The Missing Heiress

Chapter 3, The Strangers Game

The morning after the party, the cleaners moved quietly through the mansion, erasing every

trace of the celebration. Naya woke slowly, the events of the previous day still settling over her like

a dream she hadn't fully left. After her morning prayers, she made her way to the servants' quarters

to check on her mother.

Priscilla had not slept. The mysterious caller's voice still echoed in her mind, circling endlessly

around one question — who, and why. She clung to a single hope: that the caller would ring again,

if only to give her something solid to fight against. When Naya's knock finally broke through her

spiraling thoughts, she rose and opened the door to find her daughter waiting, a flicker of

nervousness in her eyes.

"Good morning, Mummy," Naya said, her voice small. "Naya, I barely slept — you and that

ridiculous Vivian kept the music going half the night," Priscilla snapped. "I need to rest. If Mrs.

Adele asks for me, tell her I have a fever and a migraine." She reached out and absently smoothed a

strand of Naya's curly black hair — a gesture that might have passed for tenderness from anyone

else. Naya only nodded, swallowing the sting of her mother's coldness, and forced a smile she didn't

feel.

By the time Naya reached the dining room, Mrs. Adele and Vivian were already seated,

waiting to begin their morning prayers. Naya's mind was elsewhere, and she didn't hear Mrs. Adele

call her name — not once, but twice — until Vivian climbed the stairs and tapped her gently on the

shoulder. Naya looked up to find both of them watching her with quiet concern.

"Naya, what's wrong?" Mrs. Adele asked, her voice soft but searching. "Yeah — what is it?"

Vivian pressed, studying her friend's face for the truth. "I'm sorry if I seemed distracted when you

called. I was just lost in thought," Naya said quietly. "What could possibly weigh so heavily on a

little girl's mind? You're family, Naya. You can talk to us. There's nothing you need to hide." Naya

hesitated, then offered only a fragment of the truth. "My mum isn't feeling well. That's all." "Then

I'll relieve her of her duties for the day," Mrs. Adele said gently. "She can rest." Naya thanked her,

grateful the conversation had ended there.

Back in the quarters, Priscilla's heart was racing so violently she could feel it in her throat. A

fever crept over her, fed less by illness than by fear. Desperate for clarity, she snatched the phone

from the side stool and dialled the one person she trusted with everything — and, she was beginning

to suspect, the one person who might be betraying her.

"Hello? I was just calling to wish Naya a happy birthday," Lisa said, her voice warm and

unsuspecting. "Cut the act, Lisa," Priscilla hissed. "I know it's you. Stop this game before you land

yourself in trouble you can't undo — because I know your secrets too. Don't test me." "Have you

lost your mind?" Lisa shot back, stunned. "I have no idea what you're talking about, or why you're

attacking me like this." "You're the only person I ever told about that night," Priscilla said, her voice

dropping low and dangerous.

A maid knocked and entered before Lisa could respond. "Madam Priscilla," she said, lowering

her eyes respectfully, "Mrs. Adele says you may take time off until you're feeling better." Priscilla

nodded sharply and waved her out, then returned to the call, her voice trembling with restrained

rage.

"I should have known. I pulled you out of the gutters of Truganda, and still you're the same

jealous woman you've always been. When you worked at St. Dominic's, I told you to destroy every

trace of that night — every file. You swore to me it was done." "Priscilla, I can't believe you're

saying this," Lisa said, her voice steady despite the accusation. "I destroyed everything that could

have been traced back to you, everything that could have exposed the switch. I would never do this

to you." "Then prove it," Priscilla snapped. "Because nobody — nobody — saw what I did that

night. If this is some kind of joke, Lisa, know that nobody plays games with me." "You, of all

people, should know I'd never betray you," Lisa said quietly. "Not after everything you've done for

me and Dante. I'm grateful for that — truly." Her words seemed to land. Priscilla said nothing more,

and the call ended in uneasy silence.

Priscilla sat at the edge of her bed long after the line went dead, turning the conversation over

and over. Someone knew. Someone had always known. And the longer she sat with that thought, the

more her suspicion calcified into certainty — Lisa was lying to her.

By the time evening fell, Priscilla had made up her mind. Lisa would have to die. So would

Dante. But it would have to be done cleanly — nothing that could ever be traced back to her door.

"Don't worry, Lisa," she murmured to her own reflection, a slow smile curling across her lips.

"You're going to hell. And sweet Dante — I won't let him suffer long. You crossed a line you were

never meant to cross, dear Lisa. The line has been drawn."

Meanwhile, Naya and Vivian had settled into their afternoon lesson on National History and

Culture. Vivian moved through the material with ease, but Naya struggled — her spelling faltered,

her handwriting fell behind. When the break came, Naya sank into her chair, burning with quiet

shame at how badly she'd stumbled. Vivian, sensing her friend's embarrassment, leaned over and

squeezed her hand. "You're not behind, you're just starting later than me. That's all," she said gently.

When the break ended, the girls climbed the stairs toward the study room together. Halfway

up, Vivian suddenly swayed. The world tilted around her, and before Naya could reach for her, she

collapsed onto the floor. "Ma! Vivian!" Naya screamed, sprinting toward Mrs. Adele's room, her

voice cracking with panic. "Vivian! Vivian!"

Mrs. Adele moved faster than Naya had ever seen her move, calling for the driver as they

raced toward the car. Naya curled into the front passenger seat, eyes shut tight, clutching her rosary

and whispering the Lord's Prayer over and over, as though the words alone might hold Vivian

together until they reached the hospital.

They arrived at St. Dominic's Memorial Hospital, where nurses rushed Vivian into a treatment

room. Mrs. Adele and Naya were left in the waiting lobby, the silence between them heavy with

dread. "Ma, don't worry," Naya said softly, wrapping her arms around Mrs. Adele. "Vivian is strong.

Nothing is going to happen to her." Mrs. Adele held her tighter, and something in her chest —

something warm and unfamiliar — stirred to life. She pressed a kiss to Naya's forehead, unable to

name the feeling, only certain that she didn't want to let go.

Back at the mansion, Priscilla continued plotting Lisa's death with cold precision. Her phone

rang again — the same private number from the night before. Her heart lurched. She answered it

almost before the first ring finished.

"Hello, Priscilla. I know you missed me," the voice said, smooth and unhurried. "Don't worry

— you won't find out who I am until it's time. I'm everywhere. I even heard about your little plan to

kill Lisa. What a friend you are." Priscilla bolted from her room, scanning the hallway for anyone

who might be listening. "Relax, Priscilla," the voice said, almost amused. "I'm far, far away." "What

do you want from me?" Priscilla demanded, forcing her voice to stay level. "Stop the games. Just

tell me." "It's not time yet," the caller replied. "The game has only just begun — don't ruin the fun so

early. By the way... I'm at the hospital right now, with Mrs. Adele and her biological daughter." The

line went dead.

Priscilla tore through the mansion, room by room, but found no one. The caller hadn't been

bluffing. Within minutes she was in a cab, racing toward St. Dominic's. She found Mrs. Adele and

Naya seated together in the waiting lobby and approached them, arranging her face into something

resembling concern. Her real purpose was to find the caller — but a sweep of the lobby revealed no

one out of place. She let her guard down just enough to sit beside Mrs. Adele, playing the part of the

devoted helper. Naya watched her mother's performance with quiet irritation, all too familiar with

the gap between Priscilla's public face and the woman she became behind closed doors.

When they were finally allowed in to see Vivian, Priscilla trailed a few steps behind. Her

phone buzzed again — the same number. She excused herself and ducked into a corner of the

corridor. "Stop playing games with me, whoever you are," she said in a low, tight voice. "You walk

around like you've already won, like you're untouchable," the caller said, a low laugh curling

beneath the words. "But you're not. You're standing right outside the infant ward, aren't you? Funny

how this place brings back old, buried memories."

Priscilla spun in place, scanning every face in the corridor, but no one stood out — no one met

her eyes, no one lingered too long. Despair clawed at her chest, but she swallowed it whole and

forced her features into a calm, untroubled mask, refusing to give the caller the satisfaction of seeing

her unravel.

Inside Vivian's room, Priscilla took a seat and arranged her expression into something caring.

In truth, all she wanted was to leave — to escape the four walls that seemed to be closing in around

her secret. Vivian had not yet fully regained consciousness. After a few empty minutes at her

bedside, Priscilla excused herself, claiming her period had started, and slipped out before anyone

could question her further.

Priscilla made her way to the part of Truganda she knew better than she cared to admit — to

Leonard, an old and dangerous friend. Leonard was one of Truganda's reigning crime bosses, a man

whose name alone could empty a street. He cut an imposing figure: broad-shouldered and heavyset,

with a head of thick, black curls that fell loosely over a face permanently set in calculation. His eyes

were sharp and unreadable, the kind that seemed to price out every person who entered a room

before they'd even spoken. He dressed well — too well for the neighbourhood he ruled — gold rings

catching the light whenever he gestured, which was often, and with the lazy confidence of a man

who had never once doubted his own power. He was widely respected throughout that part of

Truganda, generous to those who served him and merciless to those who crossed him, which was

precisely why the police had never once managed to touch him. Priscilla had done plenty of dirty

work for him over the years — it was through Leonard, in fact, that she had first met Vivian's

biological father, Hareem. Hareem had once run in Leonard's circle too, doing his share of the same

dark work, before a falling-out severed the connection for good.

On her way to find Leonard, Priscilla stopped at Lisa's house. After a tense conversation and

an uneasy reconciliation, Lisa agreed to come with her — though something in her hesitated, some

old instinct warning her to stay away. Priscilla pulled her along anyway, and Lisa, against her better

judgment, followed.

Back at the hospital, Vivian had regained consciousness, but the news waiting for Mrs. Adele

was far worse than anyone had braced for. The doctor met her outside Vivian's room, a folder of test

results in hand. "Despite the monitoring," he said carefully, "we need to begin searching for a heart

donor. Not urgently — we likely have a few years — but the search should start now." Mrs. Adele's

face went perfectly still, her mind already racing through an impossible list of names, searching for

anyone who might save her daughter's life. She left his office and wiped her tears away before

anyone could see them fall.

She sat with Vivian and gently explained that she would need to stay at the hospital a little

longer, promising to visit every single day. Naya leaned in and wrapped her arms around her friend.

"I'll come visit you too, Vivi," she said, forcing lightness into her voice to chase the fear from the

room.

By then, Priscilla and Lisa had reached No Man's Land — the name everyone in Truganda

used for the ghetto at its heart. Priscilla moved through it with practiced ease, trading slang and

signals with people who recognised her, hunting for Leonard's whereabouts. Lisa stayed close

behind her, every nerve alert, her eyes darting at every shadow. They finally found him holed up in a

nearby motel, and after a thorough search at the door, they were let inside.

Leonard dismissed his men the moment the two women entered, waving them off to give the

room privacy. "Lisa," he said, his eyes dragging over her, "prettier than ever." Lisa ignored him and

exhaled sharply, which only made him laugh. "And Priscilla, darling — how long has it been? Time

flies." He gestured to the seats across from him, and the two women sat, facing him beneath the dim

motel light.

"Prisca," he said, using the nickname only he still dared to use. "Have you heard about

Hareem? Word is he's running a cartel of his own now — a rival, if you can believe it." He laughed,

low and amused. "I haven't seen Hareem, and I have no interest in ever seeing him again," Priscilla

said flatly. Leonard's smile only widened, turning cruel at the edges. "And Lisa — my dear ex. We

could have had a life, you and I. But you threw it all away." His gaze sharpened. "Once our son

comes of age, I'll be taking him. He needs to know he wasn't born some bastard — he was born into

money." He laughed again, his heavy frame shaking with it. "You disgust me, Leonard," Lisa said,

her voice trembling with fury. "You will never meet Dante. I promise you that, on my life." Leonard

only laughed harder. "You still don't understand. I own every dark alley in Truganda — I hear

everything that happens in them. Even about your new boyfriend, Elvis. Poor, sweet Elvis. I gave

him that job myself, so he could keep an eye on my son's life while I'm away. He just doesn't know

it yet. But he will." Lisa's face drained of colour. Priscilla reached over and gripped her hand tightly,

a silent warning to hold steady.

"Now — business," Leonard said, turning back to Priscilla, his tone shifting like a switch had

been flipped. "What do I owe the pleasure?" "I had a child for Hareem," Priscilla began, her voice

low and controlled. "While I was pregnant, I worked as a maid for a wealthy family. The wife was

pregnant too — same time, same hospital. We gave birth the same day, in the same place. Same

gender. But mine was sick. I couldn't bear the thought of raising a child who'd suffer her whole life,

so I switched them." Her voice darkened further, her eyes glassing over with something cold and

bloodshot. "That was ten years ago. Now someone is threatening me. They know everything — my

movements, my secrets — as if they're living inside my house. I want their head. I want them dead."

Leonard let out a slow, delighted laugh. "You never stop surprising me, Prisca." He leaned

forward, suddenly serious. "If this person knows your every move, your every word, there are only

two ways that's possible. Either your home is bugged, or someone close — very close — is feeding

them information." His eyes slid toward Lisa for just a moment too long; she looked quickly away.

"Or your phone's been tapped. That's not the work of some amateur stalker. That's federal-level

work — and even the Feds don't stay sharp all the time. I've outplayed them before." He sat back,

tapping a thick ringed finger against his knee. "My advice — it's not just one person doing this.

There's an insider close to you. Find the insider, and I'll deal with the caller myself. I'll give you a

device — something I got from a friend who supplies the FBI — to sweep your home and find out if

you're bugged." He paused, his eyes glinting. "But before any of that... Lisa gives me access to my

son."

The room went still. Something in Priscilla's mind began to click into place, piece by piece, a

shape she didn't want to see forming anyway. Lisa shook her head, refusing outright — but after

Priscilla's quiet, insistent pressure, she finally relented, her shoulders sinking with the weight of

what she'd just agreed to.

What is the fate of the mysterious caller? Is there truly an insider hiding among the servants'

quarters? And will Vivian ever recover?

To Be Continued…