Chapter 3
Charles opened the car door for her.
"Get in." He said softly.
"Maybe your life was set on the wrong track from the very start," Charles said quietly.
The moment the car door closed, the wind and rain outside seemed to belong to another world.
The car was quiet, the heat turned up high, and the faint scent of cedar mixed with leather left Holly in a momentary daze.
She stared at the envelope in her hands, not opening it.
"How did you find me here?"
Charles sat across from her, his long legs crossed, fingers tapping his knee as if he was holding something back.
"I've been looking into you for half a year."
Holly looked up.
"To be exact, the Grant family has been looking into you for six months," Charles said, locking eyes with her. "Tonight wasn't a coincidence. We knew you were getting divorced tonight."
"You guys even knew about that?"
"We know way more than you realize."
Those words made Holly instinctively wary.
She rested the envelope on her lap, leaving it untouched.
"Who exactly are you?"
Charles paused for a couple of seconds before finally saying, "Have you ever heard of the Grant family in Prosper?"
Holly had of course heard of them.
The Grant family was old money in Prosper, starting out in pharmaceuticals and real estate. In recent years, they had massively expanded their business interests. Even people who never paid attention to finance knew the name Cliff Grant, the family patriarch.
But the thing everyone really knew about the Grants wasn't their wealth—it was that they lost a daughter more than twenty years ago.
"Don't tell me," Holly's voice was hoarse, "I'm the lost daughter?"
Charles didn't say yes or no. He just jerked his chin toward the envelope. "Open it first and find out?"
Holly finally opened the envelope.
Inside were three things.
The first was a yellowed baby ankle bracelet, the plastic casing marked with faded words: "City First Hospital, Baby Girl Grant."
The second was a copy of a birth record. The name field was blank, but the mother's name was clearly written, Jane Linden.
The third was an old photo.
In the photo, a young woman in a hospital gown was holding a baby in her arms, her smile weary but gentle. Next to her stood a middle-aged man in a suit, his hand carefully cradling the baby, his expression impossibly tender.
On the back of the photo, someone had written a single line,
"If you ever see this, remember to come home."
Holly's breathing suddenly went haywire.
Her fingers paused at the edge of the photo, her fingertips cold as ice.
"This photo..." Holly's throat tightened. "How did you get it?"
"It was always with the Grant family," Charles said, pausing for a moment. "But then it disappeared for years. Not long ago, we found it again—thanks to some clues left in your adoptive mother's belongings."
Her mind was spinning.
She'd always known her adoptive parents never really liked her.
It wasn't open hostility like yelling or hitting—it was a quiet, drawn-out neglect. When she had a fever as a kid, her adoptive mom would just say, "Just sleep it off." When she got first place in her exams, her adoptive dad would shrug and say, "Why does a girl need to study so hard anyway?" When she turned eighteen and finally asked about her birth, they went silent for ages before finally saying, "Don't ask. Just be glad you're alive."
She'd always figured that was just the way poor families were—cold and indifferent.
But what if it was never about that?
What if she was never meant to be there at all?
"Did you do a DNA test?" she asked suddenly.
Charles glanced at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes—not expecting her to be this composed.
"There's a preliminary match," he replied. "It's not complete, but it's enough to make things clear."
As he spoke, he handed her another document.
Holly opened it.
The first few pages were old case files, and in the middle was a DNA test report. The conclusion at the bottom was written in a very restrained tone.
There is a high probability of a biological relationship.
It wasn't a definite match, but it was enough to send a chill down Holly's spine.
"Why did you wait until now to find me?" Holly asked.
"Cliff never believed his daughter just vanished by accident," Charles said, his voice low. "He always suspected the baby wasn't simply lost—she was taken and swapped with another."
Holly's head snapped up.
"Swapped?" she asked, barely able to get the word out.
"Yeah," Charles replied, meeting her gaze. "And the one who switched you most likely always knew where you were."
A car's headlights flashed past the window, the shifting light highlighting catching the icy look on his face and sharpening the chill in his expression.
A cold shiver ran down Holly's spine.
If that was true, it meant someone had robbed her of the life that should've been hers.