Chapter 6
I stared at Evelyn.
"Someone arranged for me to be there?"
She nodded.
"That's what Daniel claims."
I looked at my father.
His expression was unreadable.
I had come to the Bennett Grand for one simple reason.
A former nursing school classmate named Jasmine had invited me to discuss a part-time position at a private wellness clinic.
We were supposed to meet in the hotel café.
Jasmine canceled at the last minute.
I was already there.
Lily was hungry.
So I sat in the lounge.
That was all.
At least, that was what I believed.
I took out my phone.
The text from Jasmine was still there.
Nia, I'm so sorry. Something came up. Can we meet another day?
I showed Evelyn.
"Could this be connected?"
She examined the message.
"Possibly."
My father frowned.
"Who is Jasmine?"
"A friend from nursing school."
"Do you trust her?"
I hesitated.
We hadn't spoken much since graduation.
But she'd always seemed kind.
"I thought I did."
Dad reached for his phone.
"We need to find out whether she's involved."
I stopped him.
"Dad."
He looked at me.
"Please don't start investigating my friends behind my back."
He lowered the phone.
"You're right."
I blinked.
He was learning.
Slowly.
But he was learning.
I called Jasmine myself.
She answered after several rings.
"Nia?"
"Jasmine, I need to ask you something."
"Okay."
"Why did you choose the Bennett Grand?"
Silence.
Then she laughed nervously.
"It's a nice hotel."
"Who suggested it?"
Another pause.
"Why?"
"Just answer me."
Her voice dropped.
"A woman contacted the clinic last week."
My heart began pounding.
"What woman?"
"She said her name was Victoria Sterling."
I closed my eyes.
Jasmine continued quickly.
"She told my supervisor she wanted to sponsor a maternal health program. She asked whether we knew any qualified new mothers who might be interested in working with her foundation."
I looked at Dad.
He was listening closely.
"Did you tell her about me?"
"I mentioned you were a great nurse and had just had a baby."
I felt sick.
"Did you give her my number?"
"No. She already had it."
I gripped the phone.
"Jasmine, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because she asked me not to mention her name until the meeting. She said it was a surprise opportunity."
I swallowed.
"Was the meeting ever real?"
Jasmine began crying.
"I don't know, Nia. I'm so sorry."
I took a breath.
She might have been careless.
But she sounded genuinely frightened.
"Save every message you received from her."
"Why?"
"Because she assaulted me in the hotel lobby."
Jasmine gasped.
"What?"
I explained briefly.
By the time I finished, she was sobbing.
"I swear I didn't know."
"I believe you."
And I did.
Because Victoria had a talent for making other people carry out her plans without understanding them.
After the call, Evelyn contacted the hotel's legal department.
We agreed to preserve the messages and let the investigators handle the matter.
Meanwhile, Daniel remained downstairs.
He had become increasingly angry.
Security reported that he was threatening to contact the press.
My father listened quietly.
Then he said, "Let him."
I turned.
"What?"
Dad looked exhausted.
"For years, I've been afraid of what Daniel might say about our family."
He glanced at my mother's photograph.
"That fear ends today."
I felt pride rise in my chest.
The man sitting beside me was not the same man I'd left two years earlier.
And maybe I wasn't the same frightened daughter either.
We didn't confront Daniel.
Instead, Dad instructed Evelyn to refer all questions to the legal team.
Then we left through a private exit.
A security vehicle followed us to Dad's mansion.
I had resisted going there.
But after discovering that Victoria had deliberately arranged my visit to the hotel, I no longer felt comfortable returning to my apartment alone.
Dad didn't pressure me.
He simply offered.
I accepted.
The mansion looked exactly as I remembered.
Tall iron gates.
A long driveway.
White columns.
A garden my mother had designed.
When we entered, I felt a wave of memories.
I remembered running down the staircase as a child.
My mother calling me for dinner.
Dad carrying me on his shoulders.
Then the harder memories returned.
Our arguments.
His demands.
The night I packed my suitcase.
I stood in the entrance hall.
Dad noticed.
"You don't have to stay if this is too much."
I looked at him.
"Can I have my old room?"
His eyes filled.
"Of course."
He smiled sadly.
"It's exactly how you left it."
I carried Lily upstairs.
When I opened the bedroom door, I stopped.
My favorite books were still on the shelves.
My old photographs remained on the dresser.
Even the pale blue curtains were unchanged.
I sat on the bed.
Then I cried.
Not because the room was beautiful.
But because it meant my father had never completely let me go.
That evening, we ate dinner together.
Dad asked about Lily.
Her birth.
Her health.
Her favorite sounds.
I told him she liked soft music and hated being changed.
He laughed.
"Definitely a Bennett."
For a while, everything felt normal.
Then he asked carefully, "What about Lily's father?"
I looked down.
His name was Andre.
We had dated for a year.
When I became pregnant, he promised we'd raise the baby together.
Then he disappeared.
He sent one message saying he wasn't ready.
After that, nothing.
Dad listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he looked heartbroken.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I swallowed.
"Because I thought you'd say I told you so."
He closed his eyes.
"Nia..."
"I was ashamed."
He reached for my hand.
"Sweetheart, you never have to be ashamed of needing help."
I began crying.
He moved beside me.
"I should have made sure you knew that years ago."
I leaned against him.
For the first time in two years, I allowed myself to believe we could become a family again.
Later that night, after putting Lily to sleep in a bassinet beside my bed, I received another unknown message.
This time, there was no photograph.
Only a sentence.
YOUR MOTHER LEFT SOMETHING IN THE HOUSE. VICTORIA KNOWS WHERE IT IS.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
DANIEL WILL GET THERE FIRST IF YOU DON'T FIND IT.
My hands began trembling.
I went downstairs.
Dad was in his study.
I showed him the messages.
He read them carefully.
Then he looked toward my mother's portrait above the fireplace.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Finally, he whispered, "Lorraine used to keep a private journal."
I held my breath.
"Where?"
He looked at me.
"That's the problem."
I frowned.
"What problem?"
"After she died, the journal disappeared."
I stared at him.
May you like
Then he said something that made my heart race.
"Your mother once told me she'd hidden something important in the house, somewhere only you would think to look."
