Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
The west wing of the Vance Manor had remained closed for nearly a decade, preserved under dust sheets and mahogany oil. Tonight, however, the crystal chandeliers blazed with light.
Dr. Mercer had hooked Leo up to an advanced oxygen concentrator, administered an intramuscular antibiotic, and set up a saline drip. The little boy had finally succumbed to exhaustion, sleeping soundly beneath a goose-down duvet in a massive four-poster bed that looked absurdly grand for his tiny frame.
Anwen sat in an armchair beside him, refusing to leave his side, still wrapped in Duncan’s oversized wool coat. She held Leo’s small, warm hand, listening to the rhythmic hum of the medical equipment.
The door clicked open.
Felice Lancaster did not knock. She stormed into the bedroom, her emerald dress replaced by an ivory designer coat, her face pale with fury. Behind her was Mrs. Higgins, the head housekeeper, who looked thoroughly terrified.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Felice hissed, her voice vibrating with shrill indignation. "Duncan has lost his mind! Moving kitchen staff and their sick brats into the master guest suites? Have you completely forgotten your place, Anwen?"
Anwen flinched, shrinking back into the chair. The years of psychological conditioning were hard to break; every instinct screamed at her to bow her head, apologize, and beg for mercy.
"Don't speak to her," a voice rumbled from the shadows near the balcony.
Duncan stepped out of the darkness. He had a glass of scotch in his hand, untouched, and his eyes were entirely devoid of warmth.
"Felice," Duncan said, his voice deadly even. "You seem remarkably agitated by the presence of a sick child."
"I am agitated by the absurdity of it!" Felice snapped, striding toward him, her heels clicking aggressively on the parquet floor. "We have an image to maintain! Our wedding is in less than a month! The press is already buzzing about your little stunt at the pool tonight. Do you know what people are saying? They’re saying you’ve taken your maid as a mistress!"
"Let them talk," Duncan replied coldly. "They will have much more interesting things to discuss by morning."
Felice froze. Her eyes darted from Duncan to Anwen, and then to the sleeping boy on the bed. For the first time, in the clear, merciless light of the chandelier, Felice saw Leo’s face without the dirt and grime of the outbuilding.
She recognized the eyes.
She had known, of course. She had known since the day the private investigator brought her the birth records from the Swiss clinic four years ago. She had known that the child Anwen carried was Duncan’s flesh and blood. That was why she had intercepted Anwen before Duncan woke from his coma. That was why she had told Anwen that Duncan blamed her for the accident, that Duncan despised her, and that if she ever stepped forward, Felice’s father—a sitting federal judge—would have Anwen declared legally insane and lock the child away in a state institution forever.
Felice had kept Anwen close—under her thumb, working for pennies, scraping by—just to satisfy her own twisted need for dominance. She wanted the real mother of Duncan’s child scrubbing the very floors she walked upon.
"Duncan," Felice said, shifting tactics instantly. She softened her posture, taking a step toward him with outstretched hands, her eyes brimming with practiced tears. "Darling, please. You’re stressed. The merger with my father’s firm, the wedding preparations... you aren't thinking clearly. Why are you doing this? What does this girl have to do with you?"
Duncan looked down at her hands, but did not reach out to take them.
"Five years ago, after the crash in Zurich," Duncan began, each word falling like lead, "I was told my personal assistant had resigned and taken a severance package. I was told she wanted nothing to do with the Vance family after the trauma."
Felice’s pulse spiked against the pale skin of her neck. "She... she did! She took the money and disappeared! I told you that myself!"
"Her name was Anwen Edwards," Duncan continued, ignoring the interruption. "I couldn't remember her face. The head trauma took months of memories. But yesterday, going through the old logistics archives for the maritime expansion, I saw her signature on the shipping manifests from that summer."
He turned toward the bed, looking at Anwen.
"The signature on her maid employment contract is identical," Duncan said. "Down to the loop in the 'A'."
Felice laughed, a high, nervous sound. "So what? She fell on hard times and came back begging for a job! Mrs. Higgins hired her! It was charity, Duncan! We were helping her!"
"You threw her wages into the pool," Duncan roared, the sheer volume of his voice making Felice jump backward. "You told her she should have kept the boy a secret! What secret, Felice?!"
"He’s not yours!" Felice screamed, dropping the mask entirely, her voice venomous. "You think you’re so clever, Duncan? You think every child with dark hair belongs to your royal bloodline? She was sleeping with half the transport department in Zurich! That boy could belong to anyone! She brought him here to extort you, to ruin us!"
From the bed, Leo stirred, whimpering at the harsh noise.
Anwen stood up.
She was trembling, but something inside her—something that had been crushed, buried, and starved for five long years—finally snapped. She looked at Felice, not with fear, but with an ancient, burning hatred.
"I never touched another man," Anwen said, her voice shaking with tears, but ringing clear through the room. "Not before Duncan. Not after."
Felice turned on her, hand raised to strike. "Shut your lying mouth, you filthy—"
Duncan caught Felice’s wrist mid-air.
He didn't squeeze, but the absolute, crushing stillness of his grip was more terrifying than violence. He looked down at his fiancée with disgust so absolute that Felice actually whimpered.
"Get out of this house," Duncan whispered.
"Duncan, you can't do this! My father—"
"Get out," he repeated. "Before I have the estate security drag you down the driveway in front of the press you’re so terrified of."
He released her wrist with a flick of contempt. Felice stumbled back, clutching her arm, her chest heaving. She looked at Duncan, then at Anwen, and finally at the boy.
"You’ll regret this," Felice hissed, her eyes wild with malice. "Both of you. You have no idea what my father holds over your company, Duncan. And you, Anwen... you should have drowned in that pool."
She spun on her heels and stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy mahogany door behind her.
The room fell into heavy, suffocating silence.
Duncan stood by the window for a long moment, staring out into the blackness of the estate grounds. His chest rose and fell in heavy, measured breaths.
Finally, he turned to face Anwen.
"Is he mine?"
Anwen looked down at Leo’s sleeping face, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. A single tear rolled down her cheek, dripping onto the white linen.
"Does it matter?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "You don't remember loving me, Duncan. And in three weeks, her father will destroy everything you have."
Duncan crossed the room in three strides. He stopped right in front of her, reached down, and took both of her rough, scarred hands into his own.
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"It matters," he said, his voice thick with raw emotion. "Because I may have lost my memory, Anwen... but the moment I saw him, my heart remembered."
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