Wesley paused.
“And you are…?”
A man who appeared to be the family’s longtime aide stepped forward.
“We’re with the Ashford family of Y Country.
This is Reginald Ashford, head of the family.”
Wesley knew the Ashford name well, and he knew exactly who Reginald was.
One of Reginald’s sons had just been transferred to the hospital for surgery.
Wesley rose from his chair.
“I’m not releasing her blood sample without an explanation.
Tell me exactly what this is about.”
The aide explained, “Mr.
Ashford’s granddaughter disappeared in Fortune Hollow when she was a child.
We recently received a lead that she may be here, and we’re hoping to confirm it with a DNA test.”
Wesley considered that for a moment.
“I do have Elara’s blood sample.
When she was in high school, her younger sister was injured in a car accident.
Her brothers brought Elara to the military compound several times to donate blood.
We still have her test records, and there’s blood remaining in the bank.
The Weston family kept it on file in case her sister ever needed another transfusion.”
“They made her donate blood repeatedly when she was still a teenager?” Reginald’s face hardened, fury breaking through his composure.
“Who gave them the right to treat my granddaughter that way?”
Wesley had long thought the Westons had gone too far.
If Elara had not once saved his life, he might never have learned how poorly the family treated her.
The fact that she and Rosalind happened to share the same blood type had only made the situation easier for them to exploit.
“Come with me to the lab,” Wesley said.
“If Elara really is the child your family lost, then maybe she’s finally found the people who should have been protecting her all along.”
…
At school, Rosalind caught Elara by the wrist.
Elara frowned.
“What now?”
They were still in the classroom.
Rosalind’s eyes welled almost instantly.
“Mom and Dad are back.
They want you to come home because…
because…”
Tears spilled down Rosalind’s face before she could finish.
“Hit me if you want, Elara.
It’s all my fault.
Mom and Dad want to publicly acknowledge me as their biological daughter, and Sebastian insists on ending his engagement with you so he can marry me.
I don’t want this.
I really don’t want to hurt you.”
The sudden tearful apology drew the entire class’s attention.
One of Rosalind’s friends immediately stepped forward.
“What is your problem, Elara?
Everyone already knows you aren’t the Westons’ biological daughter.
You’ve left the family, so why should Rosalind have to keep pretending she’s the adopted one?”
Elara gave her a flat look.
“When exactly did you see me refuse to leave?”
She pulled her wrist free and brushed off her sleeve where Rosalind had touched it.
“Enough.
Ending the engagement suits me just fine.
I’ll be there on time.”
When Rosalind realized Elara genuinely did not care, she bit her lip and tried again.
“But Elara, if you lose Sebastian, what will you have left?
At least marrying into the Merritt family would give you a comfortable life.”
Rosalind made it sound like concern, but the message beneath it was obvious: she was the Westons’ biological daughter now, and she wanted everyone to see her as the one who truly belonged at Sebastian’s side.
“Sebastian Merritt is really going to marry you?” her friend exclaimed loudly.
“Rosalind, do you realize what that means?
You’ll be part of one of the capital’s most prominent families.”
Several classmates crowded around.
“My dad works in construction,” one of them said.
“He heard the Ashfords—the wealthiest family in Y Country—recently invested two billion in a major development here in the capital.
They’re building a luxury commercial district, and apparently the Merritts are involved too.”
Rosalind was soon surrounded by classmates teasing her about becoming the future Mrs.
Merritt.
Her cheeks flushed as she glanced toward Elara.
“Stop.
Don’t say things like that.
I don’t want to marry Sebastian.
I only want Elara to be happy.”
Rosalind turned back to Elara, guilt written all over her face.
“I know I’ve hurt you.
The others hope you’ll teach me how to become a better pharmacist.
Elara…
would you teach me?”
Elara leaned against the window, sunlight falling across her shoulders.
She gave Rosalind a cool glance.
“Sorry.
You wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
Rosalind’s expression froze, the color draining from her lips.
“You still won’t forgive me…”
A second later, Rosalind’s knees buckled and she collapsed, looking suddenly fragile and helpless.
By the time Rosalind was carried to the infirmary, the story had already spread across half the school: Elara had upset her so badly that she fainted.
Elara could not have cared less.
Her next class was biology, material she already knew inside out and could practically recite from memory.
She saw no point in sitting through it, so she skipped class and went to the music room instead.
The piano in the music room was old, and students rarely used it except when they were rehearsing for school performances.
Elara came here occasionally when she needed a quiet place to think.
She sat at the piano, rested her hands on the keys, and began to play.
What she did not realize was that the usually empty music room had another visitor that day.
Dorian Ashford had heard that his missing sister might be studying at the medical university.
As soon as he finished a concert at the Golden Hall in Vienna, he flew to the capital to follow the lead himself.
While walking near the campus, he heard piano music drifting from an otherwise unremarkable academic building.
He stopped.
The music caught him immediately.
Dorian was an internationally acclaimed musician, yet he had never heard the piece before.
It had the sweep of a full symphony, balancing power and tenderness with astonishing control.
There was something almost Beethoven-like in its grandeur, and the performance itself could have held its own on any major concert stage.
Without quite realizing it, Dorian followed the music until he reached the room it was coming from.
From the doorway, he saw a simply dressed young woman seated at the piano in a wash of sunlight.
Her expression was completely absorbed, as though the rest of the world had disappeared.
Dorian knew that look.
He wore it himself whenever he became lost in a piece.
The music stopped abruptly.
Elara turned sharply.
“Who’s there?”
Dorian stared at her.
The resemblance around her eyes struck him first.
Then came a certainty so sudden and visceral that he could not explain it.
Before he could stop himself, the words were already out.
“You’re…
my sister.”