The morning after the rooftop date dawned bright, but the air still felt heavy with what had been said—and what hadn't.
Penelope woke with her phone buzzing quietly on the bedside table.
A message from Marc.
> Did last night feel like a dream to you too? Or is this finally our reality?
She smiled softly.
> Reality. And for once, I'm not running from it.
She barely hit send before a second notification came in.
This one wasn't from Marc.
It was from an unknown number.
> Penelope Thorne. You don't know me, but I know the truth about your real family. And it's time you did too. Check your front door.
Penelope froze.
Every instinct in her screamed not to move. But curiosity—sharp and undeniable—dragged her to the door.
When she opened it, there was no one in sight. Just a brown envelope, sealed with wax. An old-fashioned stamp she didn't recognize sat crooked on the flap.
She opened it with shaking hands.
Inside were two things:
A photograph of her as a baby… being held by a woman she'd never seen before.
And a note.
> Your mother was never who you thought she was.
Ask Marc to explain. He knows more than he's telling you.
Her knees nearly gave out.
Marc?
She barely had time to process it before her phone rang again.
It was Veronica.
"Pen," Veronica's voice was quiet. "I think I'm falling."
Penelope's heart skipped. "For Scott?"
"No. Into something I can't control. I told myself not to feel this way again. Not after Leo. Not after Andre. But…"
"But you do?"
Veronica let out a breath. "Worse. I think he might be different. And that terrifies me more than the heartbreaks."
Penelope softened. "He looked at you like you were the only girl in the world last night."
There was a pause.
"I noticed," Veronica whispered.
---
Later That Day…
Marc was at the university library when Penelope found him. He looked up, his expression lighting—then dimming when he saw her face.
"You knew," she said, voice trembling. "You knew something about me. About my family."
Marc stood slowly, heart pounding. "Penelope—"
"Don't lie," she cut in. "Not now. You said you were done lying. So tell me. Who was that woman in the photo?"
Marc sighed. "I was going to tell you. I just… didn't want to ruin things between us before they even started."
She crossed her arms. "Start talking."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a worn notebook, the cover cracked with age. Inside were notes, photographs, newspaper clippings.
He turned it toward her, showing a photo of a woman with sharp cheekbones and wild red curls.
"Her name was Aria. Aria Thorne."
"My mother's name was Isabelle," Penelope snapped.
Marc's eyes were heavy with sadness. "Isabelle was your aunt. Aria was your biological mother. She died under mysterious circumstances right after you were born. The Thorne family didn't want anyone to know the truth. They adopted you under Isabelle's name. But I found this when I was researching for my thesis on elite family secrets in journalism."
Penelope staggered back, her world spinning.
"And you didn't tell me? You used my life for your research?"
"No!" Marc moved toward her, eyes pleading. "At first, yes—I wanted to uncover the story. But then I met you. The real you. And I knew I couldn't let you find out like that. I didn't care about the story anymore. I cared about you."
She didn't know whether to scream or cry.
Instead, she walked out.
---
At Veronica's Apartment…
Scott showed up unannounced with two coffees and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I needed to see you," he said.
Veronica raised a brow. "To say what?"
"That I'm scared too," he admitted. "Because I've never cared this much about being the guy who doesn't mess it up."
She blinked.
He continued, "Every guy in your past was stupid enough to lose you. I'm just trying not to be next."
She bit her lip, torn between melting and putting up walls.
"You think words like that will make me swoon?"
"No," he said. "But maybe this will."
He leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't polished. It was everything he'd been holding back.
When they parted, she stared at him, breathless.
"I swear," he whispered, "you're not just Penelope's best friend. You're the girl who makes me want to be better."
Tears prickled at her lashes. "Then stop proving me wrong and start proving me right."
---
Meanwhile…
Penelope sat in the corner of her old childhood bedroom, the envelope clutched in her lap.
She didn't know who she was anymore.
Marc had lied.
The Thornes had lied.
Everything she knew had shattered.
And yet… one truth remained unshakable:
Marc loved her.
Didn't he?
Her phone buzzed again.
Another message from the unknown number:
> I told you. He's not who you think he is. But I am. Meet me tomorrow at the old train station at noon. Come alone.
Penelope stared at the screen.
And whispered, "What are you not telling me, Marc?"