AT MY HUSBAND’S CHARITY GALA, HIS MISTRESS STOOD ONSTAGE TO SING MY DEAD MOTHER’S SONG—THEN OUR 12-YEAR-OLD SON WHISPERED, “MOM, SHE DOESN’T KNOW HOW IT ENDS.”

The walls of my mother’s bedroom felt like they were shrinking.

I sat on the floor, surrounded by my father’s letters, the truth crushing me like a physical weight.

Vanessa was my half-sister. My father had left my mother for another woman, had a child, and died shortly after. And my mother—my beautiful, fiercely kind mother—had taken Vanessa in when her own mother couldn't afford piano lessons.

She hadn’t told me. She wanted to protect me from the scandal, from the pain of knowing our father had abandoned us for another family. She had given me the locket to make me feel whole on my wedding day, taking it back from Vanessa to pass it to her "legitimate" daughter.

And Vanessa had never forgiven her for it.

I stared at the framed photo of Christopher kissing Vanessa’s cheek.

Did Christopher know?

Of course he knew. He knew everything. That’s why he targeted her. He knew Vanessa harbored deep resentment toward my mother and me. He had used her jealousy to manipulate her, and she had used him to take back what she felt she was owed: the house, the locket, the foundation, the husband.

A car door slammed outside.

I jumped up and ran to the window.

Christopher’s black Mercedes was parked behind my car. He was out of the driver's seat, staring furiously at my license plate.

He knew I was here.

I shoved the letters into my bag, my heart hammering against my ribs. I couldn't let him corner me in this house.

I ran down the stairs just as the front door unlocked and slammed open.

Christopher stood in the entryway, his face dark with rage.

“What are you doing here, Sarah?” he growled, stepping inside and locking the deadbolt behind him.

“I know everything,” I said, clutching my bag to my chest. “I know about Leo. I know Vanessa is my sister.”

For a second, surprise flickered in his eyes. Then, a cruel, mocking smile spread across his face.

“Well. It took you long enough. You always were a little slow to see what was right in front of you.”

“You’re a monster,” I whispered. “You stole my mother’s foundation. You put your bastard child in her house.”

“I saved this family!” Christopher shouted, slamming his hand against the wall. “Your mother was going to give the foundation to Vanessa! She felt guilty! I intercepted the paperwork. I convinced Margaret to sign it over to my company instead, to protect you.”

“You did it to enrich yourself!”

“I did it because you were weak!” he spat. “And then Vanessa found out. She threatened to expose the original draft of the will. So I handled her. I gave her a job. I gave her a child. I kept her quiet and kept our empire intact.”

“I’m going to the police,” I said, stepping toward the door.

Christopher laughed. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, familiar item.

It was Ethan’s music notebook.

“I don’t think you will,” Christopher said softly. “Because if you try to take me down, I’ll take Ethan from you. I have the best lawyers in Chicago. I’ll claim you’re mentally unstable. I’ll make sure you only see our son on supervised weekends.”

He tossed the notebook at my feet.

“Go home, Sarah. Bake some cookies. Be a good wife. Or lose your son.”