The rain had been falling since dawn, steady and unrelenting, drumming softly against the wide glass windows of Timothy Grant's study. The room was dimly lit, the scent of old books and cedar filling the air. A low fire burned in the hearth, its light dancing against the polished surface of his desk where a thin file lay open.
Jack, Timothy's assistant, stood a few feet away, his expression tight as he adjusted his glasses. "I've gone through everything twice, sir. From her school records to her social accounts, financial logs, and travel history. There's nothing unusual to report. Everything checks out perfectly, in fact."
Timothy didn't answer immediately. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the file before him. The silence stretched, heavy but thoughtful. "Perfect," he said at last, his tone low. "That's the problem, Jack. Perfection rarely exists in real life."
Jack frowned. "You think the records were tampered with?"
Timothy turned his chair toward the rain-streaked window. "I don't think. I know." He tapped a finger once against the desk, a slow, deliberate rhythm. "The Emily Grant in these files isn't the woman living under my roof."
Jack hesitated. "In what way?"
Timothy's eyes sharpened. "The woman described here was naive. Emotional. Easily manipulated. The kind who cried during charity galas and wrote sentimental letters to a man named Benjamin." His lips curved faintly, humorless. "But the woman I married… she's calm. Precise. Cold when she needs to be, yet strangely composed."
Jack shifted uneasily. "People change, sir."
Timothy's gaze flicked toward him. "Not like this. Not overnight. You don't turn from a glass doll into stone without something breaking in between."
The fire popped in the silence that followed. Jack exhaled slowly. "Do you think she's hiding something?"
"I think," Timothy said, eyes distant, "that she's someone else entirely."
Jack's brow furrowed. "Someone else?"
Timothy stood, moving toward the window, his reflection a dark outline against the gray light. "Her eyes, Jack. When she looks at me, it's not fear or affection or even calculation. It's knowledge. As if she's seen more than she should have.
things that Emily Grant would never understand."
Jack lowered his voice. "If that's true… then who is she?"
Timothy turned slightly, his expression unreadable. "That's what I intend to find out."
For a moment, the only sound in the study was the steady rain. Then Timothy spoke again, his voice quieter now, but edged with something darker. "Keep watching her. Quietly. If she's playing a role, I want to know when the mask slips."
Jack nodded but hesitated before leaving. "Sir… forgive me, but she doesn't seem dangerous."
Timothy's mouth twitched. "Danger rarely announces itself. It walks in silence and learns your patterns first." He looked back at the flickering fire. "And she's been watching me, too. I can feel it."
Jack left, closing the door behind him. The rain pressed harder against the glass, muting the world outside.
Timothy stood there a moment longer, staring into the fire. His mind replayed their short exchanges the measured tone of her voice, the way she never seemed surprised, never unsure. He'd dealt with liars before, but Emily Grant didn't lie. She simply omitted, as though the truth itself was a luxury she refused to waste on anyone.
He lifted the file again, flipping to her photograph. The smiling woman in the picture was soft-eyed, delicate, the kind who lived for ballroom laughter and whispered confessions. The woman in his house was nothing like her.
Timothy set the file down and muttered to himself, "Who are you, Emily?"
Unseen, down the hall, Emily passed the study door at that exact moment, pausing briefly when she heard her name through the wood. She stood still for a breath, then continued walking, her expression unreadable, her footsteps silent against the marble floor.
By the time Timothy looked up again, the hall outside his study was empty.
But the faintest trace of a smirk played on Emily's lips as she returned to her room.
So, he was watching her.
Good.
She returned to her room and prepared to go to her Father's company to give him a surprise visit.
It is time to reclaim her mother left for her.