UNTIL MY DYING BREATHE

Chapter3

Claire's POV

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the small locket resting in my palm.

The gold gleamed faintly in the dim light of my room, but it was the tiny inscription on the back that caught my eye—Widmore.

I hadn’t noticed it before. My fingers traced the letters, my heart pounding harder with every second.

Widmore.

The name felt like a key, unlocking a part of my life I never knew existed. I hurried to my laptop, my hands shaking as I typed the name into the search bar.

Page after page of results flooded the screen, and I scrolled through them, searching for something—anything—that could give me an answer.

And then I found it.

The headline read: "Widmore Family Mourns the Loss of Daughter in Yacht Accident, 20 Years Ago".

I clicked on the article, my eyes scanning the text so fast that the words blurred together. The Widmores—an influential family from Los Angeles—had lost their young daughter in a tragic boating accident.

The child had fallen overboard, and after a massive search, her body was finally found.

I stared at the screen, my stomach twisting into knots.

That can’t be right. They couldn’t have lost their daughter… because I was that daughter. Wasn’t I?

But the article said she had been lost.

I pushed the laptop away and stood up, pacing the room as my thoughts raced. How was this possible?

Was my father—no, the man who raised me—wrong? Did the Widmores think I was dead all these years?

Or did they just decide to replace me like I never existed?

And if they did… what would they do if they knew I was alive?

I had to find out.

Summoning up all my courage, I decided I had to meet them. Maybe this was my chance—to finally have the answers I’d been searching for, to finally know who I was and where I came from.

Maybe, just maybe, they would want me this time.

I didn’t tell anyone, not even Kyle. My high school sweetheart, my husband, who I had married despite my father’s warnings that we were too young.

He was always going on business trips lately—he had just left for another one a few days ago—so I hadn’t even thought to call him in the middle of everything that was happening.

I barely remembered to think of him at all, caught up in my grief and the unraveling mystery of my past.

I packed a bag and booked the first flight to Los Angeles, my heart racing with both fear and hope. What if they didn’t want to see me? What if they still believed their daughter was gone?

The plane ride felt endless, my mind running through a thousand different scenarios. By the time I landed in LA, my nerves were shot, but I couldn’t turn back now.

I had to see them and had to know the truth. I took a deep breath and hailed a cab, giving the driver the address I had found online for the Widmore estate.

When we pulled up to the sprawling mansion, my stomach lurched. It was massive, all white stone and iron gates, with perfectly manicured gardens lining the driveway.

I swallowed hard and stepped out of the cab, my legs trembling as I approached the front entrance.

A security guard stood by the gate, eyeing me suspiciously as I approached.

“Do you have an appointment?” he asked, his tone flat and uninterested.

“No,” I stammered. “But I’m here… for a job interview.”

It was a lie, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. The last thing I needed was to be turned away before I even got through the door.

He raised an eyebrow, but after a moment, he nodded. “Wait here.”

I stood there, my heart racing as he disappeared inside the gatehouse.

Moments later, the gate buzzed and swung open. I walked up the long driveway, my footsteps echoing against the stone path.

Everything felt surreal like I was walking through a dream I couldn’t wake up from.

When I reached the front door, I rang the bell, my hand shaking slightly. A woman opened it—a maid, dressed in black and white. She glanced at me with mild interest.

“I’m here for the interview,” I lied again, my voice barely steady.

She nodded and motioned for me to come in.

“This way.”

I followed her through the grand foyer, my eyes darting around at the luxurious décor—gold-framed paintings, marble floors, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

It felt like a different world, a world that was so far removed from the one I had grown up in. My heart pounded louder with every step as she led me toward a large living room at the back of the house.

And that’s when I saw it.

My breath caught in my throat as I froze in the doorway. Standing there, by the fireplace, was Kyle—my Kyle, my husband.

His back was to me, but there was no mistaking him. His broad shoulders, the way he stood, his posture. But that wasn’t what made my blood turn to ice.

It was the woman with him.

She stood close, too close, her hand resting on his chest as she smiled up at him.

And then, before I could process what was happening, Kyle leaned down and kissed her.

On the lips.

I felt the ground shift beneath me as everything came crashing down. The room spun, my mind reeling as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. Kyle? My Kyle? Here, in the Widmore estate, with another woman?

My substitute sister. My replacement. The one I saw from the photos online.

“Claire?” His voice, sharp and shocked, cut through the fog in my mind. He turned around, his face pale as he registered my presence. “What are you doing here?”

I couldn’t speak. My throat felt like it was closing up, my chest tight with the weight of betrayal. I looked from him to the woman, who was staring at me with wide eyes, her hand still on his chest.

She looked like the woman in the locket photo—her hair, her features. Was this… her? My sister?

“I…” My voice was barely a whisper, my head spinning. “What is going on?”

Kyle took a step toward me, his hand outstretched. “Claire, I can explain.”

But I didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t hear it. The betrayal, the lies, the secrets—everything came crashing down all at once, suffocating me. This was too much. Too much.