Chapter 6 – THE HEIRLOOM

“Sloane, don’t!” Adrian shouted, stepping in front of me.

“It’s over, Sloane,” Leo added, his voice raspy but firm. “Your guards are captured. Marcus gave you up. You have nowhere to go.”

Sloane laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “I spent six years playing the perfect, submissive little fiancée! I earned this empire! And I won’t let a housemaid take it away!”

She moved to drop the lighter.

But suddenly, Mama Ruth stepped out from the shadows of the foyer.

“Sloane,” Ruth said, her voice carrying a strange, maternal authority that echoed in the massive hall. “Look at the necklace you’re wearing.”

Sloane paused, her hand hovering over the gasoline. She glanced down at the emerald pendant resting against her collarbone. “What about it? I bought it in Paris.”

“No, you didn’t,” Ruth said gently, taking a step forward. “Thomas Morgan bought that for his wife. I know, because I was the one who packed it in a box the night your father drove them out of this house.”

I gasped. “My mother’s necklace?”

Ruth kept her eyes locked on Sloane. “I know who you really are, Sloane. I knew the moment you walked into this house eight months ago.”

Sloane’s hand began to tremble. The lighter flickered dangerously. “Shut up, old woman.”

“Your real name isn’t Sloane Whitaker,” Ruth continued, tears shining in her eyes. “You’re Sarah Morgan. Claire’s older sister.”

The room spun. I couldn’t breathe. My parents had told me my older sister died in a terrible accident when I was a baby.

Sloane stared at me, her mask completely shattering. Tears streamed through her ruined makeup.

“They abandoned me,” Sloane sobbed, pointing at me. “When they lost the money, they left me at an orphanage so they could afford to keep you.”

“That’s a lie,” I whispered, stepping forward. “Dad searched for you until the day he died. He never stopped.”

I pulled off my own silver locket—the only thing I owned of value—and popped it open. I threw it up the stairs. It landed at Sloane’s feet.

She picked it up. Inside was a picture of our parents, holding a baby. And on the opposite side was a lock of blonde hair, labeled Sarah.

Sloane fell to her knees, dropping the lighter harmlessly onto a dry patch of marble. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

Dominic rushed up the stairs and secured her hands in zip-ties.

The nightmare was finally breaking. But as I looked at the broken woman who was supposed to be my sister, Adrian’s phone buzzed.

He answered it. His face immediately turned to stone.

“Claire,” Adrian said, hanging up the phone. “That was the hospital. We need to go right now.”

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