Chapter 3 - The Hall of Mirrors
The interior of the estate was a museum of wealth—gilded moldings, oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors, and hallways so long they seemed to stretch into infinity. We were led down a west-wing corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors into a vast, sunlit fitting room where racks of ivory tulle, silk ribbons, and designer gowns waited like ghostly brides.
Two seamstresses in black attire fluttered around like nervous birds, holding tape measures and pins.
“Set them on the podium,” instructed Madame Claire, a sharp-eyed French stylist who looked as though she hadn't smiled since the Reagan administration.
Betty and Maria climbed up onto the circular velvet pedestal, giggling quietly as they examined their reflections.
“Stand still, monsters,” I whispered affectionately, adjusting Betty’s collar.
“They are precious,” Amanda remarked, standing near the doorway with a flute of sparkling water in her hand. She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving my face. “Daniel didn't mention he had such... colorful chapters in his past, Rachel. When he told me two little girls from Queens were joining the wedding party, I assumed they were relatives of a maid or a gardener. Imagine my surprise when I looked at their birth certificates.”
The air in the room instantly dropped twenty degrees.
The seamstresses froze, their pins hovering above the fabric.
I turned slowly to face Amanda, my chin lifting. “You pulled their birth certificates?”
“Of course I did,” Amanda said, her voice dropping all pretense of sweetness as she stepped closer. “When you’re marrying a billionaire whose net worth makes national headlines, due diligence is mandatory, darling. And let me tell you, finding out my future husband fathered twins out of wedlock with a penniless project manager from Queens was... quite the breakfast table conversation.”
Maria tugged on my sleeve, her lower lip trembling. “Mommy, why is the lady looking at us like we’re bad?”
“She’s not, sweetheart,” I said, though my hands were shaking as I stroked Maria’s dark hair. I looked straight into Amanda’s emerald eyes. “If you have a problem with my daughters being here, take it up with Daniel. He’s the one who demanded we come.”
“Oh, Daniel is trapped by his own sense of honor,” Amanda sneered, stepping right up to me. Her perfume—expensive, sharp jasmine—clung heavily to the air. “He thinks because he shares DNA with those children, he owes them a front-row seat to his life. But let me make one thing crystal clear to you, Rachel: this wedding is happening. The merger is happening. And when the ink is dry, Daniel Harden belongs to the Sterlings. You and your little bastards are nothing more than an expensive inconvenience we will quietly sweep out of the way.”
Before I could unleash the fury building behind my ribs, the heavy oak door behind Amanda swung open with a resounding click.
A shadow fell across the room.
“Amanda,” a voice cut through the heavy air—low, lethal, and absolute. “Get out.”
Amanda spun around, her haughty expression instantly melting into a mask of wounded innocence. “Daniel, darling! We were just discussing—”
“I said, get out,” Daniel repeated, stepping into the room.
He hadn't changed into his suit yet; he wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean, corded muscle of a man who still worked sixteen-hour days. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his jaw was set like granite. But it was his eyes that caught my breath—those piercing blue eyes weren't looking at Amanda.
They were locked entirely on Betty and Maria.
May you like
Amanda pressed her lips together, shot me a venomous, sideways glance, and clicked her heels against the hardwood floor as she swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
