Chapter 22 - the phantom of emerald silk
"You have his stubbornness, Clara," a soft, raspy voice echoed through the vast study. "And your grandfather's chin. But you hold your shoulders exactly like I used to when the world disappointed me."
The woman in the velvet gown turned slowly in the chair. The beam of Roman's tactical flashlight illuminated a face lined by decades of tension, yet shockingly familiar. The high cheekbones, the striking green eyes, the precise curve of the lips—it was the face of the mother Clara had mourned for twenty-four years.
Clara felt her knees buckle. Roman supported her with one steady arm while keeping his pistol trained squarely on the center of the woman's chest.
"Identify yourself," Roman ordered, cold authority ringing through the room. "One wrong twitch of your hand, and you won't leave this chair alive."
The older woman let out a dry, bitter laugh that had no humor in it. She set the teacup down upon a glass side table with a faint clink. "Still guarding her with iron and fire, aren't you, Roman Mercer? Your father would be proud. Though he would probably remind you that a gun is useless against a dead woman."
"Why?" Clara choked out, the word tearing from her throat like broken glass. "Why did you abandon me to them? Gregory Vance took our home. Julian humiliated me in front of the entire city. My father withered away in an asylum thinking he had killed you! Where were you?"
The woman's gaze softened, but there was an icy core beneath the tears welling in her eyes. "Your father didn't wither from grief, my child. He withered from guilt. Because it wasn't Gregory Vance who arranged for that private jet to drop out of the sky in 1999."
May you like
Clara shook her head violently. "No. That’s a lie. He loved you."
"He loved his pride more," the woman whispered, leaning forward into the light. "Your father discovered that Julian Sterling was not Gregory Vance's nephew. Julian is my son. Born before I ever met your father. Born from the very man who destroyed our lives."
