Becoming Lianna: The Hidden Heiress

“Your mother’s dead,” James, the butler, said quietly. Those words hung in the air for what felt like forever. He stood there, holding the yellow envelope like it had burned his fingers. “What?” I asked, my curling brush slipping from my hand and hitting the floor with a soft thud. “What did you just say?” “Miss Lena,” he began again, his voice breaking a little, “your mother, Mrs. A, has passed.” The words struck me like lightning. Everything around me blurred — the walls, the light, the faint tick of the old clock, all drowned by the ringing in my ears. “Drop the letter and leave, James,” I managed to say, though my voice barely came out as a whisper. I sank onto my bed, the weight of the room pressing down on me. “Miss Lena, I could make you a hot cup of—” “Leave!” I screamed. The sound startled even me. I had never raised my voice at James before. He froze for a moment, then bowed slightly, his eyes full of concern. As he shut the door behind him, he gently placed the yellow-colored letter on my stool — the letter I’d been waiting for all week. I stared at it, my chest tightening. My mother always wrote to me. That was our rule — she wrote, I read. I was never allowed to write back. It was her way of protecting me, she said. And now she was gone. She couldn’t be dead. No — she can’t be. I had imagined her in so many ways — strong, confident, untouchable. Whenever she wrote, she always ended the letter telling me to be strong and never let anyone see my weakness. But in that moment, I felt hollow. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t even think. I just sat there, staring at the floor, as if the answers would appear in the marble patterns beneath my feet. How did she die? What happened? My hands trembled as I reached for the stool. I picked up the letter, its edges slightly damp from James’s nervous grip and unfolded it. The words blurred for a second before they settled into meaning. She had been murdered — found dead in her hotel room during a business trip. I froze. She had always said she wasn’t safe, that people wanted to harm her. I used to think she exaggerated — that her world was filled with paranoia and power games. But now… she was gone. And the world suddenly felt too quiet. I didn’t know how to feel. I couldn’t cry — I could only feel my chest burning with anger. “James,” I called out slowly. He dashed into the room like he’d been waiting just outside the door. “Yes, Lena?” he said, his face tight with worry. “I want you to arrange for my flight and stay at Mills,” I said. Mills — the city where my mother’s empire stood tall. I had never been there, but I’d seen it on paper, in the photos and files she sent. That city was a mystery to me, but it also held the truth. I needed to know more about my mother, her life… and her death. “Uh, Miss Lena,” James stammered, “I don’t think you should go to Mills. Your mother would never want that. She never wanted you anywhere near that place.” “My mother’s dead!” I snapped, my voice cracking. “She’s dead, James. What she wants doesn’t matter anymore.” A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. James had never seen me cry. I had never let him. “I need you to arrange a stay with a foster family,” I said firmly. “New name. New ID. New life. No one knows I’m a Kumalo — no one. Please, James.” I looked straight into his eyes. For the first time, I saw something there — fear, and deep concern. James was all I had ever known. My friend, my cook, my teacher, my butler — my everything. I had no one else. For seventeen years, this house and James were my entire world. And yet, even with all that time, he had always kept a polite distance, careful not to overstep boundaries my mother had set. “Miss Lena, can we talk about this in the morning? You—” “James,” I cut him off, my voice trembling, “you’ve known me all my life. Seventeen years, you’ve been the only person I’ve ever known within the four walls of this house. Please… I need to know more about my mother. Please.” He sighed, the weight of my words breaking through his hesitation. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned and walked away slowly, leaving me alone in the silence. The night was short. I couldn’t believe I managed to sleep with everything that had just happened. ******** My alarm rang at its usual time. Automatically, I sat up and reached for my diary — the one I’d had since I was ten. I opened it and read out the words on the first page, just like I did every morning. “Rich. Powerful. Strong. Cunning.” Those were the words Mother had written when she sent it to me through James. They were supposed to remind me of who I was — or maybe of who she wanted me to become. I got up from bed and changed into my running clothes. Every morning, I ran for fifteen minutes along the farmland that surrounded our house. That was the only distance I was ever allowed to go. Seventeen years. Seventeen years without ever stepping beyond the fences. I had never met anyone else in person — only faces on TV, voices on the phone when James was on a call, or names in the letters Mother sent. My world was small, quiet and lonely. My only companions were James… and Wee, my dog. I dashed out of the house for a run, with Wee sprinting behind me. We did this every day — same route, same rhythm, same air against my face. But today felt different. Everything seemed shorter. The beep on my watch telling me my fifteen minutes were up came too soon, almost startling me. I wasn’t ready for it to end. I slowed down, letting the quiet of the morning sink in as I walked back toward the house. As I reached the door, I heard James’s voice — low and serious. He was on a call, but the moment he saw me, he hung up. “Lena,” he said, turning to face me. “You leave for Mills in the morning tomorrow. On your bed is your ID and the details of the foster family you’ll stay with.” His tone was calm, but I could still see the fear and sadness in his eyes. Without another word, he turned and walked away, Wee trailing behind him, probably hoping for breakfast. I bolted to my room. There, on my bed, was a large brown file. My heart pounded as I grabbed it and spilled the contents across the sheets — documents, photos, a passport, everything. My eyes landed on the name on the new ID card. “Lianna Russell,” I whispered.