Chapter Five

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐌𝐫𝐬. 𝐒𝐭. 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬

The air in the nursery shattered.

"The real one," Rose had whispered. Those three words; her first in half a year should have been a miracle. Instead, they felt like a death sentence.

I stood paralyzed at the window as the woman in the black veil glided toward the manor’s front steps. She moved with an eerie, practiced elegance, as if she hadn't been "dead" for six months but had merely been waiting in the wings for her cue.

"Rose, stay here," I commanded, my voice cracking. I didn't wait for a response. I turned and ran, the heavy silk of my wedding gown billowing around me like a white shroud.

I reached the grand foyer just as the massive oak doors swung open. Killian was already there. He stood like a statue carved from obsidian, his back to me.

The woman stepped inside, pulling back her veil with a gloved hand.

The air left my lungs. It was like looking into a distorted mirror. She had my eyes, my jawline and my height.

But where my face held the exhaustion of a girl fighting for survival, hers held the cold, polished cruelty of a woman who had already won.

"Killian," she breathed, her voice like a melodic purr that made my skin crawl. "Did you really think a cheap imitation could replace me?"

Killian didn't move. His shoulders were so tense I thought the fabric of his suit might rip. "Vanessa. You’re supposed to be in a grave in the East cemetery."

"A grave is so cramped, darling," she said, her eyes flickering past him to land on me. Her lips also curled into a sneer.

"And I see you’ve already found a replacement. A nanny in a wedding dress? How... pathetic. Even for you."

I felt the fire ignite in my chest. I stepped forward, closing the distance until I was standing right beside Killian.

I felt him flinch, his hand instinctively reaching out to grip my arm not to push me away, but as if he needed an anchor.

"I’m not a replacement, Vanessa," I said, my voice ringing out with a clarity that surprised even me.

"I’m the woman who just signed the legal documents to this estate. I am the Mrs. St. Claire of record. You? You’re just a ghost who forgot to stay dead."

Vanessa’s eyes widened, the insult hitting her like a physical blow.

She turned to Killian, her face twisting into a mask of faux-hurt. "Killian, surely you haven't given this... slut... my title? My child?"

"She isn't a slut, Vanessa," Killian growled, his voice like a low, dangerous rumble. He pulled me closer, his hand sliding possessively around my waist. He was shielding me.

"She is the woman who got Rose to speak. Something you haven't done in years."

Vanessa laughed, a sharp, metallic sound. "Oh, she spoke? Of course she did. She’s been waiting for her mother to come home and finish the job.

Tell me, Killian, did you tell the little bride about the 'Vance Debt'? Or did you forget to mention that her mother isn't in a hospital, but in my basement?"

My world stopped. The "Meaningful Core Struggle" hit a fever pitch. "What are you talking about? My mother is at St. Jude’s!"

"Is she?" Vanessa tilted her head like a predator watching its prey.

"Check the cameras, darling. The woman in that bed is a body double.

Your real mother, the one who knows the truth about the St. Claire inheritance has been my 'guest' for weeks."

I turned to Killian, my eyes searching his. "Is this true? Did you check? Tell me she's lying!"

Killian’s silence was his confession. He hadn't checked. He had been so blinded by his obsession with me and his hatred for the Vance name that he had missed the most obvious trap.

"I’ll kill you," Killian whispered to Vanessa, his eyes burning with a murderous light.

"You can’t," she replied smoothly, pulling a set of documents from her clutch. "Because if I don't check in with my associates every hour, the 'nanny’s' mother dies.

And more importantly, the board of directors is arriving in ten minutes for the merger announcement. If they see the 'dead' wife returned, your stock will plummet to zero. You’ll be a billionaire without a cent to his name."

She stepped closer to me, her scent; cloying lilies, choking me.

"So here is the deal. You, little girl, will play the role of the maid today. You will take off that dress, put on an apron, and serve us. If you say a single word, your mother dies. If you try to run, she dies."

I looked at Killian, expecting him to fight back, to find a way out. But for the first time, he looked defeated. The "Ice King" was melting under the weight of his own secrets.

But I wasn't.

I looked at Vanessa, then at the staircase where Rose was watching us from the shadows. I remembered the birth certificate Killian had burned.

He thought it was gone. He didn't know I had photographed it with my phone before I ever left the North Room.

"No," I said, stepping out of Killian’s grip.

"No?" Vanessa sneered. "You’re in no position to negotiate, you little brat."

"I’m not negotiating," I said, pulling my phone from the hidden pocket in my dress. I tapped the screen and showed her the image of the birth certificate.

"I’m giving an order. Killian thinks I’m his sister. You think I’m a pawn.

But this document proves that I am the sole biological heir to Arthur St. Claire’s private trust—a trust that holds sixty percent of this company’s shares.

Vanessa, you’re not the mistress of this house. You’re a trespasser."

I turned to the grand doors as the first of the board members’ cars pulled into the drive.

"Killian," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "Do you want to win, or do you want to be a victim?

Because I’m about to walk out there and tell them I’m the new Majority Shareholder. And if you want to stay in that chair, you’re going to have to prove you’re a better husband than you were an enemy."

This moment was perfectly set. Vanessa was shaking with rage, her "Secret Identity" weapon neutralized by my own reveal.

"Rose!" I shouted toward the stairs. "Come here!"

The little girl ran down, bypassing her mother completely, and grabbed my hand. It was the ultimate rejection.

Vanessa let out a scream of fury and lunged for me, but Killian moved faster. He intercepted her, his hand catching her throat mid-air.

"Don't touch my wife," he hissed.

But as the board members began to enter the foyer, this happened next.

The lead board member, an elderly man with a sharp cane, stepped forward.

He looked from Vanessa to me, his eyes widening. He didn't look at the birth certificate. He looked at a small birthmark on my shoulder that the wedding dress had exposed.

"My God," the old man whispered. "The prophecy was true. There aren't two of you. There are three."

A third car pulled up. A third woman stepped out.

I looked at Killian. He looked at me. The "meaningful struggle" had just become a triple-threat war for the St. Claire throne.