The hospital corridor slled of bleach and impending doom. Amara leaned against the cold wall, her hands shaking so hard she had to bury them in her pockets. Every second the "In Use" sign stayed lit above the ER doors felt like a year off her life.
Then ca the storm.
"What did you do to her?!"
Elara’s voice tore through the quiet hallway like a jagged blade. She marched toward Amara, her eyes bloodshot and wild. "If anything happens to Seren, I will destroy you. I’ll make you pay for every drop of blood she loses!"
Amara straightened up, her fear flash-freezing into a hard, cold mask. "How dare you," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Even if I had done sothing, what could soone like you possibly do to ? Look at you, you’re falling apart."
The tension was thick enough to choke on until the heavy double doors swung open. A doctor stepped out, his surgical mask hanging from one ear, his face grim.
"How is she?" Elara lunged forward. "How is my daughter?"
"It’s not good," the doctor said, skipping the pleasantries. "She’s bleeding uncontrollably. We suspect a rare hereditary blood clotting disorder. We need to run genetic tests imdiately, which ans we need to contact her father."
Amara frowned, stepping closer. "She was admitted to this hospital when she was a toddler. The records departnt should still have her father’s contact info on file. Just pull the old charts."
"You’re right," the doctor nodded, already turning back toward the nursing station. "I’ll go call him right now. We don’t have much ti."
"No!"
The word exploded out of Elara. She looked like she’d been struck by lightning, pale, sweating, and suddenly terrified in a way that had nothing to do with the dical ergency.
"Wait! You can’t call him!" Elara gasped, her voice cracking.
Amara froze, her eyes narrowing as she studied the sheer panic on the other woman’s face.
"Why not, Elara?" Amara asked, her voice dripping with sudden, dark suspicion. "What are you hiding?"
Elara’s face went ghostly white. She fumbled with her phone, her fingers trembling so much it nearly slipped from her grasp.
"Seb... Seb drank too much last night," she stamred, her voice thin and high-pitched. "He’s still in bed. He won’t pick up. He’s useless right now."
The doctor’s brow furrowed. This wasn’t just a drunk husband problem; this was a life-or-death crisis. "Then we call Seren’s grandmother. This condition is aggressive, it could cause permanent, serious harm within the hour. We need a compatibility test from a blood relative imdiately."
"Doctor, please," Elara stepped in front of him, her voice bordering on a plea. "Don’t call them. Not yet. Just give a mont to..."
"Why are you so flustered, Elara?" Amara interrupted, her voice cutting through the panic like a cold breeze. She stepped forward, her eyes locked onto Elara’s shifting gaze. "Why are you so desperate to stop the doctor from making a simple phone call? Is it guilt? Or is it because you know that if they test Seb, the truth cos out... that Seren isn’t even his child?"
The air in the hallway turned to ice.
"What are you even talking about?!" Elara shrieked, the panic turning into a frantic, ugly defense. "What, do you want him? Is that it? You’re still hung up on my husband so you’re making up lies?"
Amara didn’t blink. The lady protested too much. Sothing was rotting beneath the surface of this family, and Seren’s life was the price being paid for the secret.
There is sothing wrong with Seren’s heritage, Amara thought. And I’m going to find out what.
She stepped away from the screaming woman and pulled out her phone, dialing a number she knew by heart.
"Julian," she whispered as soon as he picked up. "I need a favor. Look into Seren’s background. Everything. Birth records, DNA, don’t leave a stone unturned."
"Consider it done," Julian’s smooth voice replied. "But don’t forget our reservation tonight. You need a break from that circus."
"I’ll be there," Amara said, hanging up.
She leaned back against the wall, watching Elara fall apart. The last thing Amara wanted was to go ho and face Amira. Why was she back now? Between the hospital drama and the ghosts of her past returning, the web was tightening.
----
While the hospital was drowning in secrets, the Pedro estate was drowning in shadows.
Amira stood before the floor-length mirror, smoothing out the expensive silk of one of Amara’s favorite dresses. It fit like a second skin. She looked like a masterpiece, a perfect, identical copy.
"Hello, Miss Amara! I thought you left with Mr. Vale?" a maid chirped, pausing in the doorway with a stack of fresh linens.
Amira didn’t even turn around. Her voice was cold, clipped. "Mind your business and get a strong coffee. No sugar."
The maid blinked, her confusion visible in the mirror’s reflection. "What? But... Miss Amara, you hate strong coffee. You always say it tastes like..."
"Just get it!" Amira snapped.
"Amara, dear?"
The voice of Madam Pedro echoed from the hallway. Amira’s eyes flashed with a predatory glint. She spun around, a bright, fake smile plastered on her face, and ran toward the older woman, throwing her arms around her.
"Mummy, dear!" Amira cried, her voice softening into a sweet, lodic tone.
Madam Pedro hugged her back tightly, but then she pulled away, her eyes searching her daughter’s face. "Amira? Darling?"
Amira’s smile faltered.
"My baby girl," Madam Pedro whispered, her eyes filling with tears of joy. "When did you return? Why didn’t you call ? For a second, I truly thought it was Amara... but there’s a look in your eyes. Wait, let look at you! Oh, my two children are finally ho. I must throw a gala for you both! Maybe you will finally find a husband, too. I’m so happy, Amira!"
Madam Pedro’s excitent was a whirlwind, her voice rising with every word.
"Stop, stop, Mother!" Amira huffed, pulling away and crossing her arms. "Damn, I thought I could pass as Amara for at least an hour, but you always seem to know. Anyway, don’t get too excited. I won’t stay long. I just ca to see how you and her were doing. I’m leaving soon."
Madam Pedro’s face fell, the light in her eyes dimming instantly. She reached out, grasping Amira’s hand.
"What happened between you and your sister, Amira? I don’t understand," she pleaded, her voice cracking with the weight of years of family heartbreak. "You are the eldest. Can you not find it in your heart to forgive her? She is your sister. Your own blood."
Amira looked at her mother’s hand, then up at the ceiling, a bitter smirk playing on her lips. Forgiveness was a luxury she couldn’t afford and a word that didn’t exist in her vocabulary.
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