Chapter 2

At seven in the morning, the Hamilton Estate was already awake. Sunlight filtered into the dining room, where a crisp white cloth covered the long table.

Silver cutlery caught the early rays, gleaming with a cold brilliance. Servants moved in silence, placing fresh-baked pastries, sliced fruit, and warm milk onto the sideboard with meticulous precision.

Charlotte was already seated at the table.

Draped in a pale pink silk robe with her hair loosely pinned back, she looked as if she had just stepped out of a classical oil painting.

Oatmeal and a fruit salad sat before her, and as her fork sliced through a piece of apple, the movement appeared impossibly elegant.

"You must be exhausted after last night, Charlotte," Margaret said from across the table, her voice dripping with concern.

"I'm alright." Charlotte offered a soft smile. "My feet are just a little sore from standing for so long."

"Then rest well at home today. Don't go anywhere." Richard lowered his newspaper, his gaze filled with paternal warmth. "I've already had the butler clear your schedule."

"Thanks, Dad." Charlotte set down her fork and tilted her head to the side. "Oh, I asked the kitchen to prepare some soup. I'll have it sent up to you and Mom in a bit."

"Such a sweetheart." Margaret's eyes crinkled with joy. "You're worn out yourself, yet you still think of us."

A warm atmosphere of domestic bliss permeated the room.

Yet at the far end of the table, in an inconspicuous seat, Emily sat in silence.

Only a glass of milk and a slice of bread lay before her.

No one filled her plate. No one asked if she had slept well. No one noticed whether she was eating at all.

"Um..." A passing servant paused beside her, seemingly hesitating over whether to offer a greeting, but ultimately said nothing and walked away.

Emily lowered her head, tore off a small piece of bread, and placed it in her mouth.

The bread was from yesterday's bake, stale and hard.

Her expression remained blank.

Just then, the doorbell cut through the quiet.

The butler went to answer and soon returned. "Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Grant is here."

Richard set down his cup. "Andrew? This early?"

"He says he's here to discuss the details of the engagement party with Ms. Evans."

"Show him in," Richard said.

When Andrew stepped into the dining room, his suit was as sharp as ever, his gaze cutting like a blade. His eyes swept across the long table before finally landing on Charlotte.

"Good morning." His tone was flat.

"Andy!" Charlotte stood up, her tone pleasantly surprised. "What brings you here?"

"There are some details I need to confirm." Andrew approached, taking the seat beside her as if it were his rightful place. He pulled a document from his briefcase. "Regarding the venue and the guest list."

Charlotte leaned in to look, her hair falling over her shoulder to expose a slender neck. "You can decide all that. I don't have any opinions."

"No." Andrew turned a page. "This involves both families."

"Fine, fine—" Charlotte dragged out the syllable like a spoiled child. "You're so difficult."

Richard and Margaret exchanged a glance, both wearing satisfied expressions.

"By the way, Andrew. The engagement is set for the end of the month. Do you have any thoughts?" Richard chimed in.

"Let's stick to the original plan."

"Then the Grand Crest Hotel it is. The same venue as Charlotte's coming-of-age party. It holds sentimental value," Margaret interjected.

"Alright." Charlotte tilted her head to look at him. "Andy, what do you think?"

"Sounds good," Andrew replied.

Their conversation flowed smoothly and naturally, as if they had discussed it a thousand times.

No one mentioned the person sitting in the corner.

Emily lowered her head, her fingertips pressing against the cool glass of milk.

She remembered Andrew all too clearly.

Three years ago, the first time she saw that name was in an old archive. It was a marriage contract signed between the two families when she was born.

Back then, Emily didn't know her identity had been stolen; she believed she was merely an "adopted daughter," useful only for trivial tasks.

That archive had sparked her curiosity.

So she dug deeper.

The deeper she went, the more things didn't add up.

Andrew was her fiancé. That realization was like a nail driven into her memory. Yet now, he sat beside Charlotte, acting as "fiancé," discussing details of an engagement party.

As his gaze swept over her, it paused for a fleeting second.

A single, brief moment.

It was as if he recognized something, or perhaps saw nothing at all.

Then he looked away and returned to his documents.

Emily cast her eyes downward.

"Emily?" Charlotte's voice suddenly cut through the air.

Emily looked up.

Charlotte had turned sideways, smiling at her, "You're up so early, too. Thanks for coming to the party last night. It must have been hard work."

Her voice was soft, her smile perfectly poised, as if she was sincerely grateful.

"It's just..." Charlotte hesitated, her voice dropping a little. "Next time, don't hide in the corner. You should move around a bit more. Otherwise, the guests might get the wrong idea."

"Misunderstand what?" Richard frowned, his brows knitting together.

"Get the wrong idea about our family..." Charlotte stopped mid-sentence, realizing she'd said too much. She quickly shook her head. "Never mind. It's nothing."

Richard didn't press further.

Margaret's gaze landed on Emily, lingering for two seconds.

It was that same look of confusion.

It was as if she wanted to speak but didn't know where to begin.

"Emily, were you alright last night?" she finally said, her voice flat.

"Fine," Emily replied.

Her answer was brief and flat, devoid of emotion.

Margaret seemed prepared to say something else, but Charlotte interrupted, "Mom, do you think we should book a few more tables for the engagement party?"

"Well..." The topic shifted.

Margaret withdrew her gaze and turned back to Charlotte to discuss the guest list.

Emily lowered her head once more.

*****

Breakfast drew to a close, with Richard and Margaret taking their leave first. Pushing his chair back, Andrew turned toward Charlotte. "I have matters to attend to. I'll reach out to you tonight."

"Okay, I'll walk you out," Charlotte replied.

She rose to her feet, gathering the hem of her robe as she fell into step beside him.

At the dining hall entrance, Andrew slowed mid-stride.

His gaze drifted toward Emily, seated alone in the far corner.

A faint frown creased his brows for the briefest moment, yet the expression faded in an instant.

He tore his eyes away and continued forward without pause.

"What caught your eye, Andy?" Charlotte asked, curiosity lacing her tone.

"Nothing," Andrew replied.

Their figures vanished around the corridor's bend.

Still rooted to her chair, Emily twisted an empty glass of milk between her fingers.

Cold chill seeped from the frosted glass into her palms.

She stood soon after and slipped quietly out of the dining room.

*****

Ten o'clock in the morning saw Emily depart the Hamilton Estate.

She told no one of her departure, and no one bothered to ask.

*****

Tucked away within an old downtown district stood a secluded café. Modest storefront and understated signage hid its quiet popularity among local regulars.

Emily pushed open the wooden door and settled into a shadowy corner seat by the window.

"Black Americano, no sugar," she ordered.

The server nodded and noted her request.

Pulling out her phone, she checked a short message: [Mr. Stone, I will see you at half past ten.]

Patience settled over her as she waited in still silence.

At ten twenty-five, a man in a tailored charcoal-gray suit stepped inside.

With a steely gaze and confident stride, he looked around as soon as he entered, his eyes settling on Emily.

He crossed the floor and seated himself directly across the table. "Ms. Hamilton."

"Mr. Stone," Emily replied.

The lawyer, David Stone, wasted no time on trivial small talk. Sliding a leather folder from his briefcase, he set it flat on the tabletop.

"I've reviewed all the materials you provided. They are still insufficient," he stated plainly.

Emily nodded in understanding.

She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and slid it across the table to him.

"This is what I found," she said.

David's gaze dropped to the document.

It was a certified copy of a birth certificate, its pages yellowed with age and frayed along the edges. Official stamps and printed text remained crisp and legible.

[Name: Emily Hamilton]

[Date of Birth: XXXX-XX-XX]

[Place of Birth: City Central Hospital]

[Mother: Margaret Hamilton]

[Father: Richard Hamilton]

The hospital's seal and the official government record stamp were all there.

A subtle shift flickered in David's eyes as he looked up. "Where did you obtain this?"

Emily replied evenly, "An old archive storage wing. Two years ago, the Hamiltons relocated their household belongings and tasked me with sorting the abandoned warehouse.

"I found this tucked inside a hidden compartment of an old file crate."

"Why withhold it back then?"

"I didn't realize what it meant at the time," Emily replied.

Memories surfaced unbidden of that rainy, dust-choked afternoon thick with mildew.

She had spent hours sorting stacks of yellowed documents, sorting, packing, and logging endless crates. Hidden within a file labeled medical records lay this folded slip of paper, its existence baffling and strange.

Emily had wondered why her name appeared on the family's confidential files, and why such critical paperwork had been hidden away so carefully.

Quietly, she had kept it for herself.

Only now, two years later, had she pieced together the full truth.

"This document serves as core foundational proof. It validates your legal identity and birth records, but more is needed to revoke Charlotte's legal status within the Hamilton family," David said, tucking the certificate into the folder."

"Like what?" Emily asked.

David replied, his tone turning crisp and unyielding, "Filed municipal records. We need to trace how Charlotte was legally added to the Hamiltons' family record, the exact date, and under what false claim she was registered as their biological daughter."

"Can we find out?" Emily asked.

"Theoretically, every official amendment to legal family files leaves a clear paper trail." David paused before adding, "In reality, if someone deliberately tampered with or erased those records—"

"She would," Emily said, her tone unwavering.

"Which is why we need a complete chain of supplementary evidence." David fixed his gaze on her. "DNA testing, eyewitness statements, and original documentation of official vital record revisions. What else have you managed to gather?"

"I'm still digging," Emily replied calmly.

David said, closing the folder, "Time is running out. The engagement is just around the corner. Once the two families are officially tied together, Charlotte's position will be even more secure. If we wait until then, it'll be twice as hard to overturn her status."

"I know." Emily stood up.

Her stare held a biting edge, cold and tempered like raw steel.

"I'll let the evidence do the talking," she said.

*****

Harsh midday sunlight flooded the streets outside the café.

Pedestrians wandered past in slow streams.

Empty-handed, Emily stood on the curb, having left the birth certificate with David to anchor her case.

More secrets rested hidden in her pocket.

A blurry photograph captured from archived municipal files lingered in her possession, two faint words, "record revision," peeking through the haze.

She had more than this. Far more.

*****

Late afternoon hours brought Emily back to the Hamilton Estate.

Entering through a private side entrance, she followed quiet corridors toward her private quarters.

On the second floor, her steps faltered.

Charlotte's bedroom door hung ajar, offering a clear view of the room's lavish interior. Vanity counters overflowed with high-end cosmetics and fine jewelry, and framed photographs lined the walls.

One prominent portrait captured Charlotte and Andrew together at a sun-drenched coastline.

Bright turquoise ocean and pale white sand stretched across the background. Charlotte clung gently to Andrew's arm, wearing a bright, sweet smile. Though Andrew's expression stayed neutral, soft warmth lingered in his quiet gaze.

A soft click broke the stillness as the bedroom door swung fully open.

A household maid stepped out, balancing an empty tray in her hands.

She froze at the sight of Emily. "What brings you here?"

"Just passing through." Emily turned away and continued down the hallway.

Alone inside her dim bedroom, she shut the door and sank into the silence.

Heavy drawn curtains muted the daylight, casting the room in soft shadow.

Approaching the window, Emily tugged the fabric apart to create a thin slit.

Golden sunlight spilled over her cold fingertips, chilled from the long hold of her iced coffee.

"There is no rush. One step at a time," she murmured quietly, as if speaking to herself, or to the undisclosed photograph locked away.

Beyond the window, estate gardeners trimmed manicured hedges.

Faint chatter drifted on the breeze, Charlotte's honeyed tone carrying clearly from a distance. "The engagement invitations have all been sent out... yes, the ceremony falls at month's end... you must come."

Cloyingly sweet, every word rang hollow.

Emily shut out the sound and crossed to her writing desk.

Opening a locked drawer, she pulled out a plain kraft envelope tucked in the very back.

Inside rested only one single photograph.

Faded and worn at the edges, faint printed lettering remained legible: [Amendment to Vital Record]

It was dated twenty years prior.

She tucked the photo back into the envelope and closed the drawer securely.

"I know what you're afraid of. But I'm not afraid. You will return everything you have stolen, piece by piece," Emily murmured.