Chapter 3: The Secret My Mother Buried
For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.
The words coming through Rebecca’s phone seemed impossible.
My mother.
Not Genevieve.
Not Adrian.
My mother.
“Dorian?”” Rebecca asked.
I stared at the empty fireplace in the guest house, my mind trying to reject what I had just heard.
“My mother requested the review?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Three months ago.””
Three months.
I felt a strange emptiness settle over me.
Three months ago, I was planning my wedding.
Three months ago, I was telling people I had finally found happiness again.
Three months ago, my own family was quietly investigating how to take control of the money I had protected for my sons.
“Rebecca,” I said slowly, “what exactly did Adrian find?””
“I don’t know yet.””
“You said you found something.””
“I found the request. Not the full report.””
“Where is the report?””
Another pause.
That pause told me everything.
“Rebecca.””
“I’m trying to locate it.””
“Trying?””
“Dorian, Adrian had access to thousands of documents. If he hid something, he likely didn’t keep it in the normal system.””
I walked toward the window.
Outside, the sun had completely disappeared.
The same house that had looked peaceful that afternoon now looked like a place filled with secrets.
“Why would my mother do this?””
Rebecca didn’t answer immediately.
Because she knew the answer might hurt.
“My best guess?””
“Tell me.””
“She was worried about the future of the family.””
I laughed quietly.
“Meaning?””
“Meaning she may believe your sons are too young to inherit control over their trust. She may believe Genevieve, as your wife, could influence decisions.””
“That doesn’t explain why she would work with Adrian.””
“No.””
Rebecca’s voice lowered.
“And that’s the part I’m concerned about.””
I sat down.
My mother, Eleanor Ashcombe, had always been difficult to understand.
She was not cruel.
She was not heartless.
But she had spent her entire life believing the Ashcombe name came before individual happiness.
When my father died, she took over the family foundation and transformed it into a machine of efficiency. Every decision had a reason. Every person had a purpose.
Including me.
Especially me.
Growing up, I never doubted she loved me.
But I often wondered if she knew how to love me without managing me.
“Do you think she wanted Genevieve to marry me?”” I asked.
Rebecca was quiet.
“I think we need to find out.””
After hanging up, I remained sitting there until my phone buzzed again.
This time, the screen showed the name I had spent the last several hours avoiding.
Genevieve.
For a moment, I simply watched it ring.
The woman on the other end of that call had kissed me goodbye three days earlier and told me she couldn’t wait until I came home.
Now she was calling me while my sons were sleeping in the room she wanted to empty.
I answered.
“Hello.””
“Dorian?””
Her voice sounded worried.
Not guilty.
Worried.
That almost made it worse.
“Where are you?”” she asked.
“Out.””
A small pause.
“You’re not home?””
“No.””
Another pause.
“Did something happen?””
I looked toward the ceiling.
The ceiling above a house that had stopped feeling like mine.
“What makes you ask that?””
She laughed softly.
“You sound strange.””
“I’m tired.””
“I know you. You’re not just tired.””
I almost admired how easily she played the role.
Almost.
“I had a difficult day.””
“Oh no.””
Her voice immediately became gentle.
“What happened?””
I closed my eyes.
The old Dorian would have told her.
The old Dorian would have trusted her.
The old Dorian would have believed concern meant love.
“I’ll explain when I get back.””
“Of course.””
Then she added:
“I miss you.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
A lie could be beautiful when someone delivered it perfectly.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said.
“Dorian?””
“Yes?””
“I love you.””
The words landed differently now.
Like something borrowed.
Something fake.
“I’ll talk to you later.””
I ended the call.
Ten minutes later, another message appeared.
From Genevieve.
*I hope you know I would never do anything to hurt you or the boys.*
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
*Family means protecting what we build together.*
I read that sentence three times.
Because somehow she was still talking like she was the victim.
Like she was the person protecting us.
I forwarded every message to Rebecca.
Then I did something I had avoided for years.
I opened my private security archive.
Every camera.
Every recording.
Every access log.
My estate had security systems, but I had always respected privacy. Cameras covered entrances and exterior areas, but the interior recordings were limited to specific safety zones.
The nursery.
The hallway.
The playroom.
The places where my sons spent their days.
I searched the last three months.
At first, I found nothing.
Then I noticed something.
A pattern.
Genevieve never appeared in the recordings when she was speaking negatively about my sons.
She knew exactly where the cameras were.
She knew how to avoid them.
That meant one thing.
This was not a sudden change.
This was planned.
I pulled up the security access records.
And there it was.
A visitor entry.
Adrian Vale.
Two months earlier.
He had visited my home.
Without telling me.
I stared at the timestamp.
The same week Genevieve had started asking questions about my family’s legal structure.
The same week she had suddenly become interested in “understanding my responsibilities.””
My phone rang.
This time, it was Marcus.
“Mr. Ashcombe?””
“Yes?””
“I checked the gate records like you asked.””
“What did you find?””
“Something unusual.””
I stood.
“Tell me.””
“Adrian Vale came to the estate three times in the last two months.””
My stomach tightened.
“Not once?””
“No, sir.””
“And Genevieve?””
“She was here every time.””
The room felt smaller.
“Thank you, Marcus.””
“There’s something else.””
“What?””
A pause.
“The last visit was yesterday.””
Yesterday.
While I was in Singapore.
While I was thousands of miles away believing everything was normal.
“Who let him in?””
“Ms. Sutter.””
Of course.
I looked at the roses sitting untouched on the table.
Twenty-four flowers.
Twenty-four reminders of how wrong I had been.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I sat in the guest house surrounded by documents, recordings, and unanswered questions.
At 2:14 in the morning, Rebecca sent me a message.
*Found the report. Call me immediately.*
I called.
She answered before the first ring finished.
“Dorian, I need you to listen carefully.””
“What did you find?””
“The report Adrian created was not just about the children’s trust.””
“What else?””
“He investigated your marriage agreement.””
I frowned.
“My marriage agreement was drafted by you.””
“Yes.””
“And?””
“He was looking for weaknesses.””
The words made my chest tighten.
“Weaknesses?””
“Places where Genevieve could gain influence over your assets.””
“She already knew she couldn’t access them directly.””
“Correct.””
“Then what was she trying to do?””
Rebecca was quiet.
Then she said:
“Dorian, there is a clause in your father’s original trust documents.””
I stood.
“What clause?””
“A clause that activates only if you remarry.””
My blood went cold.
“What does it say?””
“That if your wife is legally recognized as a guardian figure to your children, she can petition for temporary oversight of certain decisions.””
I stared at the wall.
“So if Genevieve married me…”
“She could attempt to control parts of the trust.””
“Even if she wasn’t their mother?””
“Yes.””
I closed my eyes.
Everything suddenly made sense.
The patience.
The kindness.
The perfect timing.
She didn’t need to steal from me.
She needed me to invite her into the family.
“Rebecca,” I whispered, “why would my father create something like that?””
“I don’t know.””
“No.””
I looked down at the folder.
“The question is why did my mother know about it?””
A long silence followed.
Then Rebecca said:
“Dorian, there’s something else in the report.””
“What?””
“Adrian wasn’t the only person investigating your trust.””
My heart sank.
“Who else?””
She hesitated.
Then answered.
“Someone using Genevieve Sutter’s personal information.””
I waited.
“Who?””
Rebecca’s voice dropped.
“Her father.””
I froze.
Because Genevieve had told me her father died years ago.
And if Rebecca was right…
Then the woman I planned to marry had lied about something much bigger than my money.
May you like
She had lied about her family.
And the next morning, when I finally returned to my own house, I discovered someone had already warned Genevieve that I knew.
