Chapter 2 - Shadows of St. Catherine’s
Eliza woke to the smell of woodsmoke and vanilla. The bed beneath her was softer than anything she had ever imagined—it felt like floating on a cloud. For a terrifying second, she thought she had died in the rain and gone to heaven.
"You’re safe, child," a soft voice said.
Eliza bolted upright, pulling the silk duvet to her chin. An old woman with kind eyes and silver hair sat in a chair beside the bed. Behind her, a fire crackled in a grand stone fireplace.
"Where... where am I?" Eliza whispered, her eyes darting around the massive room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and beautiful paintings of landscapes hung in gilded frames.
"You are at Silver Ridge Manor," the woman said, offering a gentle smile. "I’m Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper. Mr. Wells brought you in from the storm last night. You’ve slept for nearly fourteen hours."
Eliza’s stomach chose that moment to let out a loud, echoing growl. She flushed crimson, burying her face in her hands. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be greedy."
"Greedy? Oh, sweetheart, no," Mrs. Gable said, her eyes glistening with sudden tears. She reached over and placed a silver tray on the overbed table. On it sat a bowl of warm oatmeal with honey, a plate of fresh, thick-cut bread with butter, and a glass of warm milk. "Eat as much as you like. There is plenty more."
Eliza stared at the food. Tears welled in her eyes. She picked up a piece of bread with trembling fingers, half-expecting Mrs. Pruitt to snatch it away, to tell her she was a thief, to lock her in the pantry again. But no one stopped her. She took a bite. The bread was warm, rich, and tasted of yeast and butter. She began to eat rapidly, practically choking in her haste.
"Slow down, little one," a deep, quiet voice said from the doorway.
Eliza froze, a piece of bread halfway to her mouth.
Nathan Wells stood there. In the daylight, he looked less like a ghost and more like a king. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, but his tie was loosened, and his eyes were dark with exhaustion. He had spent the entire night staring at security footage, medical records, and old photos of Clara, trying to find a logical explanation.
He walked into the room and sat in the chair Mrs. Gable vacated. He looked at Eliza, his gaze intense but not unkind.
"Do you know who I am, Eliza?" he asked.
"The man from the big house," she whispered, swallowing hard. "The billionaire. Everyone in town knows about you. They say you don't like people."
Nathan let out a dry, humorless laugh. "They aren't entirely wrong. But I want to know about you. Where did you come from, Eliza?"
"St. Catherine’s Children’s Home," she said, looking down at her hands. "But Mrs. Pruitt said I have to leave. She said I stole bread, but I didn't. I was just hungry. She packed my bag and said the county facility is taking me today."
"St. Catherine's," Nathan murmured. He knew the orphanage; his family had donated to it for decades, though he had stopped oversight after Clara’s illness took over his life. "And your parents? Do you remember them?"
Eliza shook her head. "No. Mrs. Pruitt said I was left on the steps in a basket when I was a baby. No note. Just me."
Nathan felt a strange, cold pull in his chest. He stood up and walked to the window. "Eliza, I want you to stay here for a few days. Just until you are stronger. I will handle Mrs. Pruitt and the county."
"You... you won't send me back?" she asked, her voice small and fragile.
"No," Nathan said, looking back at her. The resemblance to Clara was so striking it made his ribs ache. "No one is taking you anywhere."
As Nathan left the room, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his private investigator, Marcus Vance.
May you like
"Marcus," Nathan said, his voice cold and commanding. "I need a complete, absolute background check on a girl named Eliza Cardoso from St. Catherine's. And I want you to look into the orphanage’s records from ten years ago. Specifically, the birth and intake records of May 14th."
May 14th. The exact day Clara had been born in a private clinic in Chicago. A clinic that had suffered a catastrophic fire in the neonatal unit just hours after her birth.
