Chapter 3

HANNAH POV

The cold fury that replaced my nausea was a strange and terrifying thing. It sharpened my senses, cleared my head. I wasn't a victim anymore. I was a witness. And I needed to see the whole truth, no matter how much it destroyed me.

I picked up my car keys. David thought he was going to the coast to mourn a ghost. I knew he was going to a celebration. And I was going to follow him.

The drive was a blur. I stayed three cars behind his sleek black sedan, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white. He wasn't heading towards the ocean. He was heading inland, towards the rolling hills and sprawling estates of the wine country.

He turned onto a private, unmarked road, disappearing behind a thick grove of ancient trees. I parked my car on the shoulder of the main road, hidden from view, and continued on foot. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and betrayal.

After a ten-minute walk, the trees gave way to a stunning modern mansion, all glass and white stone, overlooking a vineyard that stretched for miles. It was a palace. A secret palace for a dead woman.

I crept along the edge of the property, my sneakers silent on the manicured grass, and hid behind a large, ornate fountain. From here, I had a clear view of the sprawling back patio.

And there they were.

David was there. Morgan was there. Caleb was there. And my parents, Robert and Eleanor Wallace, were there.

My father, the formidable CEO who rarely had time for a phone call with me, was on his hands and knees in the grass, letting his grandson ride on his back like a pony. Caleb's shrieks of laughter echoed in the pristine air.

**A memory, sharp and painful, surfaced. Last year, I had asked my father if he would come to my school's family day. "Hannah," he'd said, patting my hand condescendingly, "I'm far too busy for that. My time is worth millions per hour. You understand."**

I had understood. I had always understood.

Now, watching him crawl through the grass, making horse noises for a child he had kept secret from me, I finally understood the truth. It was never about time. It was about will. He simply didn't want to. Not for me.

My mother, Eleanor, emerged from the house carrying a large, elaborately decorated cake. "Happy fifth birthday, my darling Caleb!" she sang out, her voice filled with a genuine warmth I had craved my entire life.

Fifth birthday. Today. The day they told me Morgan died. They had replaced a fake death with a real birth.

I was an outsider, a ghost at their feast of happiness. I was the inconvenient truth they had to manage, the price they paid to keep their perfect, secret world intact.

I moved closer, crouching behind a row of perfectly sculpted rose bushes, the thorns digging into my jacket. Their voices became clearer.

"He looks more like you every day, David," my mother said, beaming as she set the cake down.

"He has your eyes, Eleanor," Morgan replied smoothly, sliding her arm around my mother's shoulders. "The Wallace eyes."

The casual intimacy, the years of shared history I could never be a part of, was a suffocating weight.

David stood up, brushing the grass from his trousers. "Okay, buddy, time for presents." He looked at Morgan, his eyes soft. "Just a little longer, I promise. After the merger goes through next month, things will be different. We can start thinking about... making this official."

Morgan's eyes lit up. "You mean it?"

"I mean it," David said, his voice low and firm. He glanced around, as if worried someone might be listening even here, in their secluded paradise. "Hannah will never find out. I'll make sure of it. She won't be a problem."

*She won't be a problem.*

The words hit me with the force of a physical blow. That's all I was. A problem to be managed. An obstacle on their path to happiness. Every promise, every "I love you," every tender touch was a lie designed to keep me compliant. To keep me from being a problem.

I had to get out of there. I clutched the tablet, the hard-drive of my life's destruction, and began to back away, my movements clumsy with pain. I was so focused on their voices, on the crushing weight of their betrayal, that I didn't see the garden hose snaked across the path.

My foot caught. I stumbled, letting out a small, sharp gasp as I fell to one knee.

The conversation on the patio stopped.

I froze, hidden behind the roses, my heart hammering against my ribs.

David's head snapped in my direction. His body went tense, all traces of the doting father gone, replaced by the sharp, predatory COO.

He took a step away from the group, his eyes scanning the manicured gardens, peering directly into the shadows where I was hiding.

"Who's there?" he called out, his voice cutting through the silence, sharp and laced with suspicion.