Ellen’s POV

More than three hours had passed since Liz’s detention. My father paced the room, his frustration palpable. He frantically dialed numbers, desperately trying to reach someone who could clear Liz’s name.

“Yes, it’s a setup. Liz wouldn’t do that during training except in self-defense. Thank you,” Dad said, ending the call.

“Dad, why bother denying it?” I interjected, frustrated. “It’s obvious Liz did it. No one will believe us.”

My father’s expression hardened. His jaw set with determination. “Deny until the end,” he replied firmly. “Deny even when a sword is at your neck. Deny even when you’re about to die. Deny.”

I clenched my fists, anger and helplessness surging through me. “Damn it,” I cursed, realizing the gravity of our situation. Denial seemed futile, but my father’s stubborn resolve resonated.

My father’s gaze shifted from me to my brother, then to my mother. A heavy silence fell. His expression was troubled, his brow furrowed.

“I think someone’s out to get us,” he finally said, his voice heavy with suspicion. “Who tipped off the prosecutors and bloggers? How did the media get footage from inside this house? And it definitely can’t be Kamille—she’s dead!”

My mind raced. Dad was right. Someone was fighting Kamille’s battle, even in death.

“So, even in death, that lowlife is still a nuisance!” I exclaimed, bitter and frustrated. “Why can’t she just rest in peace?”

My father’s stern voice cut through the tension. “Ellen, Gabriel, while we handle Liz’s situation, both of you be careful. I don’t want another incident.”

I nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. The past few hours had shaken us.

Gabriel’s sarcastic retort pierced the air. “I have no issues, Dad, but your daughter is always on a power trip, harassing her workers. She might be the one you should watch.”

Why was I cursed with such an annoying brother?

My jaw clenched at Gabriel’s accusation. I glared at him, but my father intervened.

“Enough,” he said firmly. “We’re in this together. Pointing fingers won’t solve anything. We need to support Liz and find out who’s behind this.”

Gabriel’s casual dismissal grated on my nerves. “I was just saying,” he added nonchalantly.

I gritted my teeth. “You’re a fool, Gabriel,” I retorted. “How can you eat and sleep? How comfortable are you?”

My voice trembled. How could he be so oblivious to our family’s turmoil? Didn’t he realize Liz’s future hung in the balance?

Gabriel remained impassive, his indifference a slap in the face. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

“Dinner in my room,” he said to the housekeeper and walked away.

I seethed, fists clenched. How could he be so callous?

Before I could unleash my fury, my father intervened. “Enough,” he said firmly. “We’re in this together, and pointing fingers won’t solve anything.”

I bit back my retort, swallowing my anger. But resentment simmered.

As Gabriel left, helplessness washed over me. How could we overcome challenges if we couldn’t even unite as a family?

“But Dad…” I began, but a thunderous roar from my father cut me off.

“That’s enough, Ellen! To your room!”

Fuck!

Frustration boiled as I left the living room. I slammed my door shut, the sound echoing. The thud released some tension, but the storm raged within.

I had to do something. I called Mr. Finley. After several rings, he answered, his voice crisp and professional.

“Mr. Finley, it’s Ellen,” I said, trying to remain calm. “Any updates on the search for those kids?”

There was a pause. “Yes, Miss Ellen, the investigation is ongoing, but we’ve made progress. The children were born in the US, not London.”

My heart leaped. “That’s something,” I replied, relieved. “But do we know their parents or birth names?”

Mr. Finley hesitated. “Not yet. But we’re working on it. It’ll take time.”

Frustration gnawed at me. Time was of the essence.

“Mr. Finley, we can’t wait,” I said urgently. “Hasten the investigation, pay whatever it takes. We need answers, now!”

“Right away, Miss,” Mr. Finley replied before I hung up. He was my father’s right-hand man, so I trusted him.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. My father’s voice came through the wood. “Hello, Ellen? Are you there?”

“Yes, Dad,” I replied, weary.

He entered, his expression grave but determined. “Ellen, the only person who can help is Ezekiel Reid. His influence can turn this around.”

I nodded, knowing Zeke’s power. “Of course, Dad.”

His gaze searched mine. “So, what are you doing about it? Any updates on the kids?”

“Yes, Dad,” I replied. “They were born in the US, but they’re tracing them now. They’ll soon find out who the parents are and the kids' names.”

Relief washed over my father. “That’s good,” he said gratefully. “Keep me updated.”

He turned to leave, his gaze lingering on the family portrait. Unease settled over the room.

“Are you alright, Dad?” I asked.

He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I followed his gaze to the portrait of my grandmother, Monica Manor. “She was a great woman, wasn’t she?” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

The mood worsened.

My father scoffed bitterly. “A great matron, yes,” he muttered. “But a terrible mother… to me.”

I furrowed my brows. “What do you mean, Dad?” I whispered.

He looked at me, then back at the portrait. “It started when she preferred my older sister, your Aunt Fiona Manor. She made choices that turned me into what I am today, and I have no remorse for her demise.”

Shock reverberated through me. Was Grandma Monica not the woman I thought she was? And what did Aunt Fiona have to do with anything? We barely knew her.

What in the hell is going on?