• Chapters

• descriptions off , selected

• captions settings , opens captions settings dialog
• captions off , selected

• default , selected

This is a modal window.

Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window.

End of dialog window.

PART 3 — The Woman Who Was Never His Mistress

The jet climbed through the storm like it was escaping the world itself.

Emma sat frozen in the cream leather seat, the photograph trembling between her fingers.

Andrew outside a clinic.

Lila crying.

His hand locked around her wrist.

And on the back:

She was never his mistress.

Emma’s chest tightened. “Then what was she?”

Her phone rang again.

Andrew.

This time, she answered.

“Emma,” he said, breathless. “Where are you?”

She almost laughed. After everything, that was his first question.

“Gone.”

A silence cracked between them.

“Listen to me,” Andrew said. His voice was low, urgent, nothing like the careless man from the ballroom. “Whatever my father gave you, don’t believe all of it.”

“My mistake was believing you.”

“That kiss tonight wasn’t what you think.”

Emma looked down at the photograph. “So you didn’t kiss her?”

“I did,” he said, and the confession landed like a blade. “But I had to.”

Her hand went still over her stomach.

“Had to?”

“Lila isn’t my mistress,” Andrew said. “She’s my half-sister.”

Emma’s breath vanished.

The jet hummed around her. Rain streaked the window like silver cracks.

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s true. My father had an affair years ago. Lila found out two months ago and came to me. She wanted money to disappear because she was scared.”

“Scared of whom?”

Andrew’s voice dropped.

“Charles.”

Emma looked at the letter again. Charles had offered her protection, money, a house, an escape.

Too much.

Too perfectly timed.

“Why would he help me?” Emma whispered.

“He isn’t helping you,” Andrew said. “He’s moving you.”

Before Emma could answer, the flight attendant stepped from the front cabin.

“Mrs. Weston,” she said gently. “Mr. Charles Weston requests that you turn off your phone.”

Emma’s blood went cold.

Andrew heard the woman’s voice through the call.

“Emma,” he said sharply. “Get off that plane.”

The attendant smiled, but her eyes did not.

“Now, please.”

Emma clutched the phone.

Then another voice came over the line, older and smooth as polished steel.

“Hello, Emma.”

Charles Weston.

Andrew shouted, “Don’t listen to him!”

Charles chuckled softly.

May you like

“My son has always been dramatic. But he is correct about one thing.”

Emma could barely speak. “What?”

Charles said,
“Lila is not his mistress.”

The cabin lights dimmed.

“And your baby,” Charles continued, “is not safe with either of them.”

The call ended.

Emma stared into the darkness beyond the window.

Then, from the front of the plane, she heard the cockpit door lock.

PART 4 — The House at the Edge of the Sea

The jet landed in Maine before dawn, where the ocean looked black enough to swallow secrets whole.

A car waited on the runway. No driver introduced himself. No one explained anything.

Emma was taken to a gray house above the cliffs, its windows glowing against the fog. Inside, fires burned in stone hearths, and every room smelled faintly of cedar, salt, and money.

Charles Weston stood in the library, dressed in a dark suit as if morning had been waiting for him.

“You look tired,” he said.

Emma did not move past the doorway. “Am I a guest or a prisoner?”

His thin mouth curved. “That depends on how foolish you decide to be.”

Her fear hardened into anger.

“You used me.”

“I saved you.”

“From Andrew?”

“From the truth.”

Emma laughed once, bitter and breathless. “That makes no sense.”