Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary in the West Wing
Ten minutes later, the iron gates of the massive Sterling Estate were locked shut by private security. The confused, whispering guests were escorted to their luxury vehicles, while Beatrice, Clara, and Evelyn were unceremoniously ushered out by armed guards.
Inside the quiet, private quarters of the master suite in the West Wing, a soft fire crackled in the stone fireplace.
Noah sat on the large leather sofa, eating a bowl of warm chicken noodle soup that the head chef had personally brought up. His small hand never let go of Hannah’s apron skirt.
Hannah sat beside him, holding a mug of chamomile tea that Alexander had placed in her hands. Across from them stood Alexander, pacing the Persian rug like a caged lion, his shirt collar unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
Standing near the door was Dr. Harrison, the Sterling family’s chief medical officer for thirty years, holding a portable DNA testing kit.
"Alexander," Dr. Harrison said softly. "I have taken the cheek swabs from both Noah and Miss Miller. The rapid genetic analyzer in my mobile lab will have the definitive maternal match results in thirty minutes."
"Thank you, Doctor," Alexander said without stopping his pacing. "Ensure no one else touches those samples."
Once the doctor left, closing the heavy mahogany door behind him, Alexander stopped pacing. He stood in front of Hannah, looking down at her with a terrifying intensity.
"If you are a fake," Alexander said, his voice rough with emotion, "I will destroy every person who helped you plan this. But if you are my wife... if you are Rosalie... then you have five seconds to tell me why you let me believe you were dead for five years while you cleaned my floors."
Hannah looked down at her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. "I'm not lying to you, Mr. Sterling. I swear on my life... I don't remember being Rosalie."
Alexander froze. "What?"
"Five years ago," Hannah whispered, looking up at him with raw, unfiltered pain in her eyes, "I woke up in a public charity hospital in Portland. I had no memory of my name, my family, or where I came from. My head was severely injured, and my face had undergone reconstructive surgery after a boat explosion."
Alexander’s breath caught in his chest. "Reconstructive surgery..."
"The hospital gave me the name Hannah," she continued, wiping her tears with her sleeve. "A month after I woke up... I gave birth to a baby boy. But the hospital administrators told me... they told me my baby had suffered severe cardiac arrest in the delivery room and died."
Alexander gasped, his hand slamming against the edge of the fireplace mantel to steady himself. "They told you Noah died?!"
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"Yes!" Hannah sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "I mourned him for five years! I lived in poverty, taking whatever cleaning jobs I could find just to survive! Three months ago, an agency placed me as a temporary maid in this estate. The very first day I worked in the nursery... I saw Noah."
Noah dropped his spoon, leaning his head against Hannah’s waist. "She has the same birthmark on her wrist as me, Daddy," the boy whispered softly. "And when she sang the star song to me at night when I was scared... I knew she was my mommy."
