I couldn't sleep that night. Mrs. Dubois's words kept replaying in my mind like a broken record. First telling me I was her daughter, then insisting I never deny Alistair as my father. The contradictions made my head spin.
Arthur found me at dawn, standing by the window of our bedroom, watching the sky lighten.
"You didn't come to bed," he said, his voice husky with sleep.
"I couldn't." I turned to face him. "Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face when she said those words to me."
He crossed the room and placed his hands on my shoulders. "We'll get answers today."
"Will we?" I searched his eyes. "My entire life has been built on lies. What if the truth is just another deception?"
His phone buzzed before he could respond. Arthur glanced at the screen, his expression growing serious.
"It's my grandmother's assistant. Beatrice Dubois collapsed last night. They've brought her to my grandmother's home."
My heart dropped. "What? Is she okay?"
