Chapter 3
The study's lights were on.
Richard sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the surface.
In front of him sat a cup of cold coffee. He hadn't touched it.
His mind was a mess.
The scene of that little girl calling him Daddy through tears kept replaying in his head. And those eyes.
Those eyes, nearly identical to Sarah's.
Three years ago, on the day the child was born, he was abroad negotiating a crucial contract.
By the time he returned, the baby was already several days old.
Sarah was weak after the birth, and he didn't think much of it.
Margaret had always handled the household affairs.
She was a distant relative of Sarah's, and she had been working for them since they got married.
They trusted her implicitly.
So, he had never doubted his daughter.
But tonight, Olivia was like a pebble tossed into the still waters of his heart, stirring up ripples he couldn't ignore.
He wondered if a three-year-old had that kind of expression in her eyes.
It wasn't fear, but calmness and determination far beyond her age.
Something about it felt off.
The knock snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Come in," he said.
Margaret pushed the door open and stepped inside, head bowed, her expression respectful but tinged with unease.
"Mr. Grant, you called for me?" she asked.
"Sit," Richard said, pointing to the chair across from him.
Margaret looked a bit flattered and nervous as she sat down carefully.
"Is that child's name Olivia?" Richard asked, cutting straight to the chase.
"Yes, sir," Margaret replied, her heart pounding in her throat.
"Who is her father?" Richard demanded, staring at her.
Margaret's gaze flickered for a moment.
"I... I don't know," she stammered. "I found her abandoned at the front door of my old house. She looked so pitiful, so I took her in."
She'd prepared this lie long ago. It was flawless.
Richard stared at her without saying a word.
His eyes seemed to pierce right through her, like he could read her mind.
Margaret felt her scalp tingle and broke out in a cold sweat.
"How long have you been with Sarah?" Richard asked, suddenly changing the subject.
"Almost ten years now, sir," Margaret replied.
"Ten years," Richard said, nodding. "Sarah trusts you completely."
"Mrs. Grant has always treated me with great kindness," Margaret said quickly, eager to show her loyalty.
"So, when Sarah had the baby three years ago, you were the one handling everything at the hospital, weren't you?" Richard said casually.
Margaret's heart skipped a beat.
'What is he really digging? Is he starting to suspect something?' she wondered, anxiety spiking.
"That's part of my job." Margaret's voice was dry and shaky.
"I remember you said the baby was born with a red birthmark on her ankle," Richard continued.
Margaret's face instantly drained of color.
'The birthmark! How could I have forgotten about that?' she scolded herself inwardly.
To make the Grants believe Anna was their daughter back then, she'd made up the whole story about the birthmark.
Because Anna did have a red birthmark on her ankle.
But the real Grant heiress didn't have one at all.
"Y-Yes, sir. Miss Grant does have a star-shaped birthmark on her ankle," she replied.
She had no choice but to admit it, though her heart was pounding.
"Mm," Richard replied, not pressing the issue any further.
He picked up the cold coffee and took a sip.
"Alright, you can go now.
"Make sure you keep your daughter in check. Don't let her run around and scare Anna again," he said.
His tone was flat, giving nothing away.
But Margaret felt like she'd cheated death.
"Yes, sir." She stood up, gave a quick nod, and backed out of the room.
It wasn't until she closed the door behind her that she realized her back was drenched in cold sweat.
'That was way too close. Thank God Mr. Grant didn't push it any further,' she thought.
She let out a long sigh of relief and hurried off to the servants' quarters.
She had to go back and teach Olivia a lesson. It was all her fault.
Back in the study, Richard set down his coffee cup.
He opened a drawer and pulled out a photograph.
It was a picture of Sarah when she was one month old.
The baby girl in the photo was plump and fair, with big and bright eyes.
She was the spitting image of Olivia, the kid from tonight.
Suddenly, he remembered something else.
Sarah's family had a unique genetic trait.
They all had a severe mango allergy.
But his daughter, Anna, absolutely loved mangoes.
Back then, he figured Anna was nothing like her mom.
But now, thinking about it, the whole thing felt weird.
A suspicion so outrageous he could barely believe it took root in his mind. 'Could it be...' he wondered.
He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number.
"Hey, it's me. Do me a favor.
"Send your most trustworthy guy over to the house first thing tomorrow morning.
"I need you to collect two samples for a paternity test.
"One from Anna, and the other..." Richard paused, picturing that skinny, determined little face in his mind.
"And the other is from Olivia, Margaret's daughter.
"Remember, this has to stay between us," Richard said, his voice low and serious.
After hanging up, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
He hoped he was overthinking things.
Outside the window, I was perched up in the big tree, hidden behind the thick leaves.
From there, I watched everything happening in the study.
I couldn't catch what they were saying, but I could see the look on Richard's face.
I saw the thoughtful way he stared at the photo when he took it out.
And I caught the way his face turned so serious and resolute as he made that call.
I knew my plan had worked.
His doubts were growing.
Now, all I had to do was add a little more fuel to the fire.
Let that spark of suspicion turn into a wildfire.
I slipped down from the tree, silent as a cat.
I didn't head back to the servants' quarters.
Margaret was probably fuming right now. Going back would be walking straight into a trap.
I had another destination in mind. A place where I could fan the flames.
It was Sarah's room.