I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.
Adrian's frantic phone call to Fiona played on repeat in my head. The words crashed through my consciousness like waves against rock—relentless and eroding every certainty I'd ever had.
"How your mother switched you and Elara at birth. How you're the real illegitimate child—not her."
My hands trembled. Arthur's warm palm covered mine, steadying me.
"Do you need a moment?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
I shook my head, trying to process the bombshell Adrian had unwittingly dropped. "I need to understand what this means."
The hospital room felt too small suddenly, the antiseptic smell making my stomach turn. Everything I thought I knew about myself—my entire identity—had been built on lies.
"If what Adrian said is true," Arthur said carefully, "then you're not Genevieve's daughter. You're Beatrice's."
"And Fiona is..." I couldn't even finish the sentence.
"The illegitimate child. Genevieve's daughter with Alistair."
