Chapter 3 - WHAT EMMA REALLY WAS
Christopher had spent seven years lying to the world.
The lie had begun the night Emma was born.
Rachel Monroe had been twenty-nine, brilliant, reckless, and completely wrong for the Pierce family.
Christopher had loved her anyway.
His mother had called Rachel “temporary.”
His father had called her “embarrassing.”
The newspapers had called her Christopher Pierce’s latest scandal.
Then Rachel got pregnant.
Three weeks later, the Pierce family attorney arrived at her apartment.
Christopher hadn’t sent him.
Estelle had.
Rachel called Christopher that night.
“They want me gone.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
“What did she say?”
“That if I care about this baby, I’ll disappear before your family destroys us both.”
Christopher remembered gripping the phone.
“I’m coming over.”
“No.”
“Rachel—”
“I said no.”
She disappeared the next morning.
For almost a year, he searched.
Then a private investigator found her in Portland.
By then, Emma was three months old.
Christopher flew there without telling his family.
The first time he held his daughter, she grabbed his finger and refused to let go.
He knew instantly.
This was his child.
His responsibility.
His life.
But Rachel was terrified.
“If your mother learns you’re involved, she’ll find a way to take her.”
“She can’t.”
“You still think Estelle Pierce needs permission?”
Christopher hated that Rachel was probably right.
So they made a decision.
A terrible one.
Publicly, Emma would remain Rachel Monroe’s daughter.
Privately, Christopher would support them.
Quiet visits.
Hidden accounts.
No photographs.
No press.
No acknowledgment.
Then Rachel died in a car accident when Emma was four.
Christopher brought Emma to the Pierce estate.
The official story was simple.
He was honoring Rachel’s memory.
Only three people knew the truth.
Christopher.
Rachel’s attorney.
And Estelle.
Or so he had believed.
Now, in the pool courtyard, Christopher looked at Yvette.
“How much does Juliette know?”
“Enough.”
“How?”
Yvette hesitated.
“Mr. Pierce…”
“How?”
“She found papers in your study.”
Christopher’s stomach dropped.
“What papers?”
“Emma’s birth certificate.”
“That was in a locked drawer.”
“Yes, sir.”
Christopher looked toward the mansion.
His private study had only two keys.
He carried one.
The other had belonged to his father.
After his death, Estelle kept it.
Christopher rose.
“Get Emma inside.”
Emma grabbed his hand tighter.
“No.”
“Sweetheart—”
“No!”
Her fear wasn’t childish stubbornness.
It was panic.
“You’re not leaving me.”
Christopher crouched.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“To Grandma?”
He nodded.
Emma’s eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t.”
Christopher stared at her.
“Why?”
Emma swallowed.
Then whispered something that made the courtyard disappear around him.
“Because Grandma already knows you heard the recording.”
“How could she know?”
Emma pointed toward the house.
“To the camera.”
Christopher slowly turned.
Above the courtyard door, a security camera stared back at him.
Its tiny red light was blinking.
May you like
Then suddenly—
the light went dark.
