Chapter 9 Torn Between Two Worlds

Ayla's POV

I shouldn't have gone into that archive room.

I knew the moment Damien's eyes met mine that I had crossed an invisible line-one that no apology would smooth over. But the thing about secrets is, once you uncover them, pretending they don't exist becomes impossible.

I stood in my small room that night, still holding the folder. I hadn't returned it. Something inside me refused to let go. The yellowed newspaper pages, together with the sealed letter and the photograph of my mother, whose half-smile concealed her from a world that did not accept her, followed me everywhere.

This estate transformed from being a comfort space into a strategic game field. I had no clarity about which team I belonged to.

I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled out the photograph again. My fingers traced my mother's face as if doing so would somehow transfer strength from her to me. She had been beautiful-poised in that quiet way that made people underestimate her. I wondered if that was how Dominic Blackwood saw her, too. As something temporary. Disposable.

But she'd carried me.

And now I was here.

The daughter, no one expected to return.

A sudden door knock made me jump. I quickly pushed the folder beneath my pillow before opening the folder with nonchalant movements.

Surprisingly, the person who knocked was Claire.

She spoke softly while keeping her hands behind her back. "I brought you something."

She walked inside and gave me a cup of chamomile tea, which was still warm. The gentle smile on her face did not hide her piercing eyes, which indicated she knew something she would not reveal.

I shut the door after she gave me the tea. "You didn't have to."

"I know. But I wanted to." She took a seat by my desk before tilting her head to face me. The expression on your face shows you are deep in thought. Care to share?"

I hesitated. Claire had always been kind to me, but trust didn't come easily-not when my entire presence here was built on a lie I hadn't yet explained.

"I found out something about my mother," I admitted. "She used to work here."

Claire nodded, unsurprised. "I figured as much. You've got her eyes."

That caught me off guard. "You knew her?"

"Not personally," Claire said. "But the older staff remember her. She was... quiet. Kept to herself. There were rumors, but no one ever confirmed them."

"Rumors?" I asked, even though I could guess what she meant.

Claire gave me a knowing look. "About her and the master of the house. Of course, no one dared speak of it out loud. She disappeared suddenly one day, and that was that."

My heart sank.

"They just erased her," I said quietly.

"That's what people with power do, Ayla," Claire said gently. "Rewrite stories. Burn the pages they don't want anyone to read."

I looked down into my tea. "But I'm still here."

"Yes," Claire said. "You are."

She expressed these words with the confidence of what would occur rather than giving a command or caution. The words slipped from her lips with an air of assurance.

Meticulous choice of my attire engaged my focus for the next day. The household staff returned to their usual daily tasks as gardeners tended to the hedges and workers prepared for an upcoming luncheon. Throughout the day, everything seemed ordinary in every sense.

But the moment I walked into the breakfast room, I felt the shift.

Damien was already there.

The man at the head of the table didn't glance at me while I walked in and maintained his silence throughout my seat at the sideboard. The atmosphere became tense like a tight coil between us both.

I poured coffee with a trembling hand, trying to ignore the weight of his silence. Just when I turned to leave, he finally spoke.

"You kept the file."

I froze.

Slowly, I looked over my shoulder. "Yes."

He raised his eyes to meet mine. "You plan on doing anything with it?"

"I don't know yet."

He nodded once, as if that answer was enough-for now.

Then, almost reluctantly, he added, "I found a sealed transfer order last night. It was signed by my father, redirecting money to an account under your mother's name. Discreet. Consistent. For nearly a year after she left."

My breath caught.

So he had supported her. Quietly. Secretly.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"Because maybe she wasn't disposable to him," Damien said. "And maybe... you're not either."

It wasn't an apology. It wasn't acceptance.

But it wasn't dismissal, either.

It was something in between.

A beginning, perhaps.