Chapter 2

Charlie walked in. He'd been with the Grant family for over thirty years, starting back when Edward's father was still around.

He was always calm about everything, but today, as he walked in, there was something subtly off about his expression. "Mr. and Mrs. Grant."

"What's up?" Edward asked.

Charlie hesitated and then continued, "There's a girl outside, looks about sixteen or seventeen. She says she's here for Mr. Grant."

"Who's she?" Edward asked.

Charlie paused and then added, "She claims to be your daughter."

The dining room went quiet.

Edward frowned slightly and looked at me.

I kept eating my cake and wondered whether I was caught up in one of those long-lost heiress dramas.

But having another daughter wasn't a big deal. The Grant family had more than enough money to spare.

"And then?" I asked while taking another bite.

"She's been waiting at the gate for over two hours," Charlie explained. "The guards tried to send her away, but she refused to leave. She says she won't go unless she meets Mr. Grant."

"Let her in," I demanded. "We'll enjoy our meal and then deal with it."

Edward nodded.

Charlie quietly left the room.

Grace looked up at me. "Mom, aren't you worried?"

"Worried about what?" I served her a piece of ribs.

"What if what she said is true?" Grace grumbled.

"We'll find out when we meet her," I replied. "Have your food before it gets cold."

As for whether that girl was Edward's daughter, it was a medical thing. The paternity test would sort it out. That wasn't my headache.

*****

The first day Emily moved in, she started putting on her act.

She told the servants she'd lived a hard life growing up, and that I was a home-wrecker who'd stolen her family.

But that was only the start.

The real drama didn't start until her mom, Victoria, showed up.

The day before the paternity test results came out, Emily brought her mom straight into Grant Manor.

She didn't bother to notify anyone or ask for permission. Instead, she marched right in with her mom like she owned the place.

Victoria was in her forties, with wavy hair. As she stepped out of the car, she glanced around and exclaimed, "Wow, this house is so large and gorgeous."

She strode into the living room, dropped herself onto the couch, crossed her legs, and said to the servant, "Dallmayr coffee, please. I won't try anything cheap."

The servant glanced at me, and I nodded.

Victoria took a sip of her coffee and then made her way into the dining room, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Running her fingers over the tabletop, Victoria commented, "This table's nice. Be sure to keep it in good shape. No scratches are allowed."

She headed out to the garden, pointed at the rose beds, and ordered, "These roses are too gaudy for me. Have someone get rid of them and plant lilies instead. Lilies are my favorite."

Erik, the gardener, was annoyed at her words.

At lunchtime, Victoria plopped herself down at the table, grabbed a fork, and started serving herself. She didn't wait for the hosts to invite her.

"Hmm, the fish is pretty good. The shrimp is nice too. But the soup is too salty. Next time, go easy on the salt," she demanded.

She kept commenting on the dishes as she had the food.

Grace held her fork, unsure what to do next.

Lucas leaned back in his chair, turning displeased.

Edward wasn't home. He was at the office.

"Ms. Simon," I said, "how are you feeling lately? Emily mentioned you weren't feeling well."

Victoria waved her hand, with her mouth full. "Oh, Mrs. Grant, you should start thinking about where you'll move once the paternity test results come out."

"That's not something you need to worry about, Ms. Simon. Should I have a doctor take a look at you?" I asked.

Victoria's expression shifted. "No, I know my own conditions well."

She claimed to be seriously ill, but with her fresh perm, manicured nails, new dress, and the way she was digging in at the table, one'd never guess she was supposed to be on her last legs.

I saw through her, but I kept my mouth shut.

That afternoon, Victoria started "organizing" the manor like she owned the place.

She told the servants to move the vase in the living room. "This vase throws off the vibe here."

She ordered the servants to change the tablecloth in the dining room. "This color is too dark. It's so gloomy."

She made the servants rehang the paintings in the hallway. "These paintings are a mess."

She also marched into the garage, pointed at the red Ferrari, and declared, "This car is gorgeous. I'm taking this one for myself."

The driver replied awkwardly, "Ms. Simon, that car belongs to Mrs. Grant."

Victoria waved her hand dismissively. "No big deal. She can pick another one."

Then she barged into my walk-in closet, her eyes shining with excitement as she took in the walls of clothes and bags.

She reached out and ran her fingers over a Birkin bag, lingering on it for a long time. "This bag is good-looking. I like it."

She turned around and saw me leaning against the doorframe. She paused for a second and then smiled. "Mrs. Grant, you don't mind if I take a look, do you? I'm curious. That's all."

"Of course not," I said.

She wandered around there for about twenty minutes, and when she came out, her whole expression was different.

I knew that look all too well. It was pure greed, as if the stuff should have been hers.