Chapter 4 - The Secrets of Geneva Cottage
An hour later, driving a secondary backup vehicle summoned through a secure satellite link, Damian and Emma arrived at the small, isolated town of Geneva, Illinois.
The Carter cottage sat at the end of a dark, gravel lane, surrounded by overgrown pine trees. It was a humble, one-story wooden home with peeling blue paint—a stark contrast to Damian Vale’s multi-million-dollar lakeside fortress.
Damian posted his remaining four guards along the perimeter of the woods while he and Emma stepped onto the porch.
Emma unlocked the front door with her spare key. The air inside smelled of dust, old books, and lavender—her mother’s signature scent. It hit Emma like a physical blow, bringing tears to her eyes.
“It’s been over a year since I stayed here,” Emma whispered, turning on a small table lamp. The warm glow illuminated a cozy living room filled with floral couches and framed photos of Emma as a child.
Damian walked slowly through the room, his long, dark figure looking alien among the homey decorations. He paused at a framed photo of a younger Helen Carter holding baby Emma.
His jaw tightened. “She changed her hair color and wore glasses, but it’s her. Helen Vance.”
“She was my mom,” Emma said fiercely, stepping between Damian and the photo. “No matter what her name used to be, she loved me. She raised me with kindness!”
“I’m not denying that, Emma,” Damian said quietly, turning to face her. “But kind people can hide dangerous secrets.”
He looked around the room. “Where did she tell you to look?”
“Under the old floorboards,” Emma remembered, walking toward the master bedroom at the back of the house.
Damian followed closely, his hand resting near his sidearm, constantly scanning the dark corners.
In the bedroom, Emma dropped to her knees beside her mother’s old wooden bed. She pulled back the faded rug, revealing worn oak floorboards. One of them had a small notch carved into the side.
Using a metal pocketknife Damian handed her, Emma pried up the loose board.
Beneath it lay a heavy, square steel box wrapped in oilcloth.
Emma pulled it out. On top of the steel lid was a keyhole—a tiny, circular brass lock that perfectly matched the key around her neck.
Her breath hitched. She looked up at Damian. He was standing right above her, his shadow falling over her, his breathing steady but intense.
“Open it,” Damian commanded softly.
With trembling hands, Emma inserted the small brass key into the lock.
CLICK.
The heavy lock mechanism released with a satisfying metallic ring.
Emma lifted the lid.
Inside sat a thick, leather-bound notebook, a stack of yellowish bank documents, a suppressed 22-caliber pistol, and an old black-and-white photograph.
Damian immediately reached down and took the photograph.
Emma looked over his shoulder. The picture showed two beautiful women sitting together on a garden bench twenty-three years ago, laughing. One was Emma’s mother, Helen. The other was a stunning woman with striking gray eyes—Damian’s mother, Catherine.
In Catherine’s lap sat a bundle of blankets—a newborn baby girl with a distinct crown-shaped birthmark on her tiny left wrist.
Damian froze. The color completely drained from his face.
“Damian?” Emma asked, confused by his intense reaction. “What is it?”
Without a word, Damian grabbed Emma’s left arm. He pulled back the sleeve of her wool sweater, revealing her inner wrist.
There, printed permanently against her fair skin, was a light brown birthmark shaped like a tiny crown.
Emma stared at her own arm, then back at the photograph.
“No…” Emma whispered, her head spinning wildly. “No, no, no! What are you saying? That’s just a birthmark!”
“This isn’t a birthmark,” Damian’s voice rasped, filled with raw shock. “This was the mark of the Montgomery bloodline. My mother’s side.”
He opened the leather journal, flipping rapidly through the hand-written pages until he reached the final entry written in Helen’s neat handwriting:
“If Emma is reading this, I am dead, and the truth can no longer be hidden. I did not betray Catherine Vale. On the night of the attack, Catherine knew Arthur Vance—Damian’s uncle—was going to slaughter the entire family to take control of the Vale empire. Catherine was pregnant, but she also had a secret newborn daughter born weeks before the fire.
Catherine gave me her baby girl—Emma—and ordered me to run. She gave me the key to her safety deposit box so I could fund our survival. She sacrificed herself to buy us time so Arthur Vance wouldn't kill the child.
Emma is not my daughter. She is Catherine Vale’s daughter. She is Damian Vale’s lost younger sister.”
The room went dead silent.
Emma felt as if the ground beneath her feet had suddenly dissolved into nothingness. She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth as tears spilled over her cheeks.
“I’m… I’m your sister?” Emma choked out, looking at Damian in utter horror and confusion.
May you like
Damian stared at the paper, his jaw locked so hard the muscles twitched. He stood up slowly, looking at Emma with an unreadable, storm-filled expression.
“No,” Damian said, his voice terrifyingly deep. “You’re not.”
