Chapter 2 – The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Chapter 2 – The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
The elderly housekeeper stared at me as though she had seen a ghost.
Her wrinkled hands trembled around the silver tray she was carrying.
"I... I don't understand," she whispered.
"You look exactly like the photographs."
"What photographs?" I asked.
She hesitated before motioning for me to follow her.
We slipped into a small sitting room away from the ballroom where Julian's laughter still echoed through the mansion.
From the bottom drawer of an antique cabinet, she pulled out a leather-bound photo album.
My breath caught.
Every page contained pictures of me.
Our wedding.
Our honeymoon.
My father's birthday.
The charity gala where Julian had proudly introduced me as his wife.
Then, halfway through the album...
The pages changed.
A black ribbon stretched across one photograph.
A framed funeral announcement.
A newspaper obituary.
VALERIA VANCE PASSES AWAY AFTER A TRAGIC ILLNESS.
Date of death:
Six months ago.
I stared at the obituary until the words blurred.
"He held a memorial here," the housekeeper whispered.
"Employees attended."
"He cried."
"He thanked everyone for supporting him through the loss of his beloved wife."
I felt sick.
"He buried an empty coffin?"
She slowly nodded.
"There was no funeral. We were told your family wanted privacy."
Before I could speak, footsteps approached.
The housekeeper quickly closed the album.
"You must leave."
"If he sees you now, he'll destroy whatever proof still exists."
She slipped a small brass key into my hand.
"Third floor."
"His private office."
"He keeps everything there."
Then she disappeared before anyone noticed.
The office door clicked open.
Inside, everything was immaculate.
Awards.
Financial reports.
Family portraits.
But not of me.
Of Julian.
The brunette.
And the little boy.
A family that officially didn't exist.
I searched every drawer until I found a hidden safe tucked behind a painting.
The brass key fit perfectly.
Inside...
Were passports.
Birth certificates.
Offshore bank records.
Property deeds.
And one thick envelope marked:
CONFIDENTIAL — VANCE ESTATE
My pulse quickened.
I opened it.
Every document outlined the same plan.
Divorce me secretly.
Convince the public I had died.
Challenge my father's will by proving I had no surviving heirs.
Transfer the estate through shell corporations before anyone questioned it.
It would have worked.
If my father hadn't changed his will at the last moment.
Then another document made my knees buckle.
A DNA report.
Julian Vance.
Father:
Ethan Brooks.
Age:
Seven.
The little boy wasn't adopted.
He was Julian's biological son.
Born almost a year before our wedding.
Our entire marriage...
Had begun with a lie.
Just then...
The office door opened.
Julian stood there.
His smile disappeared.
"So..."
he said quietly.
"I was wondering when you'd find me."