“No.”
“Beatrice was nineteen,” Celeste continued. “Unmarried. Ambitious. Her family would have disowned her. She planned to abandon you.”
“Why would Grandmother take me?”
“Because your biological father was Daniel.”
The skeleton beneath my kitchen.
My murdered uncle.
The man Beatrice had shot.
I sat down before my legs gave way.
Daniel Vale and Beatrice Mercer had been lovers.
When she became pregnant, Beatrice hid the birth. Daniel wanted to raise me, but she refused. My grandmother arranged a private adoption, giving me to Adrian and Celeste after their newborn died.
Years later, Daniel threatened to reveal everything—not only the stolen company and falsified crash evidence, but also that Beatrice had abandoned his daughter.
Beatrice killed him before he could speak.
“She knew I was her daughter?” I asked.
