Vivian rushed through the gleaming entrance of the Fifth Avenue building where Dr. Celia Hart had her office. The mysterious text about Margot's birthmark burned in her mind as she hit the elevator button.
Her hotel room had been robbed. Someone was following her.
And now this weird message about birthmarks. The elevator dinged open, and Vivian stepped inside, holding her bag with the envelope Margot had given her.
Julian had wanted to come with her to this meeting, but Vivian needed to do this alone. Especially after what Margot had said about Celia Hart.
Ask her about her son. The elevator doors opened to the familiar hallway with its soft lighting and potted plants. Vivian had spent two years coming here after Isabella's departure. This place had once felt safe.
Now it felt like walking into another trap. Dr. Celia Hart opened her office door with a warm smile that crinkled her kind eyes. Her wavy red hair was pinned back today, and she wore a soft green sweater that reminded Vivian of spring. "Vivian! It's been too long," she said, pointing to the comfortable chair by the window Vivian's old spot.
"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice," Vivian said, sitting down but keeping her bag close. "Of course. When you called, you sounded upset." Celia eased into her chair across from Vivian.
"Does this have something to do with your sister's return?" Vivian's head snapped up. "You know about that?" "It's been in all the papers." Celia leaned forward. "The amazing return of Isabella DeWitt after ten years. I can only think how confusing this must be for you."
"Confusing doesn't begin to cover it." Vivian twisted her hands in her lap. "I thought she was dead. I thought I was responsible." "And now?"
"Now I don't know what to think." Vivian looked out the window at the city spreading below. "Everyone lied to me. My father. Isabella. Even Damien." Celia made a note on her pad. "That's a lot of betrayal to process."
"I keep wondering what else they're hiding." Vivian paused, then asked, "Did you ever have other patients from my family?" Something flashed across Celia's faceso brief Vivian almost missed it. "You know I can't discuss other patients." "Not even Isabella?"
"Especially not Isabella." Celia put down her pen. "Vivian, why don't we focus on you right now? How are you sleeping?" "Barely." Vivian rubbed her eyes. "I have dreams about the lake. About that night." "The night Isabella disappeared." "Yes." Celia's voice relaxed. "We never fully explored those memories in our earlier sessions. You always shut down."
"Because it hurt too much." "Or because something about those memories doesn't make sense?" Celia suggested. Vivian stared at her. "What do you mean?" "Memory is tricky, especially painful memory.
Sometimes our minds protect us by changing details or blocking things out totally." Celia got up and moved to sit closer to Vivian. "Would you be willing to try something different today?" Warning bells rang in Vivian's head.
Margot's words echoed: Trust no one. But this was Celia, who had helped her through her darkest days. "What did you have in mind?" Vivian asked carefully. "A guided memory practice. To help you understand what really happened that night at the lake."
Celia's voice was gentle. "No pressure. We can stop anytime." Vivian paused. "Will it hurt?" "It might bring up difficult emotions, but it won't hurt you physically." Celia smiled reassuringly.
"Sometimes facing our fear of a memory is worse than the memory itself." After a moment, Vivian nodded. "Okay. Let's try."
"Good. I want you to close your eyes and get comfortable." Celia dimmed the lights slightly. "Breathe deeply. In... and out." Vivian followed the directions, sinking back into the chair. "Now, I want you to picture yourself at the lake house. Not the night of the event yet.
Just the house itself." Behind her closed eyes, Vivian saw the vast estate with its weathered dock and boathouse. The memory was so clear she could almost smell the pine trees. "I'm there," she whispered.
"Good. Now, slowly move to the day of Isabella's disappearance. What time of day is it?" "Evening. Just after dinner." "What was dinner like?" Vivian frowned. "Tense. Dad was angry about something. He and Isabella had been fighting."
"About what?"
"I don't know. They stopped talking when I came into the room." "Where did you go after dinner?"
"To my room. Then..." Vivian's breath caught. "Then Isabella came in. She was crying." Celia leaned forward. "What did she say?"
"She said..." Vivian's forehead creased as she tried to remember. "She said she needed my help. That she was in trouble." "What kind of trouble?" "She wouldn't say. Just that she needed to leave. To disappear for a while." Vivian's eyes flew open.
"I never remembered that before." Celia's expression stayed calm, but her eyes were intense. "Keep going. Close your eyes again. What happened next?" Vivian obeyed, sinking back into the memory. "We went down to the dock. It was dark. She was scared, looking over her shoulder." "Was she alone?"
"I... I thought so, but..." Vivian's fingers dug into the supports. "There was someone waiting in the dark. A man."
"Can you see his face?" Images flashed through Vivian's minddisjointed, blurry, but getting clearer. "Dark hair. Tall. Tattoos on his arms." "Elias Blackwood," Celia said softly. Vivian's eyes snapped open. "How do you know that name?" Celia's face stayed professional, but something hardened in her eyes. "You've mentioned him before, in previous sessions." "No, I haven't." Vivian sat up straight.
"I only heard his name for the first time three days ago." The room fell silent. Outside, raindrops began tapping against the window. Celia closed her notebook. "Sometimes in therapy, we discuss things you might not consciously remember." "You're lying." Vivian stood up, grabbing her bag. "Just like everyone else." "Vivian, please sit down. You're upset, and we still have time"
"Did you have a son, Dr. Hart?" The question hit like a slap. Allcolor drained from Celia's face. "Where did you hear about that?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Does the name Michael Hart mean anything to you?" Celia stood suddenly, knocking over her water glass. It shattered on the wooden floor, but she didn't seem to notice.
"Who told you about Michael?" Her professional mask had vanished totally. "He died around the time Isabella disappeared, didn't he?" Vivian pressed, heart racing. "Get out." Celia's hands trembled as she pointed to the door. "Session's over." "What was he to you? What was he to my family?"
"I said GET OUT!" Celia shouted, her face contorted with sadness and rage. Vivian backed toward the door. "I'm sorry about your son. Truly. But I need to know the truth." "The truth?" Celia laughed bitterly.
"You have no idea what the truth would do to you, Vivian DeWitt." Something in her tone made Vivian pause with her hand on the doorknob. "What does that mean?" Celia came closer, her green eyes burning with passion.
"Ask yourself why I took you on as a patient all those years ago. Why I specifically asked you." "I thought my father arranged it." "Your father?" Another sad laugh. "Alexander DeWitt would never willingly let you near me."
"Then why" "Because I needed to know if you remembered." Celia's voice dropped to a whisper. "If you saw what happened to my son that night." Vivian's blood ran cold. "I never met your son."
"You did." Celia stepped even closer. "He was there the night Isabella 'drowned.' He was Elias Blackwood's stepson." The room seemed to tilt under Vivian's feet. "That's not possible."
"It is. And tomorrow, I'll prove it to you." Celia wiped a tear from her face. "Meet me at the lake house. The old wharf. I'll bring everything you need to remember the truth."
"How do I know this isn't another trap?" "Because unlike the others, I have nothing left to lose." Celia turned away. "Noon tomorrow. Come alone." Vivian slipped out of the office, her mind rushing. As the elevator doors closed, her phone buzzed with a text from Julian: Found something about Margot Vale you need to see right away.
Before she could reply, another text came throughfrom an unknown number: Don't go to the lake house. Celia Hart is playing you. She knows what really happened to your sister... because she helped plan it. Vivian stared at the phone, her finger hanging between "reply" and "delete." Who could she trust? Julian? Celia? The mystery texter? As she stepped out onto the wet street, a black car pulled up to the curb.
The back window rolled down just enough for Vivian to see Isabella's face inside. "Get in," her sister called. "It's time you learned who's really been lying to you."