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The Ghost of My Mother

Author: Lara Hills
last update Last Updated: 2025-10-17 21:39:49

Lina’s words hung in the air like smoke, choking me.

The truth. About your mother.

I stared at her, my chest tight, my pulse hammering so loud I could barely hear my own thoughts. My mother was a ghost in this house—her portraits polished, her name whispered, but her memory smothered by Father’s rules. She’d died when I was ten. That was the only truth I’d ever been allowed.

“What are you talking about?” My voice came out sharp, panicked. “My mother is dead.”

Lina’s pale face trembled. “That’s what he told you.”

My knees nearly buckled. Damon stepped closer, his hand brushing the small of my back as if he sensed the ground slipping beneath me. His voice was calm, steady. “Explain, Lina. Carefully.”

She glanced over her shoulder, fear etched into every line of her. “Not here. He could hear us.”

Damon’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, then guided us quickly down the hall, his grip firm on my arm. He led us into a side room—a small library lined with dust-covered books, the kind Father ne
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  • Protecting the Billionaire’s Daughter   The Wedding Eve

    The house had never been this loud.Not even at Christmas. Not even when Father used to throw his grand charity balls just to remind the city that the Kingsleys still ruled its air.Every hallway pulsed with footsteps, with florists and decorators and the hollow chatter of people who didn’t know they were helping bury me alive.Tomorrow, I would become Mrs. Carl Sterling.Tonight, I was still me. Barely.Evelyn Sterling arrived again at dusk, her presence swallowing the room before she even spoke. She was beautiful in that untouchable, practiced way—skin too smooth for her age, voice calm enough to make you forget she was dangerous.“My dear,” she said, reaching for my hands as though she’d always known me. “You’ll make a stunning bride. The papers will adore you.”I smiled because that was what good daughters did. Damon stood in the corner, half-shadowed, his expression unreadable. Evelyn’s eyes caught him, lingered—just long enough for me to know she noticed the tension.“You’ve kep

  • Protecting the Billionaire’s Daughter   Silk and Secrets

    The announcement came sooner than anyone expected.By morning, Father’s assistant was already making calls, arranging fittings, contacting florists and caterers. The air in the house shifted — heavy with perfume, gossip, and forced celebration.“Carl Sterling has agreed,” Father told me over breakfast, his tone almost triumphant. “You’ll be married before the season ends.”I didn’t answer. My fingers trembled around the cup of tea that had long gone cold.He went on as if I weren’t there. “This is a blessing, Aria. His family is powerful. The papers will write of legacy, not scandal. The world will forget what happened to Edward.”Forget.As if Edward’s death — his murder — were a stain that could be polished away with diamonds.Damon stood by the window, silent as always, but I could feel the storm building in him. He didn’t look at me once during that conversation, and that hurt worse than Father’s indifference.When I rose to leave the table, Father added, “Carl will be arriving at

  • Protecting the Billionaire’s Daughter   The Beautiful Stranger

    By the third day after Edward’s death, the house had begun to breathe again — not with peace, but with purpose.Servants polished every surface. New flowers arrived. Father’s voice could be heard in the study, clipped and firm, arranging meetings, silencing gossip.To the outside world, we were a family in mourning.Inside, we were preparing for the next transaction.When the doorbell rang that afternoon, I already knew who it was.Father had been expecting him — Carl Sterling, Edward’s younger brother.The man who would arrive as condolence, but stay as strategy.He stepped through the doorway like he owned it.Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impeccably dressed in charcoal and silk. His features were almost too perfect — sharp jaw, sculpted cheekbones, eyes the color of whiskey poured in candlelight. He smiled, and it felt like the world exhaled for him.Even the maids paused to stare.“Carl,” Father said, rising to shake his hand. “I can’t tell you how sorry we are. Edward’s death was… sudd

  • Protecting the Billionaire’s Daughter   Whispers and Verdicts

    Twenty-four hours after the first whisper, the household woke to a different kind of hush.The phone on Father’s desk had not stopped ringing all night. When a message came through, it slid across the room like a blade — Edward Harrington was dead; he had been found in his study alone, collapsed over his papers.The silence that followed wasn’t grief. It was calculation.Father stood at the window, his hand gripping the edge of the curtain, watching nothing and everything at once.“He was fine yesterday,” he muttered, “perfectly fine.”Mother would’ve crossed herself, whispered a prayer. But she wasn’t here. The thought of her absence ached like a reopened scar.I sat in the chair opp

  • Protecting the Billionaire’s Daughter   The Visitor and the Shade of Death

    He arrived like a bad thought come to life.By the time the guest was announced, the house smelled of cut roses and starch, as if the staff tried to bleach away the truth with floral perfume. I smoothed my palms over my skirt until my fingers went numb. Every mirror on the corridor reflected a pale face I didn’t recognize — the same eyes, the same mouth, only harder now.He arrived in a town car that looked too shiny for the drizzle. They brought him straight into the east wing like a royal guest. I was told to appear in the drawing room, to show gratitude and grace, like a painted animal at a show. Father had that look again—flat, rehearsed—when he introduced me.“Aria, meet Edward Sterling,” he said. “A fine man. A pillar.”If pillars could leer, he was one.Edward was the kind of man whose looks lived in the shadow of his money. He had a face that would have been handsome in another life; instead it looked worn, like a painting left too long in the sun.A thick mouth, small expecta

  • Protecting the Billionaire’s Daughter   The Bride in Chains

    The palace felt colder the next morning. Not because of the weather, but because of the silence — the kind that follows after something breaks but no one dares admit it.Breakfast was served in the east hall, a place that smelled faintly of polished silver and dread. I sat at the long table, hands folded in my lap, eyes fixed on the empty plate before me. Father sat across from me, reading the day’s paper as though the world were perfectly ordinary. Damon stood by the door, silent and composed, though his jaw flexed once — a twitch only I would notice.“Eat,” Father said finally, without looking up.“I’m not hungry.”He folded the paper, placed it neatly beside his plate, and met my eyes. “That’s not a request.”The weight of his tone pressed me down. I picked up the fork, pushing food around until it no longer looked edible. Damon’s gaze flickered toward me once — just once — before Father spoke again.“I spoke with the minister last night,” he began. “And with Mr. Sterling.”The for

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