Chapter 12 - THE SISTER WHO BLED FIRSTFor one endless second, no one understood who had been shot.
The gunshot still echoed against the basement walls.
Andrew had Henry on the ground.
Detective Morales rushed in with officers.
Nora screamed Clara’s name.
Eleanor screamed Victoria’s.
And Victoria stared down at the red spreading across her emerald gown.
Not wine this time.
Blood.
Clara moved before thinking.
She ran to her sister and dropped to her knees.
Victoria blinked at her, stunned.
“I think,” Victoria whispered, “this dress is ruined.”
Clara pressed both hands against the wound near Victoria’s side.
“Don’t talk.”
Victoria gave a weak laugh.
“You should enjoy that.”
Clara’s hands shook.
“Stop it.”
Eleanor crawled to them, sobbing.
“My baby. My baby, stay with me.”
Victoria’s eyes filled.
“Which one?”
Eleanor broke.
“Both.”
That word did what no apology had done.
Victoria began to cry.
Henry was handcuffed on the floor, still smiling through blood on his lip.
“You people are sentimental to the end.”
Andrew drove his fist into Henry’s face before officers dragged him back.
Morales snapped, “Hale!”
Andrew looked at Victoria bleeding on the floor and did not apologize.
Paramedics rushed in minutes later, though it felt like years.
Clara refused to remove her hands until one of them replaced her pressure with bandages.
Victoria’s fingers caught Clara’s wrist.
“Don’t go.”
Clara looked down.
Victoria’s face was pale, stripped of every weapon she had worn for years.
“I’m here,” Clara said.
Victoria swallowed.
“I slapped you.”
“Yes.”
“I called you nobody.”
“Yes.”
Victoria shut her eyes.
“I was afraid you were everything.”
Clara’s throat tightened.
Paramedics lifted Victoria onto a stretcher.
Eleanor followed, gripping her hand.
Nora was cut free and placed in another ambulance. She kept crying apologies Clara was not ready to answer.
Outside, dawn had broken over the city.
News vans waited beyond the police barricade.
The world already knew part of the story.
But not all of it.
Not the stolen baby.
Not the false death.
Not the adopted heiress.
Not the lawyer who had lived inside the family secrets like a parasite.
At the hospital, Victoria was rushed into surgery.
Eleanor stood in the hallway covered in her daughter’s blood.
Clara sat beside Nora, unable to speak.
Nora reached for her hand.
Clara let her fingers rest there, but did not squeeze.
That was all she could give.
“I wanted to tell you,” Nora whispered.
Clara stared at the floor.
“When?”
Nora wept silently.
Andrew brought Clara coffee she did not drink.
Detective Morales arrived two hours later.
“Henry is talking,” she said.
Eleanor looked up.
“He wants a deal.”
Andrew’s mouth tightened.
“For what?”
Morales looked at Clara.
“Information on Charles Whitmore’s death.”
Eleanor went still.
“My husband died of a heart attack.”
Morales shook her head.
“Henry says Charles was murdered.”
The hallway fell silent.
May you like
Then Morales added,
“And he says Victoria’s biological mother is still alive.”
Related Stories
