Chapter 7

Nora’s POV

My head throbbed with a brutal pain, and every inch of my body felt as though it had been shattered and pieced back together. Deep inside my muscles and bones, a searing ache burned—the lingering reminder of the impact that had thrown me into the road.

I tried to swallow, but my throat was as dry as dust. A soft beep echoed nearby.

I'm alive?

The thought felt like a cold stone dropping into a deep well. I had saved that little boy in the blue shirt, and in return, I was supposed to be granted the quiet mercy of sleep.

Why was I still breathing?

Slowly, I forced my eyelids open.

Blinding light flooded my vision, making me close my eyes again. I blinked several times, waiting for the blur to resolve itself. The air was rich with the faint scent of fresh lilies.

As my vision cleared, I realized I was not alone.

Standing beside my bed were two figures who looked almost like me. They were standing so still they almost seemed carved from stone, their eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that made the breath catch in my throat.

The older man stood closest to the bed. He looked to be in his late fifties, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that screamed unyielding authority and immense wealth. A little silver touched his temples, framing a face defined by a powerful jawline. But despite his intimidating posture, his eyes, glistening with unshed tears, were filled with a raw vulnerability that looked entirely out of place on a man of his stature.

Beside him stood a younger man in his early thirties. He was strikingly handsome, with broad shoulders and the same commanding features as the older man. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing expensive watches and a physique built for power.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. They simply stared at me, their gaze scanning every line of my pale face as if I were a ghost that might vanish into thin air if they so much as blinked.

"Water..." I rasped out, my voice cracking into a barely audible whisper.

The reaction was instant.

The older man flinched as if my voice had struck him. His hands trembled violently as he reached for a glass resting on the bedside table. "Yes—yes, child. Here. Slowly."

He gently placed a warm hand behind my neck, lifting my head just enough for me to sip through a straw. The cool water washed over my parched tongue, soothing the fire in my throat. As he held the glass, I noticed his hand was shaking so badly that the water rippled.

"Who... who are you?" I whispered, sinking back against the plush pillows as soon as he lowered me down. My hand moved instinctively beneath the blanket, checking my body. "Where am I? Did... did Adrian bring me here?"

The mention of Adrian’s name sent a chill through the room.

The younger man’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek, his eyes flashing with a sudden fury that made the air feel thin. But the older man simply closed his eyes for a second, letting out a long, shuddering breath.

"No, my dear," the older man said, his voice gravelly and thick with restraint. "No man with that name brought you here."

I blinked, confused, my brain trying to process his words. "Then... who are you? Why am I in a place like this?"

The older man took a slow step closer, sinking into the armchair beside my bed. He reached out with trembling fingers, resting his palm over my uninjured right hand. His skin was warm, but his touch was so incredibly gentle, as though he feared I was made of glass.

"My name is Richard Sinclair," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with an overwhelming, desperate tenderness. "And this is my eldest son, Dominic."

Sinclair?

My breath caught in my chest. Even in my quiet, isolated life as Adrian’s neglected wife, I knew that name. Everyone in the world knew that name. The Sinclair family was not merely wealthy—they were a global empire. They owned international shipping lines, pharmaceutical conglomerates, energy grids, and private banking networks across four continents. The Blackwell Group, which Adrian treated as an untouchable titan, was a mere grain of sand compared to the Sinclair dynasty.

"The Sinclair family..." I breathed, trying to pull my hand back in anxiety. "I... I don't understand. Why is the head of Sinclair Holdings sitting by my hospital bed?"

Richard did not let go of my hand. Instead, his fingers tightened gently around mine, refusing to let me pull away. A tear finally escaped his eyes, trailing down the deep lines of his face.

"Twenty-nine years ago," Richard began, his voice trembling slightly, "Twenty-nine years ago, my wife, Amelia, and I were blessed with a beautiful, precious baby girl after having four sons. But Amelia couldn’t survive. She died during Nora’s birth."

Nora?

Beside the bed, Dominic looked down at his shoes, his shoulders shaking slightly as he swallowed hard.

"When Nora was only six months old," Richard continued, his thumb gently tracing the back of my knuckles, "she was kidnapped by the nanny who was taking care of her."

A cold, tingling sensation began to spread from the top of my head down to my fingertips. My heart began to hammer against my chest, making the monitor beep faster—beep-beep-beep-beep.

"We spent years searching for you, Nora,” Richard whispered,his voice breaking entirely. "Twenty-eight long, agonizing years. We poured billions into global search networks, hired thousands of investigators, and followed every faint whisper across the globe. We never stopped looking for our little girl."

"Why... why are you telling me this?" I gasped, my throat tightening as a terrifying, impossible truth began to bloom in my mind.

"Because you’re my sister," Dominic spoke up again, his voice thick with emotion as he stepped around the bed and dropped to one knee beside his father. He looked directly into my eyes, and for the first time, I saw the undeniable resemblance. He had my eyes. He had the exact same curve of the eyebrow, the same high cheekbones. "You have a family, Nora. You’re... you’re my sister Nora."