"The truth doesn't care who it ruins. Only that it's told."
The call came just as I was leaving the conference room.
I had barely stepped into the hallway when my phone vibrated, an unfamiliar number lighting up the screen. Normally, I would've ignored it—unknown callers were usually reporters, investigators, or opportunists pretending to be long-lost relatives of Victor. But something in me hesitated. A small tug. A whisper that said: Answer.
So, I did.
"Hello?" I asked, balancing the phone between my shoulder and cheek as I gathered the documents I had dropped earlier.
A woman's voice responded—soft, breathy, older. "Hello... is this, Sophie Montez?"
"Yes," I said cautiously.
"I'm a relative of Grey West. A distant one. Mrs. Terry. I've been trying to reach someone connected to him for a while. I was told you were the best person to speak to."
I froze.
A relative. A real blood relative.
For weeks, I'd been asking questions, connecting dots, reaching out to people who might've known Grey's parents before everything burned down—literally and figuratively. I hadn't told Grey because I didn't want to raise his hopes. Not until, I was sure.
My heart lifted. "You—You're a relative of Grey's?"
"Yes, dear. A very distant one... but still family. I've been wanting to speak with him, but I thought it would be best to speak to you first. You're the one closest to him now, yes?"
I smiled before I could stop myself.
He finally has someone. Someone left.
"Yes. Yes, of course. Can we meet?"
We made arrangements quickly—too quickly, in hindsight—her voice gentle, warm, grateful. She gave an address a few streets away from the city, in a quieter area.
When I hung up, I felt a wash of something soft in my chest. Hope.
My secretary, Ashley, poked her head into my office. "Ma'am, you have the meeting with the finance team in ten minutes—"
Mrs. Kent was not happy after she found out that Ashley was my secretary, since I made such a scene for even having one in the first place. It's kind of amusing to see her almost-sulky expression every morning.
"I know," I interrupted, trying not to sound breathless with excitement. "Ashley, please reschedule it. I—I have something important to see to."
She blinked. "Personal or business?"
"Personal. For Grey. I'm meeting a blood relative of his"
Her face shifted into understanding. "Of course, Miss Montez. I'll handle everything."
I grabbed my coat, my bag, my keys. For once, the weight of being an heiress—the meetings, the expectations, the endless spiral of responsibilities—felt light. Manageable.
Because this... this was for him.
Grey never asked for anything. He never let himself want anything. Not family, not closure, not roots. He acted like he didn't care, but I saw it... the quiet ache. The silence when he walked past photos of families. The softness whenever I mentioned Chris. The way he still looked around crowded rooms as if expecting to see someone familiar.
He deserved this.
He deserved everything.
The drive was short, but my thoughts raced.
What would Grey say? Would he be angry? Or would he—finally—feel less alone? Would this woman have stories about his father? A memory? Something, anything that could give Grey a missing piece of himself?
I imagined the look on his face. The way his eyes would widen just a little. The way his shoulders would relax. The quiet kind of joy he never let himself have.
I parked in front of the address she'd given—an old house, its paint slightly chipped, its garden overgrown. It looked lived-in, not abandoned. The curtains were pulled back. A small lamp glowed from inside.
Warm. Safe.
At least it looked that way.
I stepped out and walked up the stone path. Before I could knock, the door opened.
A lady stood there, mid-50s maybe, thin, with gentle eyes and a soft, practiced smile.
"You must be Sophie," she said. "Come in, dear. It's cold outside."
Her voice matched the one on the phone. Smooth, comforting.
I stepped inside.
The house smelled faintly of rose. There were family portraits on the walls—none I recognized. A cozy living room with knitted blankets draped over a sofa. Everything seemed normal. Too normal.
"Thank you for coming," she said, closing the door behind me. "I'm sorry for the short notice."
"It's completely fine," I assured her, heart full of anticipation. "I'm just so glad Grey has someone. Even if distant. He needs family. I just... I want to help him."
She smiled at me with an expression I couldn't quite place.
Pity? Admiration? Something else?
"Well," she said softly, "I'm grateful you care so much."
I nodded, glancing around.
"So... about Grey—" I didn't finish the sentence.
Because suddenly, a hand clamped over my mouth.
A cloth pressed against my lips and nose.
The scent hit me. Sharp. Chemical. Wrong.
My thoughts scrambled: No, no, no—this isn't happening!
My legs buckled.
My vision smeared.
The last thing I saw was the woman's soft smile turning colder—empty—as she whispered:
"Shh... it'll be over soon, dear."
And then everything slipped away.