Chapter 3: Secret of the Bloodline
1557words
Each repetition convinced me further that this was no simple family dispute. Deeper secrets lurked beneath the surface, more complex conspiracies. Eleanor's fear, Marcus's nervousness, Christopher's indifference, Isabella's desperation—all pointed toward some enormous stake driving everything.
This time, I decided to actively seek out Victoria, to meet her before she arrived at the church. I needed to understand this strange mother's entire plan—to know what role she played in this deadly game.
When the wedding ceremony was about to begin, I quietly slipped out of the church. The September afternoon sun blazed with autumn's dry heat. The church parking lot brimmed with luxury vehicles—Mercedes, BMW, Audi—but the most eye-catching was a black Rolls-Royce Phantom that stood out with aristocratic elegance, like nobility among commoners.
Victoria leaned against the car, her posture relaxed and confident, as if the entire world bent to her will. She spoke quietly into her phone, but I could hear the authority in her voice. When she saw me, she immediately ended the call.
"Victoria?" I approached her, my heart pounding with nervousness.
She turned, surprise flashing in her eyes, quickly replaced by a complex emotion—an expression mixing love, pain, and something unidentifiable. "Sarah, why did you come out?"
Her voice was gentler than I'd imagined, with natural magnetism. Her eyes were indeed similar to mine, but deeper, more complex. Her beauty had been refined by time, each fine line telling a story.
"I need to know the truth. The whole truth." I looked directly into her eyes, trying to read her true intentions.
She nodded, gesturing for me to get in the car. The Rolls-Royce interior was breathtakingly luxurious—leather seats emitting a faint fragrance of expensive hide and wood. Every detail spoke of wealth and taste: hand-stitched upholstery, solid wood panels, crystal ornaments. But my attention remained fixed on this stranger who claimed to be my mother.
We drove away from the church, passing through bustling city streets. Victoria drove with elegant confidence, her long, beautiful fingers adorned with a simple yet obviously expensive diamond ring. I noticed her hand bore no wedding ring, which made me wonder about her marital status.
We arrived at a nearby private club housed in an old Victorian building that exuded the luxury and mystery of old nobility. The exterior featured typical nineteenth-century architecture—red brick walls, tall windows, exquisite carved decorations. A uniformed doorman at the entrance respectfully nodded to Victoria, clearly recognizing her.
The club's interior was even more impressive. The hall featured high ceilings adorned with exquisite chandeliers. Ancient oil paintings hung on the walls—portraits of nobles and historical scenes. Polished marble floors gleamed under the lights. The air carried an old fragrance—leather, wood, perfume, and some indescribable aristocratic essence.
Victoria led me to a private reception room—small but extremely refined. Antique furniture and oil paintings decorated the space, flames dancing in the fireplace cast a warm orange glow throughout. Bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes covered the walls, and the table was set with fine porcelain and silverware.
"I know Eleanor told you something," Victoria said, sitting elegantly on the antique sofa, her posture flawless like a noblewoman in a painting. "But she didn't tell you the whole truth."
"What truth?" I sat across from her, feeling the softness of the leather sofa and a sense of foreboding. The room's warmth contrasted sharply with the coldness spreading inside me.
"About the real purpose of today's wedding." Victoria withdrew a thick legal document from her handbag, enclosed in an expensive leather folder. "This is not a union of love, Sarah. This is a carefully planned scam."
I took the document, its legal terminology making me dizzy. It was a will written in archaic legal language, full of complex clauses and details. Still, I tried to decipher each clause, searching for key information.
"I don't understand…" I admitted frankly. The legal terms were too complicated for me.
"Your grandfather—my father—left behind an enormous fortune." Victoria pointed to a specific page, her fingers long and elegant. "According to the terms of the will, the property can only be inherited after his direct descendants marry."
I carefully read the terms she indicated, gradually grasping their meaning. This was a complex inheritance clause involving a vast fortune—real estate, stocks, bonds, art collections—with a total value exceeding five hundred million dollars.
*So this wedding is about inheritance?* "But what does this have to do with Isabella?"
Victoria's expression darkened as she stood and walked to the fireplace, flickering light casting dramatic shadows across her face. Her profile appeared more pronounced, more mysterious in the firelight. "Because Isabella is not Eleanor's daughter, nor is she your real sister. She is another child who was stolen."
*What?* I felt blood freeze in my veins—this revelation was more shocking than I'd anticipated. "You mean…"
"Twenty-seven years ago, Eleanor and Marcus stole two babies from the hospital—you and Isabella." Victoria's voice turned cold, each word like an ice dagger. "Then they arranged for you to become 'sisters,' ultimately planning for Isabella to marry Christopher."
*This means we're both heirs to the Harrison family?* The thought made me dizzy. If true, this wedding wasn't a sister marrying her cousin, but a union between two heirs.
"Through this marriage, Eleanor and Marcus could become 'guardians' of both heirs, effectively controlling all the assets." Victoria turned to face me, anger burning in her eyes. "Twenty-seven years of lies, twenty-seven years of manipulation."
I felt the entire world collapse beneath my feet. *Were Isabella and I merely tools for their scheme to seize property?* This meant our entire childhood, our entire lives, were built upon a massive lie.
"But why kill me? If you revealed the truth, wouldn't this conspiracy be exposed?"
Victoria's expression turned pained as she sat back down and took my hand. Her hand was warm and strong, completely different from Eleanor's cold touch. I felt the warmth of her palm, sensed the beating of her pulse. "Because there's another person involved in this conspiracy, someone more dangerous."
"Who?" Although I already had a guess, I still needed confirmation.
"Christopher." Her voice carried disgust, as if pronouncing something nauseating. "He knew about this plan from the beginning. He knew you were both stolen heirs, knew the true purpose of this wedding."
*The groom is also an accomplice?* Fear surged like a tide. This meant Isabella was about to marry someone who knew her true identity, someone complicit in her kidnapping.
"He plans to kill both of you after the wedding, then inherit all the property as the only surviving 'relative.'" Victoria's eyes flashed with hatred as deep as an abyss. "That's why Eleanor wants to kill you at the wedding—she wants to act before Christopher does."
*So it's not just Eleanor who wants to kill me, but Christopher too.* I felt the air grow thin, making it difficult to breathe. The room suddenly felt like a trap, the walls closing in around me.
"We must stop this wedding." I stood up, but my legs were so weak they could barely support me. Fear and shock had drained all strength from my body.
"This is exactly why I came here." Victoria also stood, her presence powerful and determined, like a warrior preparing for battle. "But we must be careful. They won't let us succeed easily."
She withdrew a small recording device from her handbag. "I've collected evidence—enough to prove their crimes. But we need to reveal this evidence at precisely the right moment."
When we returned to the church, the ceremony was nearly over. I heard the organ music, saw light streaming through stained glass windows. But now these once-beautiful elements carried ominous meaning.
I spotted Marcus standing behind a stone pillar, a noticeable bulge distorting his suit jacket. Now I knew what it was.
*A gun.*
Just as the priest announced "You may kiss the bride," Marcus emerged from the shadows, indeed holding a black pistol. It was an exquisite gun, like a collector's item, but absolutely deadly. The barrel reflected a deathly glow in the church's candlelight.
"I'm sorry, but you know too much." His voice was cold and deadly, like a professional assassin executing a mission.
The gunshot exploded within the sacred church, echoing between ancient stone walls, deafening. But it wasn't me or Victoria who fell—it was Christopher. A flower of blood bloomed on the groom's tailcoat, bright red forming a stark contrast against his white shirt. He collapsed onto the holy altar with a shocked expression, his blood splashing across ancient stone.
*What?*
I turned to see Isabella holding an exquisite pearl-handled pistol—a lady's gun, small yet deadly. Her wedding dress floated like a ghost in the smoke, the white silk now resembling a shroud. Through her veil, her eyes burned with an anger and madness I'd never seen before.
"Game over," her voice sounded distorted and eerie behind the veil, like a voice from hell. "I'm tired of being your pawn."
Guests began to scream—some tried to escape, others to hide. But Isabella raised her gun, signaling everyone to stay put.
"Everyone sit down!" Her voice dripped with menace. "Now, let me tell you the truth."
