'I Do' For Revenge
Chapter 210: Do Not Take Too Long
CHAPTER 210: DO NOT TAKE TOO LONG
I sat frozen in the middle of the crowded restaurant. People were eating pasta and taking selfies aro und us, completely unaware that my entire world was fracturing into pieces.
I looked at the woman in the photo who supposed to be my biologi cal mother. I looked at the lette r with the ducal crest. I looked at Axel, who was gripping his cane like a w eapon, looking ready to fight an army but not sure about how to fight th is.
"A Duke?" I whispered, choked up by how absurd the situation was. "My mother was a teacher. She was married to a journalist. I think you have the wrong person. Maybe I’m just a lookalike or something."
"Your mother was the daughter of one of the wealth iest men in Europe," Pennyworth sai d firmly. "And you, Madame, are the sole heiress to the Hunti ngton fortune and estate."
He stepped back, c lasping his hands be hind his back in a for mal pose.
"The car is waiting downst airs. We can leave imm ediate ly if you wish."
I looked at the red wax seal, which contrasted sharply wi th the white tablecloth. My hands were shaking.
"I..." My voi ce failed me comp letely.
"We aren’t going anywhere tonight," Axel said firmly, though his hand covered mine u nder the table, squeezing ti ght. "But you should sit down, Mr. Pennyworth. I think you’d better order a drin k. We have a lot of questions, and you’re goi ng to answer a ll of them."
Pennyworth glanced at his bodyguard, who nodded once. He pulled out his phone and stepped to the side, speaking in rapid, hushed tones.
"Yes, sir, we’ve located her... No, sir, she requires time ... I understand, sir. I will keep you informed."
He ended the call and gestured to his bodyg uard, who moved to stand a respectf ul distance away. Then Pennyworth sat down carefully in the empty chair at our table, straighteni ng his already -perfect tie.
The silence stretched between us. The sounds of the restauran t felt impossibly l oud and dis tant at the same t ime.
"I don’t believe this," I s aid finally. I pushed the photograph back across the white tablecloth t oward him. "I know I didn’t grow up with my biological parents, but from what I know, Sarah Stuart was a school teacher. She wasn’t a Lady. She didn’t grow up in a castle or whatever. She lived in a small house with her husband bef ore they died i n that accident."
Mr. Pennyworth didn’t blink. He took a calm sip o f the water the hovering waiter had placed in front of him.
" Sarah Stuar t was indeed a teacher," Pennywo rth agreed. "And she was a wonderful woman, by all accounts we’ve g athered. But she was not born Sarah Stuart. She was born Lady Victoria Catherine Huntington."
"This is ridiculous," Axel muttered, his hand tigh tening around his steak knife. "Layla, w e’re leaving. This is some kind of scam."
"Please, Mrs. O’Bri en," Pennyworth said, his voice losing s ome of its formal stiffness and gaining an edge of desperation. "Just listen to the time line. Your m other traveled overseas twenty-six years ago with no history. No birth certificate, no social security nu mber until she ’obtained’ one through less-than- legal means. She l eft with a young journalist named Micha el S tuart, and they got marr ied shortly after. "
I froze, my breath c atching. "How do you know my father’s name ?"
"Because we investigated him," Pennyworth said simply. "Thoroughly. Lady Victoria, I mean, Sarah ran away from home when she was nineteen. She had fallen in love with Michael Stuart while he was on assignment abroad, covering a stor y about some aristocracy for his newspaper.
"Her parents, you r grandparents, disapproved stron gly and threatened to disown her. The y threatened him with legal action, deportat ion, and wi th every thing they could thin k of."
He paused.
"So she made a choice. Your mother chose love over duty, money and her title. She ran away with Michael to America in the middle of the night with nothing but a suitcase and her mother’s jewellery. She changed her name to Sarah after her favourite childhood doll and became a teacher. She wanted a simple life b uilt on love, and not obligation."
I felt a lump form in my throat. It sounded exactly like them . "Good people." That’s how everyone who knew them described my paren ts.
They adored each oth er. T h e few p hotos I had showed them always touching, and smiling. It made sense that they would leave everything behind to be togethe r.
"If you people were looking for her," Axel asked sh arply, "why didn’t you find her wh en she died? Th at was over twenty years ago . Why didn ’t you show up then?"
Penny worth’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening.
"Because of Charles Watson," he spat the name like a cur se. "When Charles Watson killed your parents in that car crash, he didn’t just adopt you o ut of guilt or compassio n.
"He buried their identities to protect his own in terests. He rushed the adopt ion proces s , sealed all the records, and changed your name to Layla Watson imm ediately. By the time our private inves tigators started followi ng leads, ’Sarah Stua rt’ was just a closed file. A dead end. There wasn’t even a record of your adoption. So it was alm ost like yo u vanished."
I sat back in my chair, the wind knocked out of me. Charles. Even no w, even f rom whe rever he was hiding, his shadow was still over me, controlling my life.
"The jet is waiting at the airport," Pennyworth said urgently, leaning forward. "The Duke is failing rapid ly. The doctors say he has perhaps a month left, m aybe only we eks. He’s been holdi ng on, waiting, and hoping we would find Victoria’s daughter. You’re his last chance to make peace with his past."
I r eached out with trembling fingers and took the p hotograph again, studying my mother’s face —my face, in the golden garden light.
Axel stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor, breaking the spell that had settled over the table.
"No," he said flatly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Pennyworth blinked up at him in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"
"We don’t get on p lanes with strangers," Axel said coldly. "And we certainly don’ t fly to foreign countries based on a sad story a n d a photograph that could hav e been doctored. I do n’t care how convincing you are."
"But Mr. O’Brien, t ime is of the esse nce..."
"Then you shouldn’t have waited twenty-five yea r s," Axel cut him off. "If you are who yo u say you are, if this Duke is real, if any of this is legitimate, then you won’ t mind us running a full background check. On you, on the Duke, on all of it. If it clears, we’ll call you. If it doesn’t, you’ll never hear from us again ."
Pennywo rth looked at me with desperate eyes.
I stood up slowly, clutching the photo g ra ph like a lifeline. My he art wanted to go, wanted to run to that plane and fin d answers.
But my head, the head that had survived Henry’s betrayal and Marco’s bomb, knew Axel was right. Rushing into so mething this big, and life-changing, was dangerous.
"Lea ve your contact information," I said, "We’ll be in touch once we verify everything. I promise."
Pennyworth hesitated, then sighed deeply. He placed a hea vy, cream-coloured business card on the table, embossed with gold letter ing and that same crest: the lion and shield.
"The Duke is holding on for you, Madame," he said soft ly, standing and giving a nother formal bow. "He’s waited twenty-six years for this mom ent. Please . Do not take too long."
Axel wrapped hi s arm prot ectively around my waist, creating a physical barrier between me and the s olicitor. "Let’s go, Layla."