Melody's POV
Marc. That name hadn't left my thoughts since the dream.
The way my mother had looked at me. The soft tremble in her voice when she said his name. My father's eyes filled with regret. And then, they were gone.
I had woken up in my car, cold sweat running down my back. The pain in my side still lingered, but it wasn't as sharp as the ache in my heart. I knew dreams didn't bring people back. I knew the dead didn't talk.
But something about that dream had felt too real to ignore.
I began to search.
Not with force or loud questions, but with quiet steps. I started at the beginning my birth. My parents. I checked hospital records online using the little access I had. Nothing obvious. Just my name. Melody Quinn. Born February 5th. No twin listed.
But something didn't sit right.
I visited the old neighborhood. The one we lived in before everything changed. The woman who lived two doors down was still there. Mrs. Sunny. She used to babysit me when my parents worked late.
When she opened the door and saw me, her hand flew to her mouth.
"Melody? My God. You look just like your father."
She welcomed me in with warm arms and a soft smile. Her living room smelled like pap and ginger.
"You've grown into a strong woman," she said.
I gave her a tight smile. "Do you remember if… if I ever had a brother? A twin?"
Her eyes blinked slowly, and then her smile faded.
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she stood and walked to a drawer, digging through old photos. She pulled one out and handed it to me.
It was a picture of two babies. Identical.
Same cheeks. Same smile. Same eyes.
One wore a blue onesie. The other, pink.
"That's you. And him. Your brother. Marc."
My throat closed. "So… it's true."
Mrs. Sunny sat down beside me. "Your parents didn't talk much about him. After he was taken… they didn't even say his name anymore."
My head snapped up. "Taken?"
She nodded slowly. "You were both barely six months. I don't know the full story. But I remember the day it happened. Police, people shouting. Your mama was crying like she had lost everything."
I couldn't breathe.
"How could they never tell me?"
She placed her hand on mine. "Maybe they thought it was safer. Maybe they thought he was gone forever."
I stood up. My legs shook. Marc was real.
And he had been stolen.
Back in the car, I stared at the photo for hours. My hand never left the edge of it. I zoomed in on his face. I studied every corner of the room behind us, hoping to find a clue.
Why was Marc taken? And who took him?
I didn't tell anyone. Not even Stella. Not Marvis. This was mine. Mine to solve. Mine to carry.
If Marc was alive… if he was out there somewhere… I had to find him.
The next day, I visited the small archive office in town. Some public records were still stored in hard copy there. I searched through missing child reports, cold cases, even abandoned adoption logs.
Nothing under "Marc Quinn."
But I remembered something from law school: sometimes, stolen children were given new names. Identities wiped clean.
If someone powerful was behind this, they could've erased everything.
Then I thought of S.H. Group.
Of Marvis. Of his connections.
What if the people who killed my parents also took my brother? What if I was getting close to something bigger than I ever imagined?
My hands curled into fists. I had to dig deeper.
But I needed to be careful. I couldn't trust anyone.
Not even him.
Later that night, I passed by Marvis's building on the way to the archive again. His car was parked out front. The same black SUV he always used. For a moment, I stopped.
Did he know? Had he known all along?
I bit my lip and turned away. I wouldn't let myself fall again. Not now.
Not when Marc might still be alive.