Chapter 2 - THE RESULT THAT COULDN'T EXISTI didn't sleep that night.
Neither did Noah.
Every time his tiny chest rose and fell, I stared at him as though someone might take him away while I blinked.
At four seventeen in the morning, I finally walked downstairs.
The Whitmore estate was silent.
Adrian's study was locked.
His mother's bedroom was dark.
I stood outside the study door for nearly a minute before remembering something Adrian had forgotten.
He had once given me the emergency key.
Because, for three years, he had trusted me with everything.
Or at least I'd believed he had.
The key still worked.
Inside, the room smelled like cedar and expensive whiskey.
I turned on the desk lamp.
Documents were everywhere.
Corporate contracts.
Bank statements.
Legal correspondence.
And then I saw it.
A folder labeled:
PROJECT ORCHARD
My hands trembled.
I opened it.
The first page was a genetic report.
But the patient's name wasn't Noah.
It wasn't Adrian.
It was mine.
Lydia Whitmore.
I stopped breathing.
I read the report twice.
Then three times.
My genetic profile had been compared against another sample.
The result stated that I was not biologically related to the person listed as my father.
That made no sense.
My father had died eleven years earlier.
Why would Eleanor be investigating my DNA?
I flipped the page.
A second report.
Then a third.
Bank transfers.
Private investigators.
Hospital records.
And finally, an old photograph.
A woman stood beside a hospital bed holding a newborn baby.
The woman was Eleanor.
The baby was me.
My knees weakened.
I turned the photograph over.
Written on the back were six words.
The original heir was never supposed to survive.
A floorboard creaked.
I froze.
“Lydia?”
Adrian.
I shoved the papers back into the folder.
“I'm here.”
The door opened.
He stared at me.
Then at the folder.
His expression changed.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for my son's DNA report.”
“You're not supposed to be in here.”
“Neither is my DNA.”
His face went pale.
That was when I knew.
Adrian knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
“What is Project Orchard?”
He didn't answer.
“Why does your mother have my genetic records?”
“Lydia, listen to me—”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You listen.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Afraid your mother will hear?”
His jaw tightened.
“You don't understand what Eleanor has been doing.”
“Then explain it.”
He said nothing.
I held up the photograph.
“Who is this?”
He stared at it.
Then closed his eyes.
“My father had another child.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“My grandfather had a daughter.”
“Who?”
Adrian swallowed.
“Your mother.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“No.”
“She was adopted.”
“No.”
“Lydia—”
“No!”
I backed away.
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
“I know.”
“You're telling me she was adopted?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
Adrian looked at the floor.
“Eleanor's parents.”
My blood ran cold.
Suddenly the pieces began moving.
The secret DNA test.
The old photograph.
The hidden records.
The obsession with Noah.
But there was one question that terrified me more than all the others.
“Why?”
Adrian's voice broke.
“Because my grandfather left an inheritance.”
“How much?”
He looked at me.
“Enough to destroy this family.”
May you like
Then he said something that made my entire body go cold.
“The inheritance wasn't supposed to go to me.”
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