Chapter 5

Aileen finished her second cup of coffee and left the suffocating atmosphere of the dining room. She walked straight to her private study.

She walked in, shut the heavy mahogany door, and twisted the lock. She walked over to the massive desk and flipped open the silver laptop.

She opened a browser and typed her full name into the search bar.

Thousands of results populated instantly. The headlines were brutal. They called her a gold-digger, a washed-up crazy woman, a disgrace.

She clicked on a long-form investigative article about her sudden fall from grace in Hollywood.

The article detailed how the original Aileen had been a desperate, untalented actress who relied entirely on her face to secure minor roles. Any mention of her early indie film work was buried under mountains of scandalous clickbait and suppressed by powerful PR firms.

Aileen stared at the photo attached to the article. The girl in the picture was standing on a low-budget red carpet, clutching a cheap promotional prop. She was smiling, her eyes bright and full of life, like California sunshine.

Aileen reached up and touched her own cheek. The physical difference between the girl in the photo and the hollow, dead-eyed woman in the mirror was staggering.

She opened a new tab and started digging into the Riggs family's business dealings around the time of the wedding.

She found the financial reports. The original owner's family business had been on the verge of total bankruptcy.

Aileen leaned back in her leather chair. The picture was clear now. This marriage was just a business transaction for Archer, but for the original Aileen, it was a forced sale of her freedom.

She needed more leverage. She minimized the browser and clicked on an encrypted cloud drive icon on the desktop.

A fragmented memory surfaced in her mind. She typed a long, complex string of numbers and letters into the password field.

The drive unlocked.

Aileen's breath hitched. The screen was filled with thousands of thumbnail images. They were all pictures of Jadyn. From the day he was born to a few weeks ago.

She clicked on the first folder.

The photos were taken from bizarre angles. Through a cracked door. From behind a curtain. From a second-story window looking down at the garden.

In every single picture, Jadyn was alone. He was playing by himself on the massive lawn, his small back looking incredibly lonely.

Aileen scrolled through the images. She could physically feel the original owner's emotions bleeding into her chest. It was a twisted, agonizing mix of desperate, suffocating love and paralyzing fear. She wanted to hold him, but she was terrified of her own hands.

A sharp ache bloomed in Aileen's throat. Her vision blurred.

A hot tear spilled over her eyelashes and tracked down her cheek.

She grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and wiped the moisture away roughly.

A faint clinking sound reached her ears. It was the sound of glass tapping against something hard, coming from right outside the study door. Then, a maid's hushed, trembling voice filtered through the wood. "Young master, please take this water to Madam. I... I don't want to go in there."

"Okay," a tiny voice whispered back.

Aileen's muscles tensed. She reached out and slammed the laptop shut.

She stood up, her bare feet making no sound on the rug. She walked toward the door, moving with the cautious grace of a predator.

She grabbed the handle and yanked the heavy door open.

Jadyn was standing in the middle of the hallway carpet. He was holding a glass of water in both hands.

When the door flew open, the boy jumped. His small shoulders jerked up, and he instinctively took a large step backward.

Aileen looked down at him. She saw the raw, unfiltered terror flash in his dark eyes.

Her chest tightened. It felt like someone had driven a needle straight into her ribs.

She wanted to drop to her knees and pull into a hug. Her arms twitched at her sides, but she forced her hands to curl into tight fists.

She couldn't break character. Not yet.

Aileen smoothed her features into a mask of cold annoyance.

She narrowed her eyes, looking down at the boy with a gaze full of critical disgust, preparing to speak.