You must be mistaken actually, Will…"
"I'm back!" Maple's voice rang from the doorway. She pushed through, her arms sagging slightly under the weight of the shopping bags she carried in both hands. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, a bright smile lighting up her face, clearly thrilled about something she'd just experienced.
"Maple!" Rachael called, her voice catching slightly with surprise as she turned toward Madam Grace. "This is your granddaughter. Emerald's daughter."
The plastic handles of Maple's shopping bags slipped from her grasp, thudding onto the floor. She blinked rapidly, her eyes darting between her mother and the elegant older woman seated in the room. Her brows furrowed in utter confusion. Silas, seated nearby, tilted his head and looked at Rachael like she had just spoken in tongues.
Madam Grace's expression was hard to read—her eyes narrowed for a second, brows pinched in hesitation—but then, gradually, her face softened into a slow, deliberate smile.
"Come to your grandmother," she said, stretching out her hands gently toward Maple.
Still reeling, Maple hesitated. Her eyes flicked again to her parents for guidance, but their faces offered none. Swallowing hard, she moved across the room and took a seat beside Madam Grace, her body rigid with uncertainty. Madam Grace took both of Maple's hands in hers, holding them firmly as if to anchor the moment.
"The young miss is truly beautiful, as we heard," the butler commented with a respectful nod, folding his gloved hands in front of him.
"I'm your grandmother. I gave birth to Emerald—your mother," Madam Grace said, her tone carefully poised. She continued with elegant precision, "Let's go back to Country G together, where you don't have to suffer with your father, but become the mistress of thousands."
"Young miss, if you follow us, you're going to have everything you ever wanted in life," the butler added smoothly, his voice silky with persuasion.
Maple blinked again, her brows tightening as her head turned slowly toward Rachael. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes screamed confusion. Isn't my mother sitting right here? her look seemed to say.
"This comes as a shock to her, Madam," Rachael said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We will talk to her and get back to you."
"It's okay," Madam Grace replied, her eyes now pinned on Maple. She gave her hands a final pat before releasing them. "But don't make me wait too long."
She rose gracefully, her butler already by the door, and exited the house with regal composure.
Maple stood up stiffly and rushed to the window, pulling the curtain aside to confirm what she already feared—that Madam Grace was truly gone. She turned back sharply.
"Explain what the hell is going on here," she said, her voice low and tight with disbelief.
"Exactly. Explain what's going on," Silas echoed, rounding on Rachael.
"Isn't that Willow's grandmother?" Rachael asked, her voice falsely innocent.
"Yes," Silas answered, still baffled.
"How does that have anything to do with me?" Maple's voice rose slightly, her arms gesturing wide in frustration.
"Didn't you say Emerald's family is rich?" Rachael asked again, locking eyes with her husband.
"So?" Silas asked, his tone flat.
"Can't you see she doesn't recognize who Willow or Maple is? She only knows one of your daughters is her granddaughter. So why can't Maple go in place of Willow?" Rachael said, her tone sharpening.
Maple's mouth fell slightly open. Her eyes narrowed at her mother, not sure if she heard right. She glanced at her father—his furrowed brow mirrored her disbelief.
"If Maple goes to Country G in Willow's stead, that would make our own life better," Rachael continued, her hands moving animatedly now. "And Maple will enjoy what Willow is supposed to enjoy."
Maple's eyes widened slightly. Her lips parted in silent shock before she spoke slowly, piecing it all together. "If I understand what you're saying… Willow's mother's mother, like her grandmother is the old lady who just left? And she's some rich woman from Country G? After all these years, she's come to pick up Willow?"
"Yes." Rachael nodded quickly.
Maple gave a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Willow's twenty-eight. I'm twenty-six. What are we going to do about that? And let's be sincere with ourselves. Even if I hate to admit it, Willow is more beautiful than me and has her mother's talent. Didn't you say her mother was a designer like her?"
She paused, her voice breaking just slightly.
"According to what I heard from Dad, they own a big footwear company in their country, right? What are we going to do about that? I can't even draw to save my own life," Maple confessed, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.
"Just because your mother has a talent doesn't mean you need to have the same one," Rachael said, brushing off her concerns with a flippant wave.
"The Ashbournes are not to be trifled with. If they find out about this, we're all dead," Silas said, his voice cracking under the weight of fear.
"What if they never find out?" Rachael countered. "If Willow was able to get the Ashbournes as her backup, we would suffer a lot. But if Maple became Willow, we would enjoy all the benefits. Or what do you think?"
Silas hesitated. His jaw clenched, shoulders stiffening. Fear warred with greed in his eyes, and it was hard to tell which would win.
Maple slowly smiled, her eyes calculating now. "I think the idea is good," she said, her lips curling up… but then the smile fell. "But what about Willow? What do we do about her?"
"Willow isn't a threat," Silas replied after a pause. "She doesn't know her mother's side of family. So she won't know about this. But we need to be careful."
"So what's the plan?" Maple asked, her arms folded across her chest.
Rachael gave a cheeky smile, her eyes glinting. "The plan is that we are getting rich."
---
Back to Willow's Ward
Alder had stayed with Willow all through the night with Lief calling different oversea hospital if maybe there's a permanent cure but none
Alder sat slumped forward in the chair, his head resting gently on the edge of her bed, one hand still loosely wrapped around hers. Leif lay curled on the couch, his phone buzzing softly beside him from a series of missed calls to overseas hospitals.
The door creaked open, and in stepped Sage with Reed. She froze for a second, taking in the quiet scene before her.
"Good morning," Sage said softly, her voice gentle.
The sound was enough to stir everyone. Leif blinked awake and quickly raised a finger to his lips. "Shush," he said.
Willow stirred, her voice weak but smiling. "Good morning."
"You woke her up," Alder said, straightening up, his tone flat and eyes red from exhaustion. It was still early—just after 5 a.m.
Willow shifted to sit up, and Alder quickly reached to support her, lifting her gently with one arm.
"I'm sorry," Sage said, a bit guilty, while Reed just smiled in silence beside her.
"It's okay," Willow replied. She opened her arms with a soft smile. "Come here."
Sage didn't hesitate—she rushed to hug her, holding on tightly as if she were trying to absorb strength from Willow's warmth. Willow closed her eyes and hugged her back, breathing in the comfort of her friend.
"I missed you," Willow whispered.
"How are you this morning?" Reed asked, his voice calm and respectful.
"I'm fine," Willow replied, glancing at him. "I'm sorry for the stress I put you through, sir."
"Why are you calling him 'sir'?" Sage teased, grinning.
"He's my boss," Willow replied matter-of-factly.
"Do you really want her to continue calling you 'sir'?" Sage turned to Reed, raising a brow.
"Of course not," Reed said, laughing.
The room warmed for a moment—Sage, Reed, and even Leif smiled. Everyone except Alder, who still seemed weighed down by more than lack of sleep.
"Brother Leif, Alder," Sage said, glancing at both of them, "why don't you go home first and freshen up? I'll stay with Willow."
"No," Alder said immediately, his voice firm.
"I think you should go home too," Willow said gently, holding his hand. "I want to catch up with Sage."
"I think we should go and come back," Leif added, trying to support her decision.
"I bought food for her too," Sage added quickly, hoping to leave Alder with no reason to argue.
"I'll be back soon," Alder said, reluctantly letting go of Willow's hand. He ruffled her hair gently before leaving with the other two men.
Willow smiled after them, then turned to Sage with a mischievous glint. "So are you dating Reed already?" she asked, eyes twinkling.
"Guess," Sage said with a coy grin.
"I knew it! You kept coming to the company… I knew something was fishy!" Willow laughed, her chest rising with the rare sound. Sage joined in, her eyes sparkling.
"Your brothers don't know, do they?" Willow asked.
"Not yet. I don't know how to tell them," Sage said, suddenly biting her lip.
"Why? You're 28 already, Miss Sage Smith," Willow said in mock seriousness.
"Now that you're here, I have some courage to tell Alder," Sage admitted.
Willow laughed again. "Alder isn't that strict…"
"He is," Sage groaned. "I don't know how he'll react when he finds out I'm dating his friend."
"Well, Alder dated your friend too," Willow reminded her.
"Actually. I'm friends with Alder's girlfriend, remember? He asked me to be close to you."
"Yeah," Willow said, chuckling. Her eyes gleamed, and for the first time in a long time, she felt the warmth of happiness rise in her chest.
"Reed seems like a good person," Willow said softly.
"You can tell Alder that for me," Sage teased.
"No way. I still have my own offense to clear. How can I help you too?" Willow laughed.
"What did you do?" Sage asked, intrigued.
"A lot," Willow answered with a sly smile.
"He'd forgive you for anything," Sage said with certainty.
And they both laughed—this time, freely, the room was no longer heavy with pain.
—
Larkspur House
The morning sun spilled weakly through the dusty curtains of the Larkspur house, casting long, tired shadows across the floor. Despite the light, the air was thick—suffocating, like tension had taken root in the walls themselves. A brittle silence hung over the living room, the kind that could shatter with a single word.
Silas paced restlessly, his footsteps uneven, one hand repeatedly raking through his graying hair while the other clenched and unclenched in a nervous rhythm. Sweat glistened at his temples. His gaze flicked to the door every few seconds, as if expecting it to burst open with judgment.
Rachael sat upright on the worn-out sofa, her back stiff, spine rod-straight, hands folded so tightly in her lap her knuckles had gone white. Her jaw was clenched, lips thinned to a near-invisible line as she glanced at the clock—again. And again. Her eyes gleamed with something between hope and desperation.
Maple stood by the window, one hand pressed lightly against the cool glass, the other smoothing over the sleek designer tracksuit she'd chosen with care. It screamed wealth and composure, but her fingers trembled slightly. Her reflection stared back at her—painted lips, perfectly done hair, eyes hollow with doubt. Could she really pull this off?
Today, she would stop being Maple.
Today, she would become someone else.
"I still don't think this will work," Silas muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His pacing stopped abruptly as he turned to face Rachael. "What if she knows we forged the certificate? What if—"
"She won't," Rachael snapped, cutting him off sharply. Her eyes bore into him. "She wants her granddaughter back. And we're giving her one. End of story."
Maple didn't speak. She kept staring at herself, tightening her jaw to keep it from quivering. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
Knock. Knock.
The sound cracked through the silence like a gunshot.
Silas flinched so hard he almost stumbled. Rachael shot to her feet, smoothing her blouse with trembling hands before composing her face into something that resembled confidence. She turned to Maple, her voice low and urgent.
"Smile," she whispered, then walked to the door with rehearsed poise.
The door opened.
There she was.
Madam Grace stood tall and composed, draped in deep emerald silk that gleamed with quiet luxury. Her silver hair was pulled into an elegant bun, not a strand out of place. Her eyes—sharp, cold, measuring—swept through the room like knives. The butler behind her carried a slim briefcase, his posture rigid.
"I trust everything is ready," she said, no hint of greeting or warmth in her tone.
"Yes, ma'am," Rachael said, stretching a smile across her lips. It didn't quite reach her eyes. "We have the document right here."
Silas fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the forged birth certificate of Willow's now in Maple's name. His fingers shook as he handed it over, his eyes flickering nervously to Rachael, then to Maple.
Madam Grace took the paper delicately, as if it might soil her gloves. Her gaze dropped to the certificate, eyes scanning slowly. Her lips pressed together in a tight line.
No one dared breathe.
Finally, she lifted her head. Her eyes locked onto Maple's.
"You were born on May 11th, twenty-eight years ago?" she asked quietly, her voice a strange mix of gentleness and scrutiny.
"Yes, ma'am," Maple answered, her voice firm despite the storm raging beneath her skin. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. "That's what it says."
A pause.
Then a faint nod.
The document was handed to the butler with a flick of her wrist.
"Do you still have any pictures of her mother?" she asked, her tone unreadable.
"We lost most of them in a fire years ago," Rachael lied with practiced ease, tilting her head. "But people say she looked just like Maple."
"Hmm."
Madam Grace stepped forward, the sound of her heels like hammers on marble. Maple went still as stone.
Then—cool, gloved fingers cupped her face. Maple flinched inwardly at the unexpected touch, resisting the urge to pull back. Her muscles locked in place, breath shallow.
"You have her chin," Madam Grace murmured, studying her intently. "Emerald's was sharper, but yours is softer… prettier, perhaps."
Maple offered a smile—small, hesitant. It barely masked the panic swimming in her eyes.
Madam Grace turned away, her face revealing nothing. "You'll be leaving in an hour. Bring only what you need. Everything else will be provided for you."
Maple turned slightly, glancing at her parents with uncertainty. Rachael gave her the smallest nod, lips tight. Taking a slow breath, Maple turned and climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.
As she disappeared from view, Madam Grace's gaze settled on Silas and Rachael.
"I hope, for your sake," she said softly, "that everything you've told me is true."
Her voice was calm. But it chilled them to the bone.
Both nodded stiffly, lips sealed in fear.
Grace turned toward the door, but just before stepping out, she looked back, her voice drifting like smoke.
"Lies always have a way of finding light, no matter how deep you bury them."
The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.
---
Later
The car glided smoothly down the road, its interior rich with silence and leather. Maple sat rigid in the back seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her eyes flicked to the side mirror just once.
The Larkspur house shrank in the distance, a fading image from a life she was no longer allowed to live.
She didn't see the way Madam Grace was watching her—face calm, eyes cold. Calculating.
Not like a grandmother who had found her long-lost kin.
But like a woman who had just acquired a chess piece.
One she intended to use.