Chapter 2 - The Shadows of the Past
Arthur poured himself a heavy glass of amber whiskey in his dimly lit private study.
His hands were shaking so badly that the crystal glass clinked loudly against the wooden desk.
Vanessa stormed into the room, slamming the heavy doors behind her with a furious huff.
"You are embarrassing me in front of the help, Arthur!" she screamed, pacing across the expensive Persian rug.
"I am their mother now, and that woman is deliberately turning them against me!"
Arthur took a slow, burning sip of his drink, letting the alcohol numb the sharp edges of his anxiety.
"You are their stepmother, Vanessa," Arthur corrected coldly, his eyes narrowing at the woman he had married out of convenience.
"And you have never once managed to comfort them the way that stranger just did."
Vanessa’s face turned a violent shade of red, her manicured nails digging into the leather of an armchair.
"Are you honestly falling for this pathetic charade?" she spat venomously.
"Isabella is dead, Arthur, she burned in that horrible crash!"
"You saw the ashes, you attended the funeral, you signed the death certificate!"
Arthur closed his eyes, the horrific memories of that fiery wreck flashing brutally across his mind.
He remembered the police telling him that his beautiful wife’s body was damaged beyond recognition.
He remembered Vanessa, Isabella's supposed best friend, swooping in to comfort him during his darkest hours of grief.
"I know what I saw," Arthur whispered, opening his eyes to glare at his current wife.
"But I also know what I just heard."
"That melody was never recorded, never written down on sheet music, and never sung in front of you."
Vanessa visibly flinched, a split-second flash of genuine panic crossing her perfectly contoured face.
"She must have been eavesdropping on the girls humming it," Vanessa countered, though her voice wavered slightly.
"I will not let some scarred beggar ruin my family."
"If you do not fire her, I will pack my bags and leave!"
Arthur leaned back in his chair, setting the empty glass down with a heavy thud.
"Then I suggest you start packing, Vanessa," he said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion.
Vanessa gasped, staring at him as if he had just slapped her across the face.
She spun around and fled the study, her heels clicking frantically against the hardwood floors.
Once he was alone, Arthur opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a locked, silver box.
Inside were Isabella's personal belongings, the few things that had survived the crash.
He pulled out a faded photograph of his late wife, tracing her beautiful smile with his thumb.
Clara did not look like Isabella, her face was completely different, marred by scars and exhaustion.
But the way she held the girls, the way her voice resonated in the nursery, it defied all logic.
May you like
Arthur picked up his phone and dialed the number of his most trusted private investigator.
He needed answers, and he was prepared to tear the world apart to find them.
