Chapter 2: Everyone Is Lying

I did not run out of the room. I did not scream. I wiped the egg off the table, drank my tea, and 

smiled like a girl with nothing in her head but breakfast.

Isadora sat across from me, folding her napkin like a lady in a painting. Her face was soft and 

sweet. Her mind was a locked door with a very sharp key.

If Isadora was the lost baby, then what baby was she afraid of?

The voices around the table piled on top of each other. My mother worried about money. My 

father worried about a drawer. The maid worried about the bracelet she had taken. My head 

began to throb like a drum.

I stood up. "Excuse me. I need some air."

"Of course, darling," said my mother. "Do not be long. Alexander is coming for dinner tonight."

Alexander. My fiancé. The man who would take off his ring in front of three hundred guests.

"I will be back soon," I said.

I did not go to the garden. I went upstairs, checked that my small bag was still hidden under the 

bed, and left it there. Never move your money before you know the exit is open. That was a rule 

from my old job. Today I would only test the gate, with empty hands, to see how fast I could 

leave.

The front hall was empty. Sunlight poured over the marble floor. I crossed it in twelve steps, 

pulled open the heavy front door, and walked down the path toward the iron gate.

Two guards stood there in black suits. One of them stepped in front of me with a polite smile.

"Good morning, Miss Alessia. Where are you going?"

"For a walk."

"I am afraid you will need an escort, Miss."

His smile did not move. His thoughts did.

Mr. Blackwood said she would try this. Keep her inside until the banquet. Whatever it takes. Do 

not hurt her. Do not let her leave.

My stomach dropped. This was not a normal order. This was a cage.

"Since when do I need an escort in my own home?" I asked.

"Since this week, Miss. Mr. Blackwood's instructions."I could have argued. But I had spent ten years watching people get pushed into a corner, and I 

knew the first rule. Never show them you are afraid.

"Fine," I said sweetly. "Another time."

I turned around and walked back up the path on shaky legs. Someone had planned for me to 

run. Someone knew it before I did.

Back in my room, I locked the door and picked up a thin gold phone from the dressing table. I 

opened the banking app, and the page loaded slowly.

ACCOUNT UNDER TRUSTEE REVIEW. ALL TRANSACTIONS SUSPENDED.

My hand went cold. I tapped to see the details. Three accounts, a savings account, and a credit 

card. All frozen.

I checked the date on the freeze order, and the world went quiet.

It had been filed three days ago.

Three days. Before anyone in this house had said a word about a DNA test. Somebody had 

frozen every cent of Alessia's money, and then waited for her to find out.

In my old job, this was called a setup. You do not freeze a person's money unless you know 

exactly when they will need it.

I went to the dressing room safe, where the book said Alessia kept her emergency cash. It was 

empty. Not one coin. The jewelry box held only costume pieces. Someone had swapped the real 

diamonds for glass.

I laughed once, a dry sound. "Very good," I whispered. "Whoever you are."

I was broke, watched, and trapped in a house full of liars. And I could not run.

So I would have to fight.

My first target was the study. Everyone had thought about it in some way. My father's fear, my 

mother's worry, the gardener's old sadness. That locked door was the center of it all.

I slipped out of my room and went down the long second floor hallway. The carpet swallowed 

my steps. At the very end was a plain dark door with a brass lock.

I stopped three steps away, because voices were coming from inside.

"I told you not to touch the study," my father said. His voice was sharp, nothing like the gentle man at breakfast.

"I only wanted to see if the lock still worked," said my mother.

"Do not go near it. Not now. Not until the banquet is over."

My father's thoughts came through, thick with panic. If she finds the file, it all ends. Why did I 

not burn it when I had the chance?

A file. In that room.

My heart pounded. I leaned closer, and the floorboard creaked.

The voices stopped.

I ran. I moved as quietly as I could down the hall, through a side door, and into the library, and I 

pulled the door shut just as my father opened the study.

I stood with my back against the wood, hardly breathing.

"Looking for something?"

I turned slowly.

Isadora sat on the arm of a chair near the window, a book open on her lap. She smiled at me, 

calm and sweet.

"You look like you have seen a ghost," she said.

"I came for a book."

"Which one?"

"Any one."

She laughed softly. "You are a strange sister."

Sister. The word felt like a hand around my throat.

Her smile stayed perfect, but her mind spoke clearly. She is getting too close to the study. I 

need to inform Vincent.

So they were working together. The returned daughter and the family trustee.

"Come sit with me," Isadora said. "I would love to hear about your childhood. You must have had "It was fine."

"I am sure it was." Her eyes were wide and kind. Poor little fake heiress. She has no idea how 

soon this ends.

I held my face still, though every part of me wanted to shake.

A knock came at the library door.

"Miss Alessia?" It was the maid. "Mr. Blackwood is in the front hall. He would like to see you."

Isadora's smile grew a little wider. "Go," she said sweetly. "You should not keep him waiting."

I walked out of the library on legs that did not feel like mine. At the top of the grand staircase, I 

stopped and looked down.

A man stood at the bottom with his hands folded behind his back. He was about sixty, with 

silver hair, kind gray eyes, and a gentle smile. He wore a dark suit and a pale blue tie, and he 

looked exactly like somebody's favorite uncle.

In the book, Vincent Blackwood was the kind old trustee, a small background man who gave a 

teary speech at the banquet. I had barely remembered his name.

"Alessia, my dear," he called warmly. "There you are."

I came down one step at a time, listening with everything I had. Ten steps away, I heard nothing. 

Five steps away, still nothing. When I reached the bottom and he took my hand in both of his, 

the whole house went silent inside my head.

Not a feeling. Not a whisper. Only a quiet, steady sound, like a clock ticking.

Knight to f3. Pawn to e4. Bishop takes.

Chess.

He was playing chess inside his own mind. Every thought he had was buried under a game.

"You look pale," he said kindly. "Are you sleeping well?"

"I am very well, thank you."

"I am glad." He patted my hand. Then he leaned in close, so close that only I could hear, and his 

smile never changed.

"Running would be a mistake, my dear. That little bag under your bed will not help you."My breath stopped. I had told no one. I had not even said it out loud.

He let go of my hand and smiled at the room as if nothing had happened. In my head, the chess 

moves ticked on, calm and cold. Then they changed.

Pawn to e4. Your move, Alessia.

such a happy one."