of the house. We pass my own room, where I wanted to sleep last night. It’s empty, of course, as is Gina’s, and as are the various guest rooms. Finally at the end of the hallway is the master suite.
I knock.
No reply.
So I open the door. “Mom? Dad?”
The sitting room—including the two armchairs where I learned the truth about my parentage—sits empty, and I walk into the bedroom. Also empty.
“Strange,” I say. “All the cars were in the driveway.”
“What about the other hallway?”
“Yes, the small wing of the house where Michaela lives. No one else lives there, but it’s the only place left to check.”
I lead Brendan back through the main hallway and into the second one. I have to key in a code, as this is considered a private area for household staff.
I tap in the numbers, open the door to the hallway, and head to Michaela’s room. I knock. “Michaela?”
No response.
I try her door, but it’s locked.
I knock again, this time more loudly. “Michaela? It’s Ava. Are you okay?”
Brendan nudges me. “Ava…” He gestures to one of the other doors.
“What?”
There are three other doors in this hallway. All rooms for household staff, but the only one currently in use is Michaela’s.
Which is why it’s very strange that a sliver of light shines from under another one of them.
My heart jumps.
Brendan takes my hand, leads me to the doorway, and knocks.
No response.
“Mom, Dad. I know you’re in there. It’s me, Ava. Open up. Open up, or I swear to God I’ll call the cops.”
“No!” Mom’s voice.
The door rustles a bit and then opens.
This is a large room. It’s a master suite, complete with a sitting room, bedroom, and en suite bathroom. As far as I know, it’s rarely been used. Only when we had extended family in town.
“I told you not to come tonight,” Mom whispers harshly.
“Yeah, you told me Dad was sick.” I take a tentative step into the room. “Funny, he wasn’t in his room or in his bed, which is where he’d be if he were sick.”
“You have to leave, Ava.”
“Are you kidding me?” I respect the hell out of my mother, but I hold my ground. “No way. Both of you are done keeping things from me. What’s going on?”
Mom sighs and holds the door open. “All right. Come on in, both of you. But you’re on your honor not to tell anyone what you see in this room.”
“For God’s sake, Mother.” I rub my arms against a sudden chill. “You’re scaring me.”
“No need to be frightened, Ava. Nothing will harm you here.”
I follow my mother through the sitting room and into the bedroom. My father stands over the bed, Michaela at his side along with two others.
And in the bed—
I gasp.
“You,” I say. “You two took her.”
In the bed lies Sabrina Smith. Dyane Wingdam. Wendy Madigan.
My fucking grandmother.
“So this is where she disappeared to,” Brendan says.
“You knew?” Mom asks.
“Pat Lamone came to the bar last night. Said he went to see his grandmother, but she was no longer at the hospital.”
“Last night?” I shake my head, trying to comprehend. “Last night I wanted to stay here, Mom. You told me it was better to go home. I knew something was up. You would never say that to me.”
“I did ask you to go home.” Mom lets out a heaving sigh and rubs her forehead. “And I’m sorry.”
“You were bringing her here. You didn’t want me to be here to see what was happening. To ask questions.”
“Ava,” Dad begins, ushering us back into the sitting area and leaving Michaela and the others by Wendy’s bedside.
“Oh, no. You had this all planned, didn’t you? From the time you told me your story. You were going to bring her here. In fact, you—” I shake my head.
“We need the answers, Ava,” Dad says calmly. “There’s nothing wrong with my mother. She’s been kept in sedation at her own request. I got all the medical records.”
“How?”
“I’m her next of kin.”
“Not on paper you’re not. Her daughter, Lauren, is.”
“I was able to get the records,” Dad says calmly.
“You tossed our name around, didn’t you?”
“I do what I have to do,” Dad says. “I made peace with that a long time ago.”
I love my father. And my mother. Truly I do. But this reliance on the family name is something I’ve never understood, and it’s a big part of why I chose to open my business on my own, without my family’s help.
Sure, I have my trust fund. I’ve considered signing it over to some charity that I love, but I haven’t because quite frankly, it’s mine. I’m still a Steel, and I know I may need that money someday. It’s my birthright.
Or is it?
My father is illegitimate.
Not on his birth certificate, of course, which I’ve seen. His birth certificate lists Daphne Steel as his mother.