Chapter 301: Confrontation
Luke gripped his warm cup of tea, but the rising steam did nothing to soothe him. In a sudden surge of anger, he slammed the cup onto the table, splashing tea across the surface.
“I look exactly like my dad! If I’m not his son, then who am I?” His voice cracked as he glared around the room, searching for answers.
Carter turned his sharp gaze toward Anna. “You must know something. Tell him.”
Anna clutched her stomach, instinctively protecting the life within. Luke’s plight was of little concern to her. Her eyes dropped, and she whispered, “I don’t know anything.”
The Sanders, silent observers until now, exchanged wide-eyed glances. The conversation had taken an unexpected and dramatic turn.
Adam, still pale from shock, a thought struck him. “Dad… could it be…?”
Jeffrey’s expression was grim, but he nodded. “Yes. Your father had an identical twin brother. If things had gone differently, you might have grown up with him. But you were switched at birth, and that’s why you look like your uncle… like me.”
Luke, like the rest, was confused. Even Carter was unaware of this uncle. Luke knew only that his uncle had died young.
“Grandpa, are you talking about that uncle?” Luke asked cautiously. “Didn’t he die years ago?”
“We all thought he was gone. But he wasn’t. He survived. And from what we’ve uncovered, he’s been orchestrating events behind the scenes, including switching you and your cousin.”
Adam’s composure crumbled. Moments before, he was an outsider; now, he was at the heart of the storm. The revelation weighed heavily upon him.
“Dad, you can’t mean this,” Adam said, his voice shaking. “You wouldn’t joke about something like this… right?”
Jeffrey’s expression hardened. “Do I look like I’m joking? Carter found out Silas is a Bolton. A genetic test confirmed it—he’s your son.”
Adam froze, his breath caught in his throat. Memories of the harsh words he’d hurled at Silas—the cruel accusations, the curses—struck him with crushing irony.
“Where is he?” Adam finally asked, his voice barely audible. He knew there could be no lies, no deception in this room.
The years spent unknowingly apart from his son loomed over him. All he wanted was to see Silas.
Jeffrey sighed and gestured toward the door. “Bring him in.”
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to the entrance. Anna, previously withdrawn, sat up straighter, her focus sharpening.
Two men carried Silas in on a stretcher. His face, previously hidden, was now clearly visible; his injuries were evident, leaving him pale and frail.
Anna rushed forward, abandoning all pretense. The truth was out; she no longer attempted to conceal her emotions.
“Silas! Are you okay?” Her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face.
Silas’s arm twitched, as if trying to reach for her, but it remained unresponsive. Only a faint, broken sound escaped his throat, filling the heavy silence.
“What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he speak?”
Anna’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face contorted with rage as she turned on them. Her voice rose, sharp and accusatory. “What did you do to him?”
“It wasn’t us,” someone said firmly. “He bit off his own tongue.”
Anna gasped, her expression crumbling as fresh tears flowed. They fell in steady drops onto Silas’s scarred face, tracing paths through the dirt and blood. I’d seen Anna cry before, but it was always calculated, a performance designed to sway hearts or gain sympathy. This time was different. The grief pouring from her was genuine, raw, and unexpected.
“Why?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Why would you do that to yourself?”
She sank onto Silas’s chest, clutching him as sobs wracked her small frame.
Adam stepped closer, his expression torn between disbelief and grief. His eyes lingered on Silas’s battered form, and his hand trembled as he pointed. “Is… is he really my son?”
The question hung heavy and unresolved until Carter intervened. His answer was clear, cutting through the tension.
“Yes. He is.”
Adam knelt, leaning in as if proximity might bring clarity. His hand hovered, hesitant to touch. The scars and bruises covering Silas’s body made him seem fragile, as though even a light touch might cause further harm.
“My boy…” Adam’s voice cracked. “You’ve suffered so much.”
Silas remained silent. His eyes, wide and unwavering, locked onto Adam with an intensity that made the air heavy. Something about his gaze was unsettling—hollow yet full of unspoken pain.
While the room’s attention was fixed on this heartbreaking reunion, my eyes drifted to Sheila. From the beginning, she’d been an enigma. Carter and I had orchestrated this moment to observe her, to see her reaction to the truth.
She didn’t disappoint. Sheila stood apart from the chaos, holding a delicate porcelain teacup. Her lips curved into a faint, almost mocking smile. It wasn’t the reaction of someone shocked by unexpected revelations; instead, she radiated a quiet confidence, as if she had orchestrated everything.
In that instant, her demeanor shifted. She was no longer a passive observer; her presence commanded attention. Her sharp eyes and cold precision reminded me of a black rose—beautiful yet dangerous, its thorns hidden until too late. It struck me: if there was a puppet master, it had to be her.
She seemed to sense my thoughts. Lifting her teacup, she took a measured sip, the porcelain partially obscuring her face. Her movements were calm, almost deliberate. I shifted my focus, unwilling for her to notice my scrutiny. We didn’t have concrete proof, not yet, but her response—or lack thereof—was telling. Sheila was not innocent.
Carter, quick to read a room, saw his opportunity. “Anna,” he said, his voice steady, “you know something. Why would Oliver switch his son with Adam’s?”
Anna’s eyes flicked toward Sheila. The subtle movement didn’t go unnoticed. Sheila, calm as ever, placed her teacup on the table with a deliberate thud. The sound wasn’t loud, but its meaning was clear—a signal and a warning: tread carefully.
Sheila approached Adam, her voice soft and steady, as usual. “Adam, you need to sit down,” she said, her tone slipping into its practiced warmth. “Your heart can’t take this kind of stress. Let’s sort through everything rationally.”
Adam glanced from Luke to Silas. His chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. Luke had always been part of the family, but Silas was his son by blood. Finding him should have been joyous, yet it felt hollow. Silas’s condition left Adam grappling with a surge of tangled emotions.
The room grew quiet as all eyes turned to Anna. Even Josh, a silent observer until now, rose to his feet. He approached Anna, his steps deliberate, his voice cutting through the tense air.
“Ever since you came back,” he began, his words sharp and precise, “you’ve done nothing but stir the pot. You turned us against Chloe repeatedly. Then, at their wedding, you called Luke away, and Chloe vanished. Since then, this family has been through hell—deaths, accidents. And that car crash? Everyone was in it except you.
“Now, here we are, dealing with a switched heir, and somehow, you and Sheila are right in the middle of it. This isn’t bad luck, Anna. This is a pattern. So, tell me, what are you and Sheila scheming? What are you trying to do to the Sanders and the Boltons?”
A heavy silence filled the room, leaving no space for protest. Anna crumpled to the floor, her knees hitting the polished wood. Tears streamed down her face, but her expression remained calculated, her voice trembling as she spoke.
“Dad,” she said, her words heavy with pleading, “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of. How could I possibly plan something like this? The police have questioned me many times, and I’ve been cleared each time. If I had done anything wrong, wouldn’t they have arrested me by now? Emma Sanders too, wouldn’t they? Why would I hurt my own Emily?”
But Josh wasn’t swayed. His face remained hard, his voice unyielding.
“If you’re innocent,” he said coldly, “then the sky must be green, and fish must fly. Stop playing games, Anna. Tell us what’s really going on between you and Silas. If he’s the Bolton heir, why hasn’t he been with his family all this time?”