Ellen's POV
I sat across from my father in his study, the flickering light from the fireplace casting shadows on the walls. His revelation still hung in the air between us, like a dark veil resisting tear and wear.
“How the hell is she a Manor?” I demanded, my voice shaking with disbelief.
My father’s eyes met mine, steady and calm. “Remember the story I told you about your Aunt Fiona’s baby and your Grandma Monica coming home with an adopted baby?”
I felt a chill run down my spine as the pieces of a long-buried puzzle began to fit together. “The baby didn’t die,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
My father nodded. “Exactly.”
Dumbfounded, I struggled to process this new information. Kamille, the woman I had come to despise, was actually family. Why would Grandma Monica do such a
