Chapter 11 - THE WOMAN WHO SHOULDN'T EXIST
“Don't be alone in the dark.”
Chloe's little voice followed me through the silence of the living room.
I turned away from the window.
She stood in the hallway, wrapped in the charcoal cashmere blanket, her dark hair tangled from sleep.
For a moment, I simply looked at her.
This little girl had walked into my life with nothing but a glitter-covered backpack, a stubborn streak, and a heart far too big for the world she'd been born into.
And somehow, she had become the one person I was terrified of losing.
I forced a smile.
“I'm not alone.”
Chloe glanced around the empty room.
“Yes, you are.”
I almost laughed.
“You're awake. That counts.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
She walked closer.
“You're thinking about something sad.”
I crouched in front of her.
“Go back to bed.”
“Who was the lady on the phone?”
My smile disappeared.
Children heard everything.
Especially when adults thought they were whispering.
“Someone from my past.”
“Was she bad?”
“I don't know.”
“Was she family?”
I looked at the photograph still lying on the table.
The little girl with emerald eyes stared back at me.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I think she was.”
Chloe studied the picture.
“Then maybe she's lonely too.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Maybe she was.
Maybe the woman on the phone wasn't a threat.
Maybe she was another victim of the same family that had nearly destroyed all of us.
But I had survived too long to trust appearances.
I stood.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Back to bed.”
She followed me upstairs.
I tucked the blanket around her.
She grabbed my wrist before I could leave.
“Mr. Vincent?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to disappear?”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
“Promise?”
I looked into her eyes.
“I promise.”
She released my wrist.
“Okay.”
Five minutes later, she was asleep.
I went downstairs.
The photograph was still waiting for me.
I picked it up again.
My father.
My mother.
Adrian.
Me.
And the little girl.
Six years old.
Emerald eyes.
A faint scar above her left eyebrow.
I stared at it.
Something moved inside my memory.
A locked door.
My mother's perfume.
Someone crying.
A little girl's hand inside mine.
Then my father's voice.
You never saw her. Do you understand?
I dropped the photograph.
My breathing became shallow.
I remembered.
Not everything.
Just enough.
There had been another child.
I had forgotten her.
No.
Someone had made me forget her.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice whispered:
“You remembered.”
I froze.
“Who are you?”
“You know.”
“Evelyn?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
I walked toward the kitchen.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere you can't reach.”
“Why?”
“Because if you could reach me, so could they.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“My father's men.”
“My father surrendered.”
“He surrendered because he had no choice.”
“That's not what I heard.”
“You heard what he wanted you to hear.”
I stared at the snow-covered city.
“Then tell me the truth.”
She laughed softly.
“You always were impatient.”
“You know me?”
“I knew you before you knew yourself.”
“Where were you?”
“Watching.”
“Watching what?”
“You.”
I looked around the room.
“Were you in Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Your engagement.”
My blood ran cold.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“At the terminal?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you approach me?”
“Because I wasn't sure whether you had become him.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
“You didn't.”
For some reason, those two words hurt.
“Where are you now?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Then why call?”
“Because I need to know if you still trust the wrong people.”
“What does that mean?”
She paused.
“Ask yourself who knew about the ledger.”
I frowned.
“Everyone.”
“No.”
Her voice became urgent.
“Only three people knew where the original ledger was.”
“Who?”
“You.”
“My father.”
“And Marcus.”
I stared at the phone.
“Marcus is loyal.”
“Is he?”
“Yes.”
“You should ask him about the night our mother disappeared.”
My heart stopped.
“Evelyn—”
The line went dead.
I immediately called Marcus.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I opened my contacts.
Then stopped.
A new message appeared.
Don't call him.
Another followed.
Come alone. 11:30 PM. Union Station. Platform 6.
I stared at the screen.
I should have called the FBI.
I should have called Elena.
Instead, I grabbed my coat.
Because I had spent my entire life running from unanswered questions.
Tonight, I was finally going to ask them.
Union Station was almost empty.
The great hall was dark except for the soft glow of emergency lights.
I stood on Platform 6.
11:27.
Nothing.
11:29.
A train passed without stopping.
11:30.
A woman appeared at the far end of the platform.
Black coat.
Dark hair.
Emerald eyes.
She stopped ten feet away.
“Vincent.”
I stared at her.
“Evelyn.”
She nodded.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she smiled.
“You really do look like him.”
“I've heard that.”
“But you don't have his eyes.”
“What?”
“His eyes were empty.”
She looked directly into mine.
“Yours aren't.”
I didn't know what to say.
She reached into her coat.
I instinctively stepped back.
She froze.
“Relax.”
She pulled out a small photograph.
She handed it to me.
I looked down.
My mother.
Pregnant.
Standing beside a younger version of my father.
On the back was a date.
Thirty-one years earlier.
“What is this?”
“She was pregnant with twins.”
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Twins?”
Evelyn nodded.
“You and me.”
I looked up.
“Then why did everyone say I was an only child?”
“Because one of us was inconvenient.”
“Which one?”
She looked away.
“Me.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn't your father's daughter.”
My mind went blank.
“What?”
“My biological father was someone else.”
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“Dominic.”
I stopped breathing.
“Dominic?”
“Yes.”
The man who had spent years fighting my father.
The man who had nearly died helping us.
The man who had once looked at me as though he knew something I didn't.
“No.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Our mother had an affair.”
“Why?”
“Because she was trying to escape.”
“From my father?”
“Yes.”
“And Dominic helped her?”
“He loved her.”
I stared at the photograph.
Suddenly, every memory seemed wrong.
My father had never looked at Evelyn the way he looked at me.
He had looked at her with hatred.
Not because she was weak.
Because she wasn't his.
“Why hide her?”
“Because your father couldn't kill my mother without losing his public image.”
“So he killed her?”
Evelyn's expression hardened.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“He made her disappear.”
I felt something crack inside me.
“What happened?”
“She tried to take us both.”
“And?”
“Your father stopped her.”
“Where is she?”
Evelyn didn't answer.
“Where is our mother?”
“She died eight years ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
“Alone.”
The word destroyed me.
“All these years…”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because every time I tried, someone came after me.”
“Who?”
She looked behind me.
“That's the problem.”
I turned.
Nothing.
When I faced her again, she was holding something else.
A small silver key.
She placed it in my palm.
“Our mother left this for you.”
“What does it open?”
“The truth.”
Before I could ask another question, headlights appeared outside the station.
Evelyn's face changed.
“They found me.”
“Who?”
“Run.”
A black SUV accelerated toward the platform entrance.
I grabbed Evelyn's hand.
We ran.
A gunshot shattered the station windows.
Evelyn screamed.
I pulled her behind a concrete pillar.
Another shot.
Then another.
I reached for my weapon.
Evelyn grabbed my arm.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because they're not trying to kill us.”
“What?”
“They're trying to scare you.”
The SUV stopped.
A door opened.
A man stepped out.
He looked directly at me.
Then he smiled.
It was Marcus.
My closest friend.
My brother in everything but blood.
He raised his phone.
A video began playing.
Chloe appeared on the screen.
Alive.
Terrified.
Sitting beside Adrian.
Marcus whispered:
“Your father sends his regards.”
My blood turned to ice.
I stepped forward.
“Where is she?”
Marcus smiled.
“Come home, Vincent.”
“Where?”
“The estate.”
He lowered his phone.
“Your sister knows the way.”
The SUV disappeared into the night.
I turned toward Evelyn.
She was crying.
“What?”
May you like
She whispered:
“They took Chloe.”
