Chapter 9

Anna's POV

Vivian drew back. For once it took her a second to arrange her face.

She clearly hadn't expected me to talk back. For eighteen years, I'd been the obedient daughter who rarely questioned anything she said.

I wondered if she was running through all the things I might have found out and trying to decide which one I'd say first.

She quickly composed herself, putting on her familiar gentle expression.

"Anna, honey, I'm worried about you."

"You actually think you have the right to call yourself my mother?"

A cold laugh escaped me, but the words still left an ache in my chest.

For eighteen years she'd given me whatever I asked for and told me I didn't need to concern myself with money. I'd thought it was nice having someone look after all of that. Now I could see how little she'd wanted me to understand.

The first time around, I'd trusted her more than I'd trusted myself. By the end I'd handed over nearly everything.

"Anna! Is that any way to speak to your mother? Apologize to her right now!"

Harold's expression darkened. He straightened up, adopting the stern tone he'd always used whenever he wanted to put me in my place.

"All right." My eyes stung, and my voice trembled slightly. "Then tell me where my real mother is buried. Once I find her grave, I'll go there and apologize to her."

They'd only needed me to keep calling her Mom until I was old enough to sign for the trust.

If the terms of the trust hadn't required me to reach adulthood and get married before accessing the funds, I had every reason to believe Vivian would have found a way to get rid of me long ago.

Harold blinked, clearly caught off guard. A moment later, he regained his stern expression.

"Anna, how can you say something so hurtful about your mother?"

"That's right, Anna. After everything Mom has done for you..."

Vivian's eyes reddened, and tears gathered along her lower lashes. She looked every bit like a mother whose love had been cruelly repaid.

In the past, that expression alone would have been enough to make me back down.

"Vivian Hartwell."

I raised my voice, making sure everyone in the room could hear me.

"Your daughter is Isabelle. I am Helena Ashford's daughter."

The moment I said those words aloud, the ache in my chest deepened.

Harold and Vivian both went pale. They exchanged a startled glance, and for the first time, I saw their composure falter.

I'd only uncovered the full truth in my previous life, shortly before I died.

Harold had been involved with Vivian long before my mother passed away. He had pursued Helena for her wealth, married her under false pretenses, and waited for the opportunity to get his hands on what she owned.

In those early years, they had lived in a small town outside the city. It wasn't until after Helena's death that Harold and Vivian moved to Manhattan.

I was three when we moved, and I'd been sick with a fever. The memories I had of the two women were scraps by then. Once we were in Manhattan, everyone called Vivian my mother, and I did too.

Neither of them ever gave me a reason to question it.

Nobody in Manhattan knew us well enough to tell me otherwise.

Patricia stiffened slightly. She glanced at me, confusion written across her face.

I could understand why. People outside the family had always spoken about how much the Hartwells doted on me. They'd treated me so generously that others had assumed I was the apple of their eye.

People saw the things they bought me. They never saw how often Vivian changed the subject when I asked where the money came from.

A moment later, Patricia reached out and pulled me gently against her side.

Then she looked at Harold and Vivian, her expression turning cold.

"Anna can speak for herself in this house. I'd like you both to let her finish."

Harold and Vivian's expressions fell. They exchanged another anxious glance, and the composure they'd been struggling to maintain began to crack.

As long as I kept believing them, they'd have a way into the trust. Now Vivian had to work out what to say to a daughter who knew exactly why she'd been so well looked after.

"Harold..."

Vivian leaned against his arm, covering her face as she burst into tears.

"I raised her as my own daughter for eighteen years. How could she treat me this way?"

Harold started over in the gentlest voice he could manage.

"Anna, you're being unreasonable. Everything we did was for your own good. Your birth mother died when you were so young. We didn't want to cause you more pain, so we kept the truth from you."

"Vivian has treated you better than she's treated Isabelle all these years. How can you speak to her like this? Apologize to her and come home with us."

I slowly shook my head, a bitter feeling settling over me.

It always came down to the same thing. They wanted to get me back to the Hartwell house, put me on that operating table, and hand me over to Julian.

I kept looking at Harold, waiting for my father to ask what had happened on that operating table. He'd signed the form. I still wanted him to ask.

My throat tightened. I moved closer to Patricia and spoke in a hoarse voice.

"I'm staying here. Please leave."

"Anna!"

Harold's voice rose sharply, his face hardening.

"You're not even going to listen to your own father?"

As a kid I'd known exactly what that tone meant. Whatever happened next would be my fault for talking back.

He was still waiting for the old answer. I could see it in the way he stood there after he'd asked, with his hand already on the back of the sofa like he expected me to get up.

"No."

I closed my eyes and clenched my fists at my sides.

I was done going home when he told me to. I wanted whatever they'd taken from my mother, and from now on I was going to have to get it without letting him near me.

"You ungrateful little..."

Harold finally lost his composure. The insult burst out before he could stop himself.

Patricia's expression turned cold.

"Mr. Hartwell, is that how you speak to people in their own home?"

Her words stopped him short. The anger on his face faltered, and he stumbled over his response.

"Mrs. Sterling, I was only trying to..."

"Anna is my daughter-in-law now. How she chooses to live her life is no longer your decision to make."

"My son is upstairs and his condition is still unstable. He needs quiet. I'm asking you both to leave before this gets any uglier."

The housekeeper was already approaching, with the security staff following close behind.

"Mr. Hartwell. This way, please."

Harold knew better than to cause a scene in the Sterling home. He swallowed his anger and turned to leave.

Just before he reached the door, he looked back at me.

"Anna, whenever you come to your senses and decide to come home, I'll take you to see your mother."

I'd been waiting for him to say where she was buried. For one second I thought he might actually tell me.

That was the deal. I'd get to see her grave if I went back.

The color drained from my face.

I stood motionless, watching Harold's back until the door closed behind him. My jaw tightened, and the hatred burning inside me only grew stronger.