Chapter 4

Two broad shouldered guards in dark glasses stood at the café entrance like temple guardians carved from stone.

Inside, there were no other customers. Only a middle-aged couple sat by the window, with more guards waiting nearby. The whole café had clearly been reserved for them.

Hannah's mind spun with questions. Who were these people? Why would they want her?

She forced herself to stay calm and walked toward them, one slow step at a time.

Before she could reach the table, a guard bent down and murmured in the couple's ears.

The woman shot to her feet. Her eyes were red, and her voice shook as she cried out, "Hannah... you're Hannah, aren't you?"

Hannah looked at her, and a strange warmth bloomed in her chest.

She was certain they had never met. Yet the feeling was so real, as if her heart already knew this woman.

She frowned and asked softly, "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

The woman was beautiful and graceful, and every movement carried a natural nobility. Her brows and eyes were so like Hannah's that it was almost startling. She couldn't stop staring at Hannah, her eyes full of love and joy.

The man beside her was handsome, with a calm, steady presence. In his black suit, he looked like an aristocrat who had stepped out of an old oil painting.

His eyes held a deep wisdom, as if he could see straight through a person. When he looked at anyone, a quiet authority settled over them, the kind that made people lower their heads without knowing why.

Yet beneath that power was a warmth that kept him from seeming cold.

He smiled faintly and beckoned. "Hannah... come and sit."

Hannah hesitated, then sat across from them. The woman fought back tears as she spoke.

"Hannah, after all these years... we've finally found you."

The man gave a small nod to Secretary Lane, who stood a few steps away.

Secretary Lane came forward at once and laid two folders on the table in front of Hannah. The words *Forensic Appraisal* were printed on the first page.

Hannah eyed them warily. "Open them," the man said gently. "You'll understand."

She picked up the first and read it carefully. At the bottom, in bold red, were the words *Confirmed Biological Child*.

The second was a comparison between her and Gerald and Doreen Winters, the couple who had raised her. Beneath it, in red, were the words *No Blood Relation*.

She set the papers down slowly and lifted her eyes to the couple.

The woman gazed at her, trembling with hope. "Hannah, we are your real parents."

She reached out and took Hannah's hand.

But Hannah couldn't take it in. Shock and confusion crashed over her, and she snatched her hand back.

"My parents are Gerald and Doreen Winters! How could it be you?"

The woman's face crumpled with guilt. "Hannah, when you were only a newborn, our nanny stole you away in the night. She wanted revenge on us, so she sold you to the Winters family. Your mother never stopped searching for her, never stopped asking after you. Only recently did your father finally track the woman down and learn where you were. It's all my fault we were apart for so long. I can't even imagine how you've lived all these years..."

The man's voice was heavy. "Tell us, Hannah. How have you been? We've missed you more than we can say."

Hannah sat stunned.

She really wasn't Gerald and Doreen's daughter.

All her life she had felt she looked nothing like them. The neighbors had whispered behind her back that she must have been adopted.

The Winterses had never been kind to her, and the difference between how they treated her and her younger brother, Peter, had been stark. She grew up with blows and scolding. She did every filthy, backbreaking chore in the house, and if she made even a small mistake, she went hungry.

They refused to pay a single coin for her schooling. From her early teens, she worked odd jobs, scavenging bottles and scrap in the streets to earn her keep, then came home to a pile of chores.

It was only because the school gave grants to children from poor families that she managed to finish her studies. When she earned a place at the realm's finest university, Gerald and Doreen refused to spend a penny on it. Instead, they sold her place to a cousin of the same age.

When she grew prettier, they even considered selling her off to an old man as his mistress.

After she married Lucas, it only got worse. Every few days they came for money, treating her like a bottomless purse. They wanted money for a carriage, for a house, even for the bride-price for Peter's wedding.

She was newly married, not newly rich. Where was she supposed to find all of it?

When Lucas learned of her troubles, he helped. But his mother, Margaret, had secretly made her sign a promissory note for every coin he gave. It became a leash. It kept Hannah's head bowed in the Hale household and gave Margaret and Sabrina every excuse to bully her.

And in her darkest hour, when she was recovering from losing her child, the Winterses hadn't sent so much as a greeting.

She had always told herself it was her own fault. Maybe she hadn't done enough. Maybe they simply favored sons. She had carried the hurt, but she had never truly blamed them.

Now the truth had come out, and everything finally made sense.

Tears poured down her face like water through a broken dam. Her whole body trembled. Her voice cracked as she whispered:

"Are you... really my parents?"

Her words were full of grief and disbelief.

Watching her daughter break, the woman was overwhelmed with guilt. She took Hannah's hand again, softly.

"Hannah, it's over now. It was all my fault that you suffered. From today, whatever you want, I'll give you with everything I have. Come home with us. Come back to the Harrington family."

This time, Hannah didn't pull away. She only looked at them, lost.

"But you still haven't told me who you are. How can I trust you?"