Chapter 11: A Family Revealed

The photograph Marcel held out was like a ticking bomb. Even from a distance, I could see it wasn’t just any picture—it was a weapon. His smirk deepened as he moved closer, the glossy image catching the faint light of the hallway outside the gala.

“What is that?” I questioned, my voice firm despite the anger growing inside me.

Marcel chuckled, slow and deliberate. “Ah, Freda. Always so curious. This little gem might answer a few of your burning questions—or maybe spark a few more.”

Williams stood in front of me, his big form obstructing Marcel’s path. His voice could have broken glass. "Marcel, what are you up to?"

Marcel cocked an innocent-looking head. “I'm merely attempting to assist dear Freda in discovering the truth. That's why you married her, isn't it? to conceal from her the *true* history of the family?”

My chest roared with my heart. Marcel waved the picture tauntingly, as if the room were closing in on me.

I stepped around Williams and demanded, "Let me see it."

Williams looked at me, his jaw clenched. "Don't—Freda."

“I need to see it,” I insisted.

Marcel delivered it to me with a flourish, his eyes shining with satisfaction. My fingers trembled as I took the picture.

At first glance, it seemed like an old family photo—one of those stiff, forced photographs taken in front of a beautiful home. But something changed inside of me as I looked over the faces.

On the far right was a woman who bore a striking resemblance to myself. Everything about her, including her features and hair, was recognisable. She was standing with a man who looked a lot like Marcel, and two kids were standing between them.

I took a deep breath. "Who... who is this?"

Marcel grinned broadly. "Your mother, Freda, my dear."

The world spinned, and I gripped the back of a chair for support. My mother? The woman I scarcely knew, who had vanished when I was a child? She had ties to the Harrington family?

Williams placed a hand on my arm, his voice low and insistent. “Freda, listen to me. Marcel is trying to manipulate you. Whatever he’s showing you, it’s not the whole story.”

Marcel laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “Of course it’s not the whole story, brother. Freda, though, can undoubtedly make the connection. She has, after all, always been adept at solving problems, hasn't she?”

My eyes swam as I gazed up at him. "What are you insinuating?"

Marcel lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned closer. "Freda, you're more than simply a stranger who happened to join this family. You’re one of us. A Harrington by blood. Or did you really think fate just happened to drop you into our world?”

I staggered back, the photograph clutched tightly in my hand. “That’s impossible. My mother… she left. She was nothing like this—this world.”

Marcel’s expression turned almost pitying. “Oh, Freda. The truth is rarely as simple as we want it to be. Your mother was deeply entangled in this family’s affairs. And when she disappeared, she took secrets with her—secrets that could destroy us all.”

Williams stepped forward, his voice a growl. “That’s enough, Marcel. Leave her alone.”

Marcel's hands went up in a gesture of simulated submission. “Fine, fine. I’ll depart. But Freda…” He turned to me, his eyes shining. “You should really start asking the right questions. Like why Williams was so keen to marry you in the first place.”

With that, he sauntered away, leaving a trail of anxiety in his wake.

Back at the apartment, the quietness between Williams and me was deafening. He poured himself a drink of whiskey, his movements quick and frantic. I stood by the window, the city lights blurring as I stared at the snapshot in my hands.

“You knew,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He froze, the glass halfway to his lips. “Knew what?”

"That my mum had ties to your family." that one of you may be me.

Williams let out a sigh and gently clinked the glass down. "Freda, it's complicated."

I turned to him, feeling a surge of rage. "Difficult? You forced me to sign that contract, pulled me into this mess, and didn't think I should be aware of the truth?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his composure faltering. "I tried to keep you safe."

"From what?" I insisted. “From Marcel? From your family’s secrets? or from the reality of who I am?”

Williams moved in closer, his eyes brimming with something I couldn't quite identify—fear or sorrow, perhaps. "From everything. Freda, you have no idea what this family is capable of. It won't be long until the others start looking into your background if Marcel is already doing so.”

With everything weighing down on me, I shook my head. “Williams, I need answers. I can't continue to live this way, unsure of who I am or how I got into your world.”

His hand touched mine as he extended it. "I'll tell you all about it. But not tonight. You must get some sleep tonight.”

“Sleep?” “With my whole life falling apart in front of me, how could I possibly sleep?” I was about to fight when someone knocked on the door.

Williams' eyes narrowed as he tensed. "Remain here," he murmured softly.

I saw him approach the door and slightly open it to reveal who was inside. I could hear the low murmur of voices, one unidentified, the other clearly his, but his bulk obscured my vision.

His tone abruptly changed to one of command and sharpness. "You mean she isn't there?"

My heart fell. In an attempt to hear more, I moved closer.

The other voice answered, but it was too quiet for me to hear.

Williams cursed under his breath and turned back to me, his countenance gloomy.

"What's the matter?" My voice trembled as I asked.

After a brief pause, he replied, "Your mother. Perhaps she is still alive.”

The picture flew from my fingers and onto the floor as the room whirled.