My three-year-old broke the estate's absolute rule and entered the forbidden medical wing, completely unaware of who was lying inside.

The silence inside Isabella’s locked office was absolute, weighed down by the air of secrets that had spent decades rotting behind the stone walls of the Moretti estate.

My breath hitched in my chest. The question hung between us like a sharp blade.

Who is her father?

"I don't know," I whispered, my voice cracking under the unbearable pressure. "I told you during my interview... Mia's father left before she was born. I never knew his real name. It was a mistake in a dark room four years ago in Chicago."

Isabella didn't flinch. Her hand slowly moved off the photograph, revealing the glossy surface beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.

I leaned over the desk, my hands trembling violently as my eyes settled on the image.

It was an old photograph, faded slightly at the edges, dated five years prior. It showed a younger Lorenzo Moretti standing in a snow-covered garden beside a woman with dark hair and bright gray eyes—the exact shade of gray that Mia inherited. But it wasn't the woman that made my blood run cold.

It was the silver pendant around the woman's neck. A small, intricate crest shaped like a crescent moon wrapped around an anchor.

I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the exact same silver pendant—the only item left behind in that Chicago hotel room four years ago, the only thing I had kept to give to Mia when she grew up.

"Where did you get that picture?" I gasped, pulling the silver chain out of my uniform pocket and dropping it onto the mahogany desk.

Elena Whitmore, the nurse, gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.

Isabella looked down at the silver anchor resting beside the photograph. Her posture, usually rigid as iron, suddenly slackened. She sank slowly into her leather chair, her dark eyes filling with a profound, terrifying sorrow.

"That pendant belonged to Lorenzo's younger sister, Julianna," Isabella whispered softly. "Julianna vanished four years ago after a dispute with Lorenzo's rivals in Chicago. We assumed she was dead."

"I... I don't understand," I stammered, my head spinning into a wild vortex of confusion. "What does that have to do with Mia?"