Chapter 2The Patent Betrayal: A Mother's Vengeance

After booking the appointment, I went into Liam's room and collected hair samples from his hairbrush.

I overnighted the samples to the lab, then texted a private investigator I had retained. I ordered a comprehensive audit of all of Mark's personal financial transactions.

Exactly twelve hours later, the lab results hit my inbox.

I sat in the dark study, staring at the unopened PDF for a long time. Finally, I clicked it open.

I scrolled straight to the final page.

"Conclusion: The probability of maternity between Maya Sterling and Liam Sterling is 0.00%. The subjects do not share a biological maternal relationship."

Even though I already knew the truth in my gut, seeing it in black and white made my entire body shake violently.

Eighteen years.

I couldn't breathe. The room felt like it was spinning. I closed the laptop, stood up, and pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the window.

Outside, the autumn leaves in the suburbs were turning gold. In the distance, I could see the Ferris wheel of the local amusement park slowly turning. I could vividly remember the days when the three of us would go there, laughing, taking photos.

I genuinely believed they were the two people I was meant to protect for the rest of my life.

My phone buzzed. It was the preliminary report from the private investigator.

Several screenshots of bank statements. A long list of wire transfers.

Every single month, for the last ten years, Mark had wired a significant amount of cash from a private offshore account to an international account.

The owner of the receiving account? Sarah Bennett. My adopted sister.

The monthly wire was substantial. More than enough for one person to live a life of absolute luxury in Europe.

On the very last page, the investigator added a brief, chilling note.

Sarah Bennett purchased a residential property in France nineteen years ago. Paid in cash.

Nineteen years ago. The exact same year I found out I was pregnant. The exact same year Sarah suddenly decided to "study abroad" in Europe.

A horrifying, sickening theory crystallized in my mind.

That weekend, my parents arrived carrying bags full of groceries, exactly as promised.

Sarah trailed right behind them. She was wearing a stunning, cream-colored designer suit, holding an expensive gift box.

"Maya!" she smiled brightly, stepping forward for a hug.

I took a subtle half-step back, avoiding her arms completely.

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she seamlessly recovered.

"It's been so long! I brought you a gift."

The dining table was covered in food. My mother was bustling around the kitchen, while my father and Mark sat in the living room discussing corporate strategy.

When we sat down to eat, Sarah naturally took the seat directly next to Mark. I frowned, but kept my mouth shut.

During dinner, Sarah reached for a serving spoon, the sleeve of her silk blouse sliding up to reveal a flawless, translucent emerald bangle on her wrist.

My eyes locked onto it.

Two years ago, I saw that exact same bracelet at a high-end charity auction.

The clarity was breathtaking. I absolutely loved it, but when I saw the opening bid, I couldn't justify the expense.

Mark was sitting next to me. "If you like it, bid on it. The price doesn't matter."

"It's too much," I replied. "It's fine."

A few weeks later, when I casually brought it up, he told me an anonymous buyer had outbid everyone.

And now, it was resting on Sarah's wrist.

"Maya, what are you staring at?"

Sarah noticed my gaze, raising her wrist and twirling the emerald with a soft, knowing smile. "Do you like the bracelet? Mark gave it to me. He said it suited my complexion perfectly."

Mark, who was mid-sip of his water, violently choked. He coughed, his face flushing red, and quickly looked at me.

"It was... a welcome-home gift. Since she's joining the executive team."

"Exactly!" my mother quickly jumped in to smooth things over. "We're all family! What's wrong with a welcome-home gift? Maya, surely you're not going to be petty about a bracelet?"

I didn't say a word. I just stared dead at Mark.

He physically flinched, looking away.

Sarah smiled again, her voice sickeningly sweet and soft.

"Maya, please don't misunderstand. I just firmly believe that certain things only look truly beautiful when they belong to the right person. Look at this emerald. Doesn't it look so much brighter on my wrist than it did sitting in that auction catalog?"

She wasn't looking at me when she said it. She was looking directly at Mark.

I recognized that look instantly.

It was the triumphant, possessive gaze a woman gives the man she owns.

After dinner, Sarah offered to wash the dishes.

Mark immediately stood up, offering to help her. The two of them walked into the kitchen together.

I sat in the living room, listening to the running water and their hushed, intimate conversation.

I couldn't make out the exact words, but I could clearly hear Sarah's soft, flirtatious laughter.

My mother sat down next to me, patting my knee.

"Maya, look how mature Sarah has gotten. She's actually helping out! She came back specifically to help Mark run the company. You really need to stop walking around with that dark cloud over your head. Try being a little friendlier to her."

My father chimed in from his armchair.

"Mark built a massive empire. It's not easy. Having family working in the executive suite is a smart move. As his wife and her older sister, you need to show some grace."

I turned my head and stared at my father.

"Dad. Mark is your son-in-law. Sarah is your adopted daughter. Don't you think their dynamic is a little... inappropriate?"

My father's face darkened with anger.

"What kind of garbage are you spewing?! We raised Sarah since she was a kid! She's exactly like you! What's wrong with her helping her brother-in-law run a business?!"

"Exactly like me?" I repeated softly. "Then what if I told you... Liam might not be my biological son?"

Both of my parents froze.

My mother reacted first, aggressively grabbing my hands.

"Maya! Do not say psychotic things like that! How could Liam possibly not be your child?! Are you losing your mind again?!"

My father slammed his hand hard against the armrest of his chair. "Enough! You really are sick! Mark is right, you need to be committed for a psychiatric evaluation!"

Looking at their furious, defensive reactions, the absolute last flickering ember of hope in my heart went completely cold.

In their eyes, the only thing that mattered was Mark—the billionaire son-in-law who elevated their social status and provided them with endless financial perks.

They had absolutely no idea that Mark only reached the top of the mountain because I built the fucking ladder.

That night, after my parents left and Sarah went to her hotel, I looked at Mark.

"I'm going to stay at my grandparents' old farmhouse for a few days. I need to sort through some old inheritance documents."

He didn't ask any questions. He just nodded, looking relieved. "Do you want me to drive you?"

"No."

The old farmhouse was a property I inherited before we got married. My parents had moved into a luxury condo Mark bought them, so the house had been sitting empty for years.

I went straight up to the dusty attic.

I started tearing through the old storage trunks.

In a beat-up leather suitcase, I found the things Sarah left behind when she moved to Europe.

A few diaries, some old photo albums, and a locked metal lockbox.

I broke the lockbox open. Inside was a thick stack of letters.

The envelope on the very top was yellowed with age. The cursive handwriting read: To my dearest Mark.

It was Sarah's handwriting.

I pulled the letter out and unfolded it.

"Mark, you came over to visit Maya again today. Watching the way you look at her when she smiles... it physically hurts my chest. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I am so deeply in love with you."

I grabbed the next letter.

"Mark, I heard you two are getting married. Maya is so lucky. If I had met you first... would things have been different?"

My hands were shaking violently as I kept digging through the box.

The very last item wasn't a letter. It was a photograph.

In the photo, Sarah and Mark were standing side-by-side under a blooming cherry blossom tree. Sarah's head was resting gently on Mark's shoulder.

And her hands... were resting protectively over a very obvious, pregnant belly.

Written on the back of the photo in black ink was a single sentence:

The one who isn't loved is the real mistress.

I gripped the photograph, my fingertips turning to ice.

It had started that early. I had been playing the role of the oblivious, pathetic idiot for almost two decades.

Then where the hell is my biological child?

I pulled out my phone, took a deep breath to steady my racing heart, and texted my private investigator.

"I need you to pull the birth records and archive security footage for St. Jude's Maternity Ward in the city. June 21st, eighteen years ago. Specifically around 3:00 PM."

"Also, pull every single medical and immigration record for Sarah Bennett during her time in Europe eighteen years ago. Find out if she delivered a child."