But in my mind, she was there.

Wearing my robe.

Smiling in my mirror.

Future Mrs. Carter.

Ethan pulled back.

“Tonight, we have dinner with Julian.”

My stomach tightened.

“Julian?”

“He wants to see you.”

“I’m tired.”

“It will be good for you. Family.”

Family.

The word nearly made me laugh.

Instead, I nodded.

“All right.”

That evening, Julian arrived carrying flowers.

He had my mother’s eyes and my father’s ability to make a lie sound affectionate.

“Livvie,” he said, kissing my cheek. “You look pale.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that.”

“Because we care.”

He and Ethan exchanged a glance.

Small.

Fast.

But I caught it.

Dinner was served in the formal dining room.

Grace moved quietly around us with the other staff.

Ethan poured wine.

Julian talked about old memories.

My father teaching us to ride horses.

My mother burning Thanksgiving rolls.

Summers at the lake house.

He spoke as if nostalgia could cover rot.

Then he leaned back and said, “Ethan tells me you’ve been under pressure.”

I set down my fork.

“Did he?”

Julian gave me a sympathetic smile.

“You’ve been through a lot. No one would blame you for letting Ethan handle more.”

Ethan reached for my hand.

“I only want to protect you.”

I looked from my husband to my brother.

Two men sitting at my table, eating from my plates, planning my surrender.

“That’s generous,” I said quietly.

Julian smiled.

“You always were sentimental. Dad worried about that.”

My eyes lifted.

“Of course. He knew business wasn’t your natural world.”

Something cold moved through me.

My father had taught me balance sheets when I was twelve.

He had taken me into boardrooms before I was old enough to drive.

He had told me I saw people too kindly, but numbers clearly.

Julian knew that.

And still he said the lie because Ethan needed the room to accept it.

I lifted my glass.

“To Dad, then.”

Ethan looked relieved.

Julian raised his wine.

“To George.”

I smiled.

The men drank.

I did not.

After dinner, Ethan received a call and stepped out.

Julian followed me into the library.

The room smelled of leather and cedar.

My father’s portrait hung above the fireplace.

Julian closed the door.

“I need to ask you something,” he said.

I turned.

“Ask.”

He suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t make this hard.”

The words entered the room like a warning.

I studied him.

“What exactly am I making hard?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Ethan has done everything for you. The company, the public appearances, the board. You have no idea how much he cleans up.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“It’s what everyone sees.”

“Everyone?”

Julian’s eyes sharpened.

“You don’t want a fight, Liv. Trust me.”

The brother beneath the charm.

The boy who had always resented what my father left me.

“What did he promise you?” I asked.

His face changed.

Only for a second.

But enough.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Money? Shares? A seat on the board?”

He stepped closer.

“Be careful.”

I smiled sadly.

“You sound just like him.”

Julian’s jaw tightened.

“You think you’re smarter than you are.”

“No,” I said. “I think I was lonelier than I knew.”

For a brief moment, something almost like shame crossed his face.

Then it vanished.

“You should sign the papers,” he said.

“And if I don’t?”

He looked toward the door, then back at me.

“Then Ethan will do what he has to do.”

The library fell silent.

My father’s painted eyes seemed to watch us both.

I walked to the desk, opened a drawer, and removed a framed photograph of my mother.

Julian watched me.

“Do you remember the day she died?” I asked.

His face hardened.

“Don’t.”

“Because dragging Mom into this won’t help you.”

“I spoke to Margaret Vale today.”

The color drained from his face.

That was enough.

I did not need an answer.

He already gave me one.

Before he could speak, Ethan opened the door.

His smile faded as he looked between us.

“Everything okay?”

Julian recovered first.

“Fine.”

Ethan turned to me.

I held my mother’s photograph against my chest.

He studied me carefully.

Then he smiled again.

“Of course. Go upstairs. I’ll join you soon.”

But I did not sleep in our bedroom that night.

I locked myself in the guest suite and pushed a chair beneath the handle.

At three in the morning, I woke to footsteps outside the door.

Slow.

Soft.

Someone stood there.

Waiting.

I held my breath.

The doorknob turned once.

Stopped against the lock.

A pause.

Then Ethan’s voice came softly through the wood.

I did not answer.

“Open the door.”

Still, I said nothing.

The handle moved again.

Harder.

The chair scraped slightly against the floor.

My heart pounded so loudly I thought he could hear it.

Then his voice changed.

Lower.

Colder.

“You shouldn’t have gone to Margaret.”

My blood froze.

He knew.

The footsteps retreated.

I stayed awake until dawn.

By morning, Ethan was gone.

So was Julian.

On my pillow lay a single sheet of paper.

No envelope.

No signature.

Just one sentence typed in black ink.

You should have stayed the maid.

My hands shook as I read it.

Then my phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

A photograph appeared.

Standing outside the mansion near the service gate.

Beside her was a black SUV.

The message below read:

Tell Margaret to stop, or your loyal little maid disappears first.

For a moment, the world went silent.

Then another message came through.

This one was not a photograph.

It was a video.

Grace sat in the back seat of the SUV, pale and terrified.

Beside her, just barely visible, was a woman’s hand.

A sapphire necklace glittered at the wrist like a bracelet.

My necklace.

Vanessa’s voice came through the speaker, sweet and amused.

“Hello, Olivia. Now that you’ve finally learned to play dress-up, let’s see if you can play war.”

The video ended.

I stared at the screen.

And then a final message appeared.

Ask Margaret what really happened to your mother.

THE END OF PART 2 – LIKE, SHARE AND COMMENT “FULL STORY” IF YOU WANT TO READ FULL STORY.