I didn’t reply to the message. I just stared at the screen, hands cold, the words replaying in my head like a warning.
“They lied about the DNA test. She is of Lachlan blood. But not in the way they think.” Not in the way they think? What did that even mean?
I looked down at the book again. George Lachlan’s private journal sat heavy on my lap, and everything inside me screamed that I wasn’t safe. Not in this house. Not with the Lachlans. Not even with Clara.
I closed the book slowly and locked it in the drawer. Then I locked the office door. If someone wanted to come after me, they’d have to break through it.
I needed to think. I needed space. I paced around the room, my mind spinning. Everyone believed the DNA test proved I wasn’t a Lachlan. Julian and his mother had probably popped c
