Lucy rose from the chair, her heart pounding in her chest like a wild drum. Her eyes were still fixed on the computer screen, its pale glow casting a ghostly light over her face. The words she had just read echoed in her mind, cruel and unforgiving.
Joel... my brother... killed Alexander.
The chair creaked as she stood, slowly, like someone waking from a terrible dream. She reached out with trembling fingers and shut the laptop with a soft click, as if the machine itself might scream out the truth. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts. Her hands, pale and cold, hovered in the air before falling to her sides, limp.
Turning away from the desk, Lucy staggered toward the door. Her footsteps were uneven, her body moving without direction, without thought—like a sleepwalker lost in the night. Her eyes were vacant, unseeing. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came. Her world had just crumbled, and she was walking through its ruins.
She stepped into the hallway, the light from the study spilling out behind her. One of the maids—Maria—paused in the middle of dusting a frame on the wall. Her eyes followed Lucy, concern flickering across her face. The mistress of the house looked haunted, her skin pale, her movements unnatural.
But Maria said nothing. She watched Lucy disappear down the hallway, her silhouette fading like a shadow at dusk. Whatever had happened in that room was not hers to question.
Not yet.
The gate of the Andersons mansion creaked open as Canary's sleek black car pulled into the driveway. The gravel crunched under the tires, but inside the vehicle, silence reigned—thick, oppressive. Canary sat still for a long moment, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes glassy with the remnants of anger and tears. His heart felt hollow, as if his mother's betrayal had carved a crater into his chest.
She chose Joel. Over me.
When he finally stepped out, he didn't even glance at the waiting maid who tried to greet him. He brushed past her without a word, his jaw tight, his steps heavy with fury and disbelief. His coat hung limply from his shoulders, dusted with the fatigue of everything he had just felt, just endured.
Inside the grand hallway of the Andersons mansion, the air was still, as if the house itself sensed something was wrong. Canary moved toward the staircase, his eyes fixed ahead, determined to disappear into his room and shut the world out.
"Canary." The voice was old, soft, and firm. It stopped him in his tracks.
Ketra, the housekeeper who had served the family longer than he had been alive, stood at the base of the stairs, blocking his path with her small, hunched frame. Her silver hair was pulled back in a bun, and her eyes—though wrinkled with time—were still sharp with wisdom and care.
"I need to rest," Canary muttered, not even looking at her. "Not now."
"You need to see your mother," Ketra said, unmoving. "She's not well."
He scoffed bitterly, turning his face away. "She made her choice. Let her deal with it."
"You're angry. I know." Her voice didn't waver. "But she still needs her son."
"She had a son," he shot back. "She just replaced him with a snake."
Ketra said nothing for a long moment. Then, with a weary sigh, she walked past him, her joints protesting as she sat slowly on one of the ornate chairs in the hallway. "Come here, Canary."
He hesitated.
"Please," she added gently.
Against the storm inside him, something about her voice—maybe the years he had spent under her care, or the rare tenderness that Ketra offered only when it truly mattered drew him back. He turned reluctantly and approached her.
Ketra patted the space beside her. "Sit."
Canary sat in silence beside Ketra, his fists resting on his knees, the storm in his chest quieting but not yet gone. The old woman's presence calmed him in ways he didn't want to admit. He glanced sideways at her, expecting her to speak, and she did—softly, like a memory unfolding.
"There's something you don't know," Ketra began, her eyes distant, like she was staring through the walls of the mansion into the past. "About your mother. About Joel."
Canary didn't answer, but his gaze stayed on her, listening.
"When Lucy's parents died, she was just a young woman herself. Barely knew how to be one. Joel was a little boy. Lost. Scared. But your mother... she already had Alexander. And then you came not long after. Her life turned into holding everything together—her husband, the company, you."
Ketra paused, her voice heavy with quiet regret.
"But Joel? He slipped through the cracks. He disappeared for years, Canary. Left the house. No one knew where he went or what he became." Her hands folded in her lap. "And when he finally returned, your mother saw a boy she never raised. A man she barely knew. She's been carrying that guilt ever since."
Canary's jaw clenched. "So she thinks handing him the company will fix everything?"
Ketra gave a faint, weary nod. "It's not about the company, child".
"Joel didn't just disappear. He ran away—because of your mother."
Canary frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Joel fell in love with a girl named Belinda. Lucy didn't approve. She tried to separate them, even after Belinda got pregnant. Joel couldn't take it so he left with her. They eloped."
Canary's breath caught.
"They had nothing. Joel struggled to provide. When their baby was born, Lucy refused to help. She wanted nothing to do with them except Joel's return. Then… Belinda died of cancer."
Canary begun listening.
" Joel left to earn some money. While he was gone, he left a maid to look after the child. And the baby… didn't survive either."
Ketra's voice broke for a moment.
"Joel came back to an empty house. He lost everything. And all he had left was bitterness... and that pain."
Canary sat in stunned silence, the weight of the truth hitting him hard.
"She's not supporting Joel now because he deserves the company," Ketra finished. "She's supporting him… because she knows she destroyed his life."
Canary sighed deeply, the sound heavy with disbelief and pain. He leaned back slightly, his eyes fixed on nothing, lost in thought.
"I didn't know…" he murmured. "I didn't know my mother could do something like that."
Ketra nodded slowly. "None of us did. She hid it well."
He ran a hand through his hair, still trying to process it. The image he had of Lucy—strong, graceful, always doing what was right—suddenly felt distant. Cracked.
"She always looked out for me and Dad," he said quietly. "But Joel… she just gave up on him?"
"She made a mistake," Ketra said. "And she's been trying to bury it for years."
Canary's chest rose and fell, a long silence settling between them. Then, with a faint shake of his head, he stood.
"I need to talk to her."