CHAPTER 58: HIS SISTER

~LAYLA~

I spread everything out on my bed: hospital receipts, medical records, financial documents, and several handwritten notes. My mother had been thorough in her evidence gathering.

For hours, I went through every single document, struggling to believe what I was seeing. The first thing I found was a receipt from a private medical lab, dated just two months ago. Hair and blood analysis showing elevated levels of arsenic and other heavy metals.

Then the financial records. Payments to various doctors, all with the same notation: "Consultation - keep quiet." Bribes. My father had been bribing doctors to misdiagnose my mother’s condition.

But the worst was a police report from twenty-two years ago about a car accident involving Sarah and Michael Stuart. Clipped to it was a handwritten note: "Investigation closed early, payment received."

After seeing my mother give up the ghost, I’d detached from my emotions and everything around me. It was only in that moment, surrounded by evidence, that I began to remember everything she had told me.

Finally, the preferential treatment made sense. Why Cassandra was always the favourite, why I never quite fit in, and why my father looked at me like I was a burden instead of a blessing.

I wasn’t his daughter. I was just a prop for his public image.

I only wish I had found out sooner. Maybe I would have done things differently.

My hate for my father increased with every document I read. He had robbed me of what could have been a happy childhood, a real family. He had stolen my biological parents from me, then slowly murdered the woman who had tried to love me as her own.

"Layla?"

I heard Axel’s voice through the door, followed by a gentle knock.

"Can I come in?"

I quickly shoved all the documents under my pillow, my heart racing. "Just a second."

I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself before opening the door.

Axel stood there looking genuinely apologetic. "I wanted to say I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier."

"It’s fine."

"No, it’s not fine. You’re grieving, and I should have been more patient."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"I also wanted you to know that if you want to attend your mother’s burial, I’ll support you. Regardless of what your family wants. I’ll make sure you get to see her one last time."

The unexpected kindness in his voice made my chest tighten. "Thank you."

"You don’t have to thank me. It’s what any husband would do."

I looked at him, wondering if I should tell him about the documents, about everything I’d discovered. But then I remembered his own secrets, the way he kept me in the dark about so many things.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked.

"No, I’m fine."

"Okay. I’ll let you rest."

As he turned to leave, I felt a pang of guilt. If Charles had killed my biological parents and hidden the truth to save face, what could he have done to make Axel hate him so much? What secrets was my husband keeping that were connected to my father?

"Axel?"

He turned back. "Yeah?"

"Never mind."

He studied my face for a moment, then nodded. "Get some sleep."

Over the next few days, we returned to something resembling normal.

Work, daily schedules, pretending everything was fine. I was still waiting for news on the PI investigation, though I already knew who was responsible.

The energy at work was different, though. People whispered when I walked by; conversations stopped when I entered a room.

"Mrs Layla, can I talk to you?" Helena asked me one Thursday afternoon when I was returning from a meeting.

"Of course. What’s up?"

"Maybe we should go somewhere private."

We went to my office, and she closed the door behind us.

"There are rumours going around," she said without preamble.

"What kind of rumours?"

"People are saying you were having an affair with that private investigator. That you killed him to keep Axel from finding out."

I stared at her in disbelief. "That’s ridiculous."

"I know it is. But people love gossip, especially when it involves someone in your position."

"Great. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with."

"I’m sorry, ma’am. I thought you should know what people were saying."

"Thanks for telling me."

Helena studied my face with concern. "You look exhausted. When’s the last time you did something for yourself, ma?"

"I don’t remember."

"That’s what I thought. Uhmm, why don’t you come have dinner with me tonight? Nothing fancy, just home cooking with my younger siblings."

"Helena, I don’t think..."

"I know I shouldn’t but... You need to get out of this office, away from all the whispers and stares. Just for one evening."

I considered it. The thought of spending another night alone with my dark thoughts wasn’t appealing.

"Okay. What time?"

"Seven o’clock. I’ll text you my address."

That evening, I found myself standing outside a modest apartment building in a working-class neighbourhood. Helena greeted me at the door with a warm smile.

"Ma’am! I’m so glad you came."

"Thank you for inviting me."

She led me inside, where the smell of something delicious filled the air. The apartment was small but cosy, with mismatched furniture that somehow worked together perfectly.

"Everyone, this is Mrs Layla," Helena announced.

Two teenage boys looked up from the kitchen table, all with Helena’s dark hair and warm eyes.

"This is Jason, he’s fourteen, and little Ryan is twelve."

"Hi," I said awkwardly.

"Are you the boss lady Helena talks about?" Ryan asked with no filter.

"Ryan!" Helena scolded, but she was laughing.

"It’s okay," I said. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Cool. Helena says you’re really smart and that you treat people nicely."

I felt something warm spread through my chest. This felt like home, like what a real family should feel like.

"Can I help with anything?" I asked.

"Just sit and relax," Helena said. "You’re our guest."

Dinner was simple but delicious: rice, beans, grilled chicken, and fresh vegetables. The conversation flowed easily, with the siblings teasing each other and Helena mediating in between.

"Helena basically raised us after our parents died," Jason explained when I commented on how well they all got along. "She was only eighteen," he added. "But she kept us all together."

I looked at Helena with new respect. "That must have been incredibly difficult."

"We managed," Helena said simply. "Family takes care of family."

The phrase hit me hard. This was what family was supposed to look like: people who protected each other, who sacrificed for each other, who loved unconditionally.

Midway through dessert, there was a knock at the door.

"I’ll get it," I said, standing up.

"Thanks, but you don’t have to..." Helena started.

I was already at the door, opening it without thinking. I froze when I saw who was standing there.

It was the man from the coffee shop. The entitled jerk who had demanded my number over spilled coffee.

He looked equally shocked to see me. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

"What the hell are you doing here, Henry?" Helena’s sharp voice came from behind me, and from the tone, it was obvious she was displeased.

"Helena?" I turned to look at her, confused.

The man stepped inside without invitation. "Hello, sister."

Sister? I looked back and forth between them, feeling confused.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Helena demanded.