“You think you know him, don’t you?”
The question came from a child’s voice, high-pitched but steady. I turned toward the sound, startled to find little Clara, no older than seven, staring up at me with those piercing blue eyes.
She held a sketchbook in her tiny hands, smudges of charcoal marking her fingers.
“Know who?” I asked, crouching to meet her eye level.
Clara shrugged, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Mr. Nathaniel. He’s nice, but sometimes... he’s not.”
My breath caught. The innocence of her words, laced with an unsettling weight, made my chest tighten. Nathaniel had brought me to this orphanage under the pretense of charity, but now I wasn’t so sure.
“What do you mean, Clara?” I pressed gently.
She shook her head, her golden curls bouncing. “You’ll see.”
Before I could respond, a shadow fell over us.
“There you are.”
Nathaniel’s deep voice rolled over me like a velvet thundercloud. He stood in the doorway, his tailored suit an odd contrast to the faded walls of the playroom.
In his hand was a small bouquet of daisies, their yellow centers almost too cheerful in the dim light.
“Clara, don’t bother Ms. Tiffany too much,” he said with a teasing edge.
Clara giggled and ran off, leaving me alone with him. I straightened, brushing imaginary dust off my skirt to distract from the unease prickling at my skin.
“You’re good with kids,” I remarked, forcing a smile.
He smiled back, that practiced charm in full force. “They remind me of simpler times.”
“Simpler times,” I echoed, tilting my head. “Not exactly how I’d describe your life.”
His expression flickered, just for a moment. A crack in the armor.
“You’d be surprised,” he said, turning to place the flowers in a vase on the counter.
The room suddenly felt smaller, his presence overwhelming despite the space between us.
I watched him interact with the staff and children, his actions deliberate, almost rehearsed. Was this the real Nathaniel? Or just another mask?
My thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the office door behind me. Curiosity tugged at me, and before I knew it, my feet were carrying me toward it.
The room smelled of old paper and faint traces of coffee. Files were stacked neatly on a wooden desk, but one folder caught my attention—it was thicker than the rest, its label marked with bold, red ink: CONFIDENTIAL.
“Tiffany.”
His voice froze me in place. Slowly, I turned to find Nathaniel standing in the doorway, his gaze unreadable.
“What are you doing?”
My pulse quickened, but I forced myself to stay calm. “I was just... looking around.”
“In a locked office?”
His tone was dangerously soft. I hadn’t even realized I’d crossed a boundary until now.
“I thought—”
“Don’t.”
He stepped closer, and for the first time, I felt the weight of his presence. The man who had been gentle with the children now loomed over me, his shadow swallowing the room.
“There are things in this world, Tiffany, that you don’t want to understand,” he said, his voice low and measured.
My heart pounded as he reached past me, his hand brushing mine as he locked the file drawer. The click echoed like a judge’s gavel.
“Trust is fragile,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Don’t break mine.”
I didn’t dare speak as we left the orphanage, the silence between us thick and suffocating. It wasn’t until we were back in his car that he finally broke it.
“You’re upset.”
I stared out the window, the city lights blurring as we sped through the streets. “I just... need answers, Nathaniel.”
“Answers to what?”
I turned to face him, anger bubbling to the surface. “To who you really are.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually tell me. But instead, he changed the subject.
“You’ll know when it’s time.”
The words felt like a dismissal, and I hated how easily he could shut me out.
Later that night, as I sat in my apartment, my frustration boiled over. I couldn’t ignore the puzzle pieces anymore. His charity work, his guarded demeanor, the flashes of darkness I’d glimpsed.
And then there was Clara’s innocent warning: [You’ll see.]
Desperate for clarity, I reached for the envelope Lucas had given me earlier that week. Its contents were like poison, but I needed the antidote.
I sifted through the photos, my fingers brushed against a folded piece of paper I hadn’t noticed before.
Unfolding it, I read the scrawled handwriting, my breath catching as the words sank in.
Nathaniel, I’m sorry for what we did. I never wanted you to carry this burden alone. Forgive me—Mother.
The room spun as the letter fell from my trembling hands.
“What burden?” I whispered to the empty room.
My phone buzzed, jolting me out of my spiraling thoughts. It was a message from Nathaniel:
“Meet me at the docks. Midnight.”
My stomach twisted. I didn’t know what awaited me there, but one thing was clear: I was about to uncover the truth—or be destroyed by it.
