Chapter 3 The DNA Test

The storm hadn't stopped. It clawed at the windows, wind howling through the chimney like a wounded thing. By morning, Blackstone Manor felt more like a fortress under siege than a home.

Elena woke to the hollow toll of the bell that signaled breakfast. She barely slept every time she closed her eyes; the letter replayed in her mind. The truth is hidden where the light first fell upon you.

Whatever her mother meant, the letter was proof that someone had known she'd come.

Downstairs, the dining room stretched like a ballroom. Sunlight pushed weakly through tall arched windows, glinting off silver and crystal. Damian sat at the head of the long table, reading a file as though the world outside didn't exist. Vivienne Devereux, poised and immaculate in a gray silk dress, poured tea with precise grace.

Elena, Vivienne greeted her, her voice smooth as glass. I trust your room was comfortable?"

Yes, thank you, Elena replied, forcing composure. Though it took some time to fall asleep. The sea's louder here than I imagined.

Blackstone is old, Vivienne said, smiling faintly. It listens to everything. Sometimes it even answers.

Damian looked up from his papers. You should eat. We have much to discuss.

She hesitated, then sat opposite him. The silence was brittle. Only the sound of cutlery against porcelain filled the air.

Vivienne's eyes drifted to Elena's hands. You work with such precision. Tell me, has restoring art taught you patience, or suspicion?

A little of both, Elena answered. Paintings lie just like people. You learn to read what's beneath.

Vivienne's smile didn't reach her eyes. Wise. Especially in this house.

Damian's gaze flicked briefly to his mother before returning to Elena. "I've arranged a small tour after breakfast, he said. There's a laboratory on the estate. My father used it for medical research. I believe you might find it enlightening.

A lab.

The word struck something inside her. The genetics email, Dr. Lang's warning, and the bloodline all tangled back to that.

She nodded carefully. I'd like that.

The laboratory lay deep beneath the west wing, past sealed corridors that smelled of dust and disuse. Damian keyed in a code, the door sliding open with a hiss.

Rows of equipment lined the walls: microscopes, centrifuges, shelves of labeled vials, and computers that blinked with faint life despite the dust. The air felt different down here, too still, too cold.

My father was fascinated by heredity, Damian explained, stepping into the sterile light. He believed blood wasn't just legacy, it was design. Every Devereux carries a marker, a unique strand we used to call the 'Blackstone signature.'

Sounds more like mythology than science, Elena said softly.

Perhaps. He paused. But it's verifiable. Every legitimate heir of our line carries it.

Her heart thudded. Why are you telling me this?

He studied her. Because the Devereux Foundation sponsors genetic preservation programs. You should know whose work you're involved with.

Elena crossed her arms. You think I'm involved with your research?

I think coincidences are rarely accidental, he replied. "Three days after you begin restoring our portrait, a genetic anomaly appears in our archives, one linking to an unknown donor named Cruz. That doesn't feel like a chance, does it?

Her breath hitched. You ran a test, she said quietly. Didn't you?

I didn't have to. He gestured toward a screen. Our system flags genetic matches automatically.

On the monitor, her name glowed faintly: E. Cruz – 94.6% match: Devereux Blackstone Line.

For a moment, the room tilted. The sterile hum around her vanished beneath the pounding of her pulse.

Is this some kind of joke? She whispered.

Damian's voice lowered. I wish it were.

She stepped back, shaking her head. That's impossible.

It's science. I'm not her voice cracked. I'm not one of you.

He closed the distance between them, his expression unreadable. Then help me prove it. Take another test. Right now.

Elena stared at him. Why?

Because if that result is real, it means everything I've believed about my family is a lie. And if it's not, then someone wants us to think it is.

His words hit her like cold rain. There was no arrogance in them, no control, just something raw, almost desperate.

She swallowed hard. Fine. I'll take the test.

He nodded once and turned to a drawer, pulling out a sterile kit. Swab your cheek, he said. I'll run it myself.

Her hands shook as she did it. When she handed the swab back, his fingers brushed hers. A spark shot through her a jolt of something she couldn't name. She stepped away quickly.

Neither spoke as he sealed the sample and placed it into a small analyzer. The machine hummed to life, lights flickering. The test would take hours.

Damian leaned against the counter, arms folded. You said you recognized the woman in that portrait. Who is she?

Elena hesitated. Every instinct screamed to protect her mother's memory, but if this man already had her DNA, what truth was left to hide?

She was my mother, she said finally. María Cruz. She was a nurse and a painter. She died when I was twelve.

Something shifted in Damian's face. María Cruz, he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. I've seen that name before.

Where?

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned toward a locked cabinet and removed an old file, the paper yellowed at the edges. This was among my father's private notes, he said, placing it on the counter. He wrote her name on several pages, but my mother had these sealed after his death.

Elena opened the file. Inside were medical documents, research notes, and a faded photograph: her mother, younger, standing beside Victor Devereux.

The image hit like a blade. Her mother's soft smile, the familiarity of her face beside a man of wealth and power, it all snapped into horrifying focus.

My father's affair, Damian said quietly. I thought it was a rumor. He vanished for months the year before my sister's supposed death. His voice hardened. You said your mother died when you were twelve. Do you know how?

She drowned, Elena whispered. Or that's what they told me.

He looked at her. Who's 'they'?

I grew up in foster care. There were no records. Just gaps.

He drew a sharp breath. If this test confirms what I suspect, then those gaps weren't accidents. Someone wanted you gone.

Her knees weakened. Why would anyone erase me?

He met her gaze, gray eyes shadowed. Because if you're who I think you are, you weren't just erased, you were declared dead.

Hours passed in tense silence as the analyzer worked. Damian retreated into thought, pacing the lab while Elena stared at the swirling lights of the machine.

When it finally beeped, she jumped. Damian moved first, retrieving the printout. His expression froze mid-scan.

Then he handed her the paper. Her hands trembled as she read:

DNA Match: 99.4% - Direct Sibling Relation (Damian Devereux / E. Cruz)

The room fell utterly still.

She felt her pulse in her throat, a suffocating rush of disbelief and nausea. No, she whispered. That can't be wrong; this is wrong.

Damian's jaw clenched. The system doesn't lie.

You're saying I'm your. She couldn't finish.

My sister, he said, voice breaking for the first time. Eleanor Devereux.

Her knees buckled. He caught her before she fell, steadying her gently. The warmth of his hand against her arm made everything worse. He looked as shaken as she felt, torn between logic and emotion.

Elena, he murmured, as if the name itself were fading. This changes everything.

She pulled back sharply, breathing hard. You knew something. That's why you invited me here.

I suspected, he admitted. But I needed proof.

And what were you going to do with it? Her voice rose. Expose me? Bury me like the rest of your family's secrets?

His silence was answer enough.

Elena's tears came hot and fast. All this time, I thought I was chasing my mother's ghost. Turns out, I was walking into the hands of the people who destroyed her.

Damian's face tightened with pain. You think I wanted this?

You used me!

No. He stepped closer. I was trying to protect you from my mother, from the board, from the legacy that devours everyone it touches.

Protect me? Her laugh broke. You tested my DNA without consent. You lied about why I was here!

Because I didn't know if I could trust you!" he snapped, then immediately softened. I still don't know who's pulling the strings, Elena. Someone sent that genetic file to you, not by accident. That means someone wanted you here.

She stared at him, trembling. Then maybe that someone was my mother.

He went still. María's been dead for twenty years.

Maybe, Elena whispered. But she left me a letter. Last night. In your house.

Damian's eyes darkened. That's impossible.

Nothing about this is impossible anymore.

Vivienne's voice shattered the silence.

So, she said from the doorway, her tone like a blade wrapped in silk. The past has finally decided to resurrect itself.

Both turned sharply. She stood there, composed but pale, as if she'd been listening all along. Her gaze swept from Damian to Elena, lingering on the DNA result still glowing on the screen.

I told you to leave the archives sealed, she said to Damian, her voice trembling with restrained fury. You've opened a door that cannot be closed.

Elena took a step forward. You knew who I was.

Vivienne's jaw tightened. I knew what my husband did. And I knew what had to be done to protect my son.

By erasing me?

Vivienne's eyes glistened, but her voice stayed cold. You were an infant caught in a scandal that would have destroyed this family. I made a choice.

You mean you lied.

I saved you, Vivienne hissed. Do you think the board, the shareholders, the press would have spared a child born out of my husband's betrayal? You were safer gone.

Elena's voice broke. You call that safety?

Vivienne's composure wavered. You have your mother's eyes, she said softly. Every day, I tried to forget them. And now they're here to judge me.

Damian stepped between them. Enough. We need the truth, Mother, all of it.

Vivienne's mask cracked for a heartbeat. You're not ready for it.

Then make me ready.

She looked at him, then at Elena. Tonight, she said finally, her voice a whisper of surrender. Meet me in the portrait hall. When the storm quiets.

She turned and walked out, leaving the air trembling in her wake.

Damian exhaled, running a hand through his hair. She won't come clean easily.

She will, Elena said, her voice raw. Because I'll make her.

He looked at her with something that wasn't just brotherly concern, something tangled, forbidden, and dangerous. For a second, their eyes locked in the storm-lit gloom, and the world seemed to tilt again.

We'll find the truth, he said quietly. Even if it destroys us.

She nodded. It already is.

Outside, thunder rolled over the cliffs, shaking the foundations of Blackstone.

In the laboratory's dim light, the DNA result still glowed on the screen, proof that blood could bind as tightly as it could betray.

And above them, in the portrait hall, the faces of generations seemed to watch in silence as if waiting for the next Devereux secret to fall.

Cruz, and why was the Devereux heir erased?