Chapter 2 Two Sisters

Maeve's POV

I stood frozen by my bed, staring at the two lines that had just shattered my world. Autumn wind clawed at the curtains, their billowing fabric morphing into the gills of a suffocating fish. My lungs seized—not from shock, but from the cruel irony. This couldn't be happening. Not after all the laparoscopic surgeries to treat my blocked fallopian tubes, not when the doctors had told me again and again how unlikely it was for me to ever conceive naturally. Not with Herman.

A sharp knock at my bedroom door made me flinch. "Miss Maeve?" Maria's familiar voice cut through my panic. "Mr. Herman has just arrived home. He's asking for you to come downstairs."

My fingers tightened around the plastic stick. "I'll be right there!" I called out, hating how my voice wavered. I needed to think. I needed to move. But my body felt leaden, frozen in place by the weight of what these two lines meant.

"Miss Maeve?" Another knock, more insistent this time. "Mr. Herman seems to be in a mood today."

That finally broke through my paralysis. "Just a minute!" The words came out sharper than I intended, betraying my panic. With trembling fingers, I gathered both the test and its cheerful pink box from my bed. I needed to get rid of everything, now.

In the bathroom, I wrapped the pregnancy test in layers of toilet paper until the damning twin lines disappeared completely. The flush seemed deafening as I watched the evidence swirl away, taking with it whatever remaining illusion of control I had over my life. The empty box went next, buried deep in the bathroom trash beneath a careful arrangement of tissues and cotton swabs.

My reflection in the mirror showed me what I desperately needed to hide: too-wide amber eyes in a face that had gone ghostly pale, my light brown waves disheveled from running my hands through them in distress. Now I finally understood the glow of my skin—it was pregnancy hormones. The realization sent another wave of dizziness through me.

I splashed cold water on my face, the shock of it helping to ground me in the present moment. As I patted my skin dry, watching color slowly return to my cheeks, I tried to steady my breathing. I couldn't let Herman see me like this. Couldn't let anyone suspect, especially not when my own body had already started betraying my secret.

The bedroom door creaked open just as I emerged from the bathroom. Maria stood in the doorway, her weathered face creased with worry. "You look pale, child. Should I tell Mr. Herman you're not feeling well?"

A bitter laugh nearly escaped my lips. That would only bring Herman up here, into this room that still felt thick with my fear and shock. "That would only make the family worry," I managed to say, smoothing down my dove-gray sweater with damp hands. "I'm coming down now."

Each step toward the stairs felt like walking closer to an abyss. I pressed my hand against my flat stomach as I passed Maria, wondering how something I couldn't even feel yet could have such power to destroy everything I had carefully balanced these past five years.

The sound of laughter drifted up from the living room. Through the railing, I could see them gathered below: Andrew and Bridget on the cream leather sofa, with Kayla perched on the armrest beside her mother. The perfect family portrait. My chest tightened as I watched Bridget smooth back a strand of Kayla's chestnut hair, just as she used to do with mine.

Five years ago, that tender gesture had belonged to me. Before the truth came out about the hospital mix-up, before we discovered that the real Crowley daughter had been raised in foster care while I lived in her place. The irony was bitter — I had spent eighteen years as the cherished daughter of the Crowley family, while Kayla, their flesh and blood, struggled through the system.

Now I remained in this house as a charity case, a constant reminder of their guilt, still treated with the vestiges of familial affection that felt more like pity each passing day. The truth of my relationship with Herman made it all the more twisted — those secret touches, the nights spent in his bed, the way he treated me like a possession rather than the sister he had once believed me to be. His dominance was intoxicating and revolting in equal measures, binding me as tightly as any chain.

The said brother was now standing by the fireplace, his commanding presence drawing my eye despite my reluctance. At six-foot-one, he towered over the rest of the family, his dark suit perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders. The warm lighting caught the sharp angles of his face, softening his usual severity but doing nothing to diminish the intensity of his dark brown eyes. As if sensing my gaze, he looked up, and I quickly dropped my eyes.

"Oh, there you are." Kayla's voice held that familiar edge of mockery. "We were starting to think you were avoiding us."

"I'm sorry for keeping everyone waiting," I murmured, descending the last few steps. "I was—"

"Being rude, as usual," Kayla cut in, her smile sharp. "Honestly, after everything my parents have done for you..."

"Kayla," Bridget said softly, but without real reproach.

Herman moved then, reaching for a shopping bag beside him. "I picked up some things from that boutique you like in Chicago, Mother." He handed Bridget an elegantly wrapped package, then passed another to his father. "And that limited edition watch you mentioned, Father." Finally, he turned to Kayla with a fond smile. "And for my dear sister..."

Kayla squealed with delight as she opened a distinctive orange box, pulling out a silk scarf. "Hermès! You always know exactly what I want, big brother." She immediately wrapped it around her neck, preening as she admired herself in the reflection of the darkened window. The deep burgundy brought out the warm undertones in her olive skin, making her look more like Herman than ever.

After a moment of basking in her own reflection, she turned back to the room with a calculated gleam in her eyes. "What about Maeve?" she asked suddenly, her innocent tone belied by the glint in her eyes. "Didn't you get anything for your other sister?"

The room went still. Herman's expression hardened as he turned to look at me, his dark eyes glinting with something that made my stomach clench. "You know it very clear, Kayla" he said, each word deliberate and sharp. "She is not my sister, and no gift for her because she made a mistake today."

My heart stopped. The pregnancy test box flashed through my mind—buried in the bathroom trash, but still there, still discoverable. Had he somehow found it already?