Ninety one

Ellen's POV

I sat across from my father in his study, the flickering light from the fireplace casting shadows on the walls. His revelation still hung in the air between us, like a dark veil resisting tear and wear.

“How the hell is she a Manor?” I demanded, my voice shaking with disbelief.

My father’s eyes met mine, steady and calm. “Remember the story I told you about your Aunt Fiona’s baby and your Grandma Monica coming home with an adopted baby?”

I felt a chill run down my spine as the pieces of a long-buried puzzle began to fit together. “The baby didn’t die,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

My father nodded. “Exactly.”

Dumbfounded, I struggled to process this new information. Kamille, the woman I had come to despise, was actually family. Why would Grandma Monica do such a thing?

As if reading my thoughts, my father continued. “Your Grandma Monica couldn’t bear to tell the world that her granddaughter was the daughter of a mere security guard. She didn’t want the stigma that