Chapter 6 – Sisters Raised as Enemies
Victoria tore the medical report from Eleanor’s hand.
“This is fake.”
She read it again.
Then a third time.
The words did not change.
Biological mother: Margaret Ashford.
Biological father: Unknown.
Child transferred into the custody of Richard and Helena Vale.
Victoria crushed the page in her fist.
“My mother is Helena Vale.”
“The woman who raised you is Helena Vale,” Charles said carefully.
Victoria turned on him.
“You knew?”
Charles did not answer quickly enough.
She struck him across the face.
The old man nearly lost his balance.
Eleanor caught his arm.
Victoria’s breathing became sharp and uneven.
“You all knew.”
“No,” Eleanor said. “I did not.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I believed my mother died with my baby sister.”
Charles lowered himself into one of the boardroom chairs.
“Margaret had two daughters. Eleanor was four years old. Victoria was six months old.”
He looked at them both.
“On the night Henry Ashford died, Margaret tried to escape with both children. Eleanor was taken to a safe house. The baby was intercepted.”
“By Richard Vale,” Eleanor said.
Charles nodded.
“He raised Victoria as his own because he needed an Ashford heir under his control.”
Victoria laughed bitterly.
“So I was an investment.”
“You were leverage,” Charles replied.
The word hit harder than an insult.
Victoria walked toward the window.
Below them, the city lights spread across the darkness.
“My father gave me everything.”
“He gave you everything except the truth,” Eleanor said.
Victoria looked over her shoulder.
“And what did your family give you?”
“Hiding places. New names. Locked rooms. Lessons about enemies I had never met.”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“I did not grow up as an heiress. I grew up expecting someone to find me.”
Victoria’s eyes filled, but she refused to cry.
“If we are sisters, why did the ring belong to you?”
“It did not.”
Charles pointed toward the photograph.
“The Ashford Rose was never meant for one daughter. Henry altered its setting before his death.”
Eleanor examined the photograph more carefully.
The ring Margaret wore looked larger than the one stolen downstairs.
There appeared to be a seam running through the center of the stone.
“The diamond can be divided,” Eleanor said.
“Into two matched stones,” Charles confirmed. “One for each heir.”
Victoria stared at Eleanor’s empty hand.
“Then where is my half?”
A slow clap echoed from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
Richard Vale stood in the corridor.
Victoria’s adoptive father wore a dark tuxedo and a calm expression.
Two armed security guards stood behind him.
In his hand was the stolen pink diamond ring.
“You always were impatient, Victoria,” he said.
She stared at him.
“Tell me the report is a lie.”
Richard looked at the paper crushed in her fist.
“It is an incomplete truth.”
“Am I Margaret Ashford’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
Victoria’s face broke.
“Did you steal me?”
Richard smiled faintly.
“I saved you from a family that had already collapsed.”
Eleanor moved between him and Victoria.
“You murdered Henry.”
“No,” Richard said. “Henry was killed because he became sentimental.”
“By whom?”
Richard looked toward Charles.
The old banker lowered his head.
May you like
Richard’s smile widened.
“Ask the man who held the door closed while Henry Ashford burned.”
