She hesitated. “Eight.”
Eight.
The math landed like a blow to the chest.
“You’re my sister,” I whispered.
Her eyes filled instantly with tears.
Margaret’s breathing grew louder, faster.
“No,” she said sharply. “This is ridiculous. Charlotte, you’re being manipulated—”
“Am I?” I turned to her slowly.
Memories surfaced—things that had never quite made sense.
The way they had “found” me.
The way every document about my past had been vague, incomplete.
The way I had always been reminded, subtly but consistently, that I owed them everything.
My gaze shifted to Daniel.
“You knew,” I said.
It wasn’t a question.
His silence confirmed it.
“You knew who I was this whole time.”
He swallowed hard but said nothing.
That was enough.
The truth settled fully into place.
Years ago, Margaret Whitmore hadn’t saved me.
She had erased me.
My parents—whoever they truly were—had been destroyed. Their business taken. Their lives dismantled. I had been discarded, hidden away in an orphanage so no one could trace what had been stolen.
And now…
Now they needed me.
Needed my name.
My blood.
To complete whatever legal hold they still didn’t fully control.
This wedding wasn’t love.
It was strategy.
I let out a slow breath.