Return of the billionaire heiress

Chapter Three

The warm glow of the chandelier bathed the Wellington dining room in golden light. The long mahogany table gleamed, set with fine china and polished silverware. The scent of rosemary and garlic wafted from the freshly cooked roast, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread. Emma moved swiftly, ensuring everything was perfect. She adjusted the placement of a wine glass, smoothing out the already pristine linen napkin. Her heart raced every time she entered this room, knowing the family’s eyes were always judging her, always reminding her of her place.

The family began filing in one by one, their presence commanding the room as it always did. Eleanor Wellington, poised and regal, entered first, her sharp gaze scanning the table for any imperfection. Emma tensed, knowing that any mistake would be met with icy reprimand. Daniel and Andy followed, their conversation clipped and serious, while Abigail trailed behind, her soft expression offering Emma a fleeting sense of comfort.

The family settled in their seats as Emma and the other maids stood at the edges of the room, ready to serve. Abigail caught Emma’s eye and offered her a small, encouraging smile, a rare glimmer of kindness in a household where Emma often felt invisible—or worse, despised.

The clatter of silverware and murmur of conversation filled the room as the Wellingtons began their meal. But the atmosphere shifted sharply when the doors to the dining room swung open with force. Asher and Azaiah strode in, their faces lit with a mix of triumph and urgency.

"We’ve found her," Asher announced, his voice cutting through the chatter like a blade. Every head turned toward him.

Eleanor froze mid-motion, her fork trembling in her hand. "Found who?" she whispered, though the answer was already dawning on her.

"Amelia," Azaiah said firmly. "We’ve found her location. After all these years."

Eleanor gasped, her hand flying to her chest as tears welled in her eyes. "You’re sure? This isn’t another false lead?"

"We’re sure," Asher replied confidently.

"The investigators confirmed it. Azaiah replied, pulling out a worn folder from under his arm. “A lead came in this morning. A witness claims to have seen someone matching Amelia’s description in a small village up north. We’re leaving at first light with the guards to confirm.”

The room erupted in a mix of emotions. Eleanor was already rising from her chair, her voice thick with urgency. "I’m coming with you. I need to see her with my own eyes."

Asher frowned. “Mother, it’s not safe—”

“I don’t care!” Eleanor snapped. “I’ve waited twenty years to find my daughter. I will not sit here while you go alone.”

Abigail stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Eleanor’s arm. “Mother, please. Let the boys handle this. Stay here and focus on the birthday preparations. When Amelia returns, she’ll need you here.”

Eleanor hesitated, her resolve wavering as she looked at Abigail’s determined expression. Slowly, she nodded as she sank back into her chair, her hands trembling as she reached for her napkin.. “Fine. But you must bring her back. Bring her home, Abigail. Bring my baby home."

“We will,” Asher assured her.

At the edge of the room, Emma stood frozen, the conversation swirling around her like a storm. She barely heard the commands Asher barked at the guards to prepare for their departure. All she could focus on was the weight of their words.

_A missing daughter, lost for twenty years._ The timeline matched what Emma had been told by her foster mother—the woman who had found her wandering on a rainy night after an accident, with no memory of who she was.

Her thoughts spun in a dizzying spiral. Could it be possible? Could _she_ be Amelia Wellington? It seemed impossible, but the idea took root in her mind, unfurling like a wild, reckless hope. She imagined herself stepping into the life she had only ever glimpsed from the sidelines, no longer an outcast but a cherished daughter.

Emma was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the conversation had paused, the family’s eyes now fixed on her.

"Are you eavesdropping?" Asher snapped, his voice cutting through her daydream. Emma’s head jerked up, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"I—I wasn’t," she stammered, though her wide eyes betrayed her.

"You were," Azaiah said coldly, his tone dripping with disdain. "And what business is it of yours? You’re just a maid. Keep your head down and do your job."

Emma’s heart sank. She opened her mouth to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat.

"Asher, Azaiah, enough," Abigail said, her voice sharp as she stepped forward, positioning herself between Emma and her brothers. "There’s no need to talk to her like that."

"She shouldn’t be listening to things that don’t concern her," Asher muttered, though he backed down under Abigail’s stern glare.

Eleanor’s voice, cold and cutting, silenced the room further. "Abigail, you’re too soft. You can’t let the help forget their place." Her gaze landed on Emma, and the disdain in her eyes was unmistakable. "No matter how long she’s worked here, she’ll never be anything more. She doesn’t belong in our lives."

Emma flinched as if she’d been struck. The words stung more than she cared to admit. She bowed her head, willing herself not to cry. This wasn’t new. She had endured their scorn for months, ever since her foster mother’s illness had forced her into this house. But it didn’t hurt any less.

"That’s enough," Abigail said quietly, her voice firm. "Emma, you can go now. I’ll take care of things here."

Emma hesitated for a moment, glancing at Abigail with gratitude before nodding and retreating to the kitchen.

As the door swung shut behind her, she leaned against it, her chest tight with suppressed emotion. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself.

_What if?_ The question burned in her mind, persistent and unrelenting. What if she was Amelia? What if she had a family who truly loved her, who missed her and wanted her back?

But then Eleanor’s words echoed in her mind: “She’ll never be anything more. She doesn’t belong in our lives.”

Emma shook her head, pushing the fantasy aside. It was foolish. Dangerous, even. She was just Emma, a girl with no past and no future beyond this house. The Wellingtons didn’t care about her, and they never would.

Except for Abigail.

Emma took a deep breath, forcing herself to stand tall. Whatever happened, she would keep going, as she always had. But deep down, the flicker of hope refused to die.

In the dining room, Eleanor turned back to her meal, though her appetite was gone. Asher and Azaiah spoke in hushed tones about their plans, and Abigail sat silently, her mind already racing ahead.

---

Later that night, Emma sat alone in her small room, staring at the worn photograph she kept hidden in a drawer. It was the only clue to her past—a picture of a man and a child that she’d been found with. Her foster mother had told her it was likely her real father and herself before the accident.

She traced the edges of the photo, her mind spinning with questions. Could she truly be Amelia? The missing daughter of the Wellington family?

A soft knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts. Abigail stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“Emma,” she began, her voice soft. “I know tonight was hard, but I want you to know I’m here for you.”

Emma managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Abigail. You’re the only one who’s ever kind to me.”

Abigail sat beside her, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t know why the others treat you the way they do, but don’t let them break your spirit. You’re stronger than they realize.”

Emma swallowed hard, her emotions threatening to spill over. “Sometimes I wish I could leave this place. Start over somewhere else.”

Abigail reached out, taking Emma’s hand in hers. Immediately Emma hid the picture behind her. “What’s that you're holding?”

“It's nothing…” She stammered.

“I feel you have something to say.” Abigail insisted on her opening up.

“I'm fine… Really, you don't have to bother about me.”

“It's alright. Everything is going to be fine.”

Emma nodded, her heart heavy but slightly comforted by Abigail’s words. As the night stretched on, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life was on the brink of change—a change that would either break her completely or finally set her free.

—