Chapter 5 - A Marriage Built on Twenty Years of Lies
"Tell me what you did the night I was born!"
My voice echoed through Adrian's apartment.
My father stared at the photograph on my phone. His face had turned so pale that I thought he might collapse.
Elizabeth stood beside me, holding the silver key.
My mother gripped the arms of her wheelchair.
And Margaret Collins, the woman who had helped destroy our family, suddenly whispered something that made everyone turn.
"Richard, she knows about the third baby."
Silence.
I slowly lowered my phone.
"The what?"
Margaret covered her mouth.
My father closed his eyes.
My mother looked as though someone had struck her.
Adrian was the first to speak.
"Margaret, what did you just say?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing."
I walked toward her.
"No. You don't get to do that anymore."
"Evelyn—"
"You don't get to lie to me, apologize, and then lie again."
Her eyes filled with tears.
I pointed toward the photograph on my phone.
"Who is that woman?"
Margaret looked at my father.
He whispered, "Please."
And suddenly, I understood something terrifying.
My father wasn't asking Margaret to protect me.
He was begging her to protect him.
"Twenty-five years ago," my mother began, "your father and I almost lost everything."
Her voice trembled.
I turned toward her.
"Mom, what does that have to do with another baby?"
She looked at my father.
"Richard, tell them."
He remained silent.
My mother closed her eyes.
"Then I will."
Adrian pulled a chair closer to her wheelchair.
Elizabeth sat beside me, her fingers wrapped tightly around the silver key.
My mother took a slow breath.
"Before you were born, your grandfather controlled Whitmore Holdings. Your father was supposed to inherit the company, but there was a problem."
"What problem?" I asked.
"Your grandfather didn't trust him."
My father flinched.
"That's not fair."
My mother looked directly at him.
"He discovered the loans, Richard."
My father's expression changed.
"What loans?" Elizabeth demanded.
My mother continued.
"Your father borrowed millions to finance a business expansion. When the investment failed, Charles Montgomery offered to help him."
Adrian folded his arms.
"And that's how Charles gained influence over Whitmore Holdings."
My mother nodded.
"But Charles didn't simply want his money back. He wanted permanent control of the company."
I looked toward my father.
"So you made a deal."
He stared at the floor.
"Yes."
"What kind of deal?"
He swallowed.
"A marriage agreement."
I frowned.
"You were already married to Mom."
My mother gave a bitter laugh.
"That's precisely the problem."
My father finally raised his head.
"Charles had a younger sister named Rebecca."
I remembered the name.
Rebecca Montgomery.
She had supposedly died in a boating accident years before I was born.
My father continued.
"Charles wanted me to divorce Catherine and marry Rebecca."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"Because Rebecca would inherit a substantial portion of the Montgomery family's assets, and Charles believed combining the two families would give him control over both businesses."
My mother looked away.
"He offered Richard enough money to save the company."
"And you agreed?" I whispered.
My father shook his head.
"Not exactly."
My mother turned toward him.
"Tell them the truth."
His expression crumpled.
"I signed a preliminary agreement."
I felt sick.
"You agreed to leave Mom?"
"I was desperate!"
"You were married!"
"I know!"
His voice broke.
"I made a terrible mistake."
My mother stared at him.
"That wasn't your only mistake."
Nobody spoke.
Then she continued.
"Rebecca became pregnant."
I stopped breathing.
My father covered his face.
Elizabeth stood.
"No."
My mother looked at us.
"Rebecca gave birth shortly before you girls were born."
My mind struggled to understand.
The woman in the video.
My face.
My pink dress.
The message about the night I was born.
I looked at my father.
"You had another daughter?"
He didn't answer.
"DAD!"
"Yes!"
The word exploded from him.
"Yes, Evelyn! I had another daughter!"
Elizabeth stumbled backward.
Adrian caught the chair before it fell.
My mother began crying silently.
I felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath me.
Another daughter.
Another sister.
Another entire life hidden behind my father's lies.
"Her name is Isabella," my mother whispered.
I stared at her.
"Isabella Montgomery?"
She nodded.
"Rebecca's daughter."
I looked toward my father.
"Your daughter."
He closed his eyes.
"Yes."
I thought about the woman wearing my pink dress.
"Why does she look exactly like me?"
Nobody answered immediately.
Then Adrian spoke.
"Because someone has spent years making sure she does."
I turned toward him.
"What does that mean?"
He took my phone and enlarged the photograph.
"Look at her face."
I studied the image.
The resemblance was extraordinary.
But something was wrong.
Her nose was slightly narrower.
Her chin was different.
And the beauty mark beneath her left eye appeared darker than mine.
"She doesn't look completely natural," I whispered.
Adrian nodded.
"Isabella has undergone several cosmetic procedures."
My stomach turned.
"Why?"
My mother looked devastated.
"Because Charles wanted her to become you."
I sat down.
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the pounding of my own heart.
My father had another daughter.
Charles Montgomery had raised her.
And someone had deliberately altered her appearance to resemble mine.
"Why would anyone do that?" Elizabeth asked.
Adrian opened his laptop.
"Because Isabella has been involved in financial transactions using Evelyn's identity."
He displayed several photographs.
Isabella entering a bank.
Isabella attending private meetings.
Isabella signing documents.
Each time, her hair and clothing resembled mine.
My mother looked horrified.
"Charles planned this for years."
Adrian nodded.
"He needed someone who could impersonate Evelyn whenever the trust required her authorization."
I stared at the photographs.
"Does Isabella know what she's doing?"
Adrian hesitated.
"We don't know."
My father suddenly stood.
"She wouldn't do this willingly."
I turned toward him.
"How would you know?"
He looked away.
And that was when I realized something else.
"You've been seeing her."
His silence confirmed it.
"How long?"
"Evelyn—"
"HOW LONG?"
He whispered, "Since she was seven."
I stared at him.
Seventeen years.
For seventeen years, my father had secretly maintained a relationship with another daughter.
While telling me my mother was dead.
While allowing Elizabeth to disappear.
While pretending our family was normal.
I couldn't look at him.
My mother reached for my hand.
"Evelyn, there's something important you need to understand."
I pulled away.
"Did you know about Isabella?"
She nodded slowly.
"Yes."
I stared at her.
"And you never told us?"
"I discovered Rebecca's pregnancy shortly before you were born."
"Did you forgive Dad?"
She looked at him.
"No."
My father lowered his head.
"Then why did you stay married?"
My mother's expression hardened.
"Because Charles threatened to take you girls away."
I felt a chill.
"What?"
"He discovered that your grandfather had established the trust. If Richard and I divorced, Charles intended to use the financial agreement to challenge our family's assets."
Adrian leaned forward.
"Your grandfather anticipated that."
My mother nodded.
"He revised the trust to protect both of you."
"Both of us?" Elizabeth asked.
"Yes. He made sure neither Richard nor Charles could access your inheritance without your consent."
I looked toward Adrian.
"And Isabella?"
My mother hesitated.
"She wasn't included."
I understood.
Charles had a granddaughter of his own.
But the Whitmore fortune belonged to Elizabeth and me.
Unless he could make Isabella legally appear to be one of us.
The woman in the pink dress wasn't simply pretending to be me.
She was trying to take my place.
Adrian's phone rang.
He answered immediately.
"Talk to me."
His expression darkened.
"Where?"
He listened.
Then he ended the call.
"Charles has arrived at the old estate."
Elizabeth tightened her grip on the key.
"Then we need to go."
My father shook his head.
"No. Absolutely not."
I turned toward him.
"You don't get to make decisions for us anymore."
"Evelyn, that house isn't safe."
"Neither was this family."
He flinched.
Adrian closed his laptop.
"I have a security team positioned near the property. We can approach without announcing ourselves."
My mother looked worried.
"Charles knows about the safe."
"Then we need to reach it first," Adrian replied.
I looked toward Margaret.
She had remained silent throughout the entire conversation.
"Are you coming?"
She stared at me.
"After everything I've done?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you know that house."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"And because," I continued, "if you lie to me one more time, you'll never see me again."
She nodded.
"I understand."
But I noticed something strange.
When Adrian mentioned the old estate, Margaret had slipped her hand into her handbag.
And when she thought nobody was watching, she sent a message.
Forty minutes later, we approached the old Whitmore estate.
The mansion stood beyond enormous iron gates, surrounded by trees and overgrown gardens.
I remembered visiting it as a child.
My grandfather had loved that house.
He used to take Elizabeth and me into his study and tell us stories about the family.
Except I hadn't remembered Elizabeth until tonight.
Now fragments of forgotten memories were beginning to return.
Two little girls running through the garden.
Two matching bicycles.
Two voices laughing beneath the staircase.
I pressed my forehead against the car window.
"Why don't I remember her?"
Elizabeth squeezed my hand.
"I remember you."
I turned toward her.
She smiled sadly.
"You used to hide my shoes because you thought it was funny."
Despite everything, I laughed.
A small, broken laugh.
She continued.
"And whenever Grandpa gave us candy, you always insisted we split it equally."
Tears filled my eyes.
"I'm sorry."
She shook her head.
"You didn't take those years from me."
She looked toward our father.
"Someone else did."
Adrian's driver stopped near a concealed service entrance.
Two security officers approached.
"The property is clear on the west side," one reported.
Adrian nodded.
"Any sign of Montgomery?"
"Three vehicles entered through the main gate twenty minutes ago."
My mother remained in the vehicle with Helen.
Adrian insisted that she stay somewhere secure until we understood what was happening inside.
My father wanted to stay with her.
I stopped him.
"You're coming with us."
He looked exhausted.
"Evelyn—"
"No more disappearing when things become difficult."
He nodded.
We entered through the service gate.
Margaret led us along a narrow garden path.
The mansion's windows were dark.
Only one room on the upper floor was illuminated.
My childhood bedroom.
I stopped.
"She's here."
Adrian followed my gaze.
"Stay close."
We entered through the old kitchen.
The house smelled of dust and furniture polish.
Margaret guided us toward the main staircase.
Then Elizabeth suddenly stopped.
"Wait."
She pointed toward the wall.
A framed photograph hung beside the staircase.
Our family.
My mother.
My father.
Two little girls.
But someone had scratched away one child's face.
Elizabeth stepped closer.
Her fingers trembled.
"That's me."
My father looked horrified.
"Who did that?"
A woman's voice answered from above.
"I did."
We looked up.
A young woman stood at the top of the staircase.
She wore my pink evening gown.
Her brown hair was arranged exactly like mine.
And she was smiling.
"Hello, sisters."
"Isabella," my father whispered.
She looked at him.
"Hello, Daddy."
His expression crumpled.
"Please come downstairs."
She laughed.
"Why? So you can pretend I don't exist again?"
I stepped forward.
"Why are you wearing my dress?"
She looked down at herself.
"Because it looks better on me."
Adrian moved slightly in front of me.
Isabella noticed.
"Oh, Adrian. Still playing the hero?"
I turned toward him.
"You know her?"
His jaw tightened.
"Unfortunately."
Isabella smiled.
"He didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
She leaned against the staircase railing.
"Adrian and I were supposed to get married."
My stomach dropped.
Adrian closed his eyes.
"Isabella, don't."
She laughed.
"Why not? Evelyn deserves the truth."
I stared at him.
"Is that true?"
He looked at me.
"There's an explanation."
I stepped backward.
Of course there was.
Everyone had an explanation.
Everyone had secrets.
And somehow, I was always the last person to know.
Isabella slowly descended the staircase.
"Adrian was supposed to marry me. Harrison was supposed to marry you. And Elizabeth was supposed to remain forgotten."
Elizabeth stepped forward.
"You knew about me?"
Isabella stopped smiling.
"Of course."
"Then why didn't you help me?"
For the first time, something resembling shame crossed Isabella's face.
But it disappeared almost immediately.
"Because nobody ever helped me."
She reached the bottom of the staircase.
Then she held out her hand.
"The key."
Elizabeth shook her head.
"No."
Isabella sighed.
"I was hoping we could do this peacefully."
Adrian's expression hardened.
"Where's Charles?"
She smiled.
"Exactly where he needs to be."
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Charles Montgomery appeared.
He wore an expensive gray suit and carried a leather briefcase.
Harrison stood beside him.
My father froze.
"Charles."
The older man smiled.
"Richard. How wonderful to have the entire family together."
I felt Elizabeth move closer to me.
Charles looked at the silver key in her hand.
"Now, shall we finally settle this inheritance problem?"
Adrian stepped forward.
"You're not getting that key."
Charles chuckled.
"Still interfering, Blackwood?"
"Someone has to."
Charles opened his briefcase.
Inside were several documents.
He placed them on a nearby table.
"These papers will resolve everything."
I glanced at the first page.
It was a marriage agreement.
My name appeared beside Harrison's.
I stared at it.
"You actually expected me to sign this?"
Charles smiled.
"Your father already approved it."
I turned toward my father.
He looked devastated.
"I never agreed to this version."
Charles ignored him.
"Once Evelyn and Harrison are married, the family partnership can begin administering the trust."
"And Elizabeth?" I demanded.
Charles looked at my sister.
"Elizabeth has already authorized her transfer."
She laughed.
"I haven't signed anything!"
Charles removed another document.
Her signature appeared at the bottom.
My stomach twisted.
It looked exactly like mine.
Adrian examined it.
"Forged."
Charles shrugged.
"That's a matter for the lawyers."
I looked toward Isabella.
She avoided my eyes.
"You signed it," I whispered.
She said nothing.
I stepped closer.
"You pretended to be Elizabeth."
Her silence was answer enough.
Charles closed his briefcase.
"The past is irrelevant. What matters is what happens next."
He looked at Elizabeth.
"The key, please."
She tightened her grip.
"No."
His smile disappeared.
"Then perhaps you should know what your father signed twenty-five years ago."
My father suddenly lunged toward the documents.
"Charles, don't!"
Adrian caught his arm.
Charles calmly removed a yellowed contract from his briefcase.
At the bottom was my father's signature.
Beside it was Rebecca Montgomery's name.
And beneath both signatures was a handwritten clause.
I leaned forward.
My heart stopped.
The contract didn't simply promise Rebecca a marriage.
It contained an agreement concerning the legal custody of a child.
My father began shaking.
"Charles, please."
Isabella looked confused.
"What is that?"
Charles smiled.
"Something your father should have told you a long time ago."
He turned the document toward us.
Then Elizabeth suddenly gasped.
Because the child's name written in the agreement wasn't Isabella.
It was hers.
Elizabeth Whitmore.
My sister looked at our father.
"Dad?"
He couldn't speak.
Charles reached into his briefcase again.
"Now, shall we discuss what happened to your real birth certificate?"
He placed another sealed envelope on the table.
Across its surface were three handwritten words.
Original Maternity Records.
My father whispered, "Don't open it."
Elizabeth reached for the envelope.
And Charles smiled.
"Before you do, there's someone upstairs who has been waiting twenty-five years to meet you."
At that exact moment, a door opened above us.
A woman's footsteps approached the staircase.
May you like
Then someone whispered:
"Rebecca?"
