The interrogation room felt like a prison—cold, stifling, and oppressive. I sat motionless in the metal chair, my wrists resting on the table as I refused to acknowledge the officers looming over me.

"Miss Tracie," one officer said, his voice calm but firm. "Cooperate, and this will go much quicker. Tell us why you were near Penny Eddy's room."

I kept my gaze fixed on the table, unwilling to give him an answer.

"Miss Tracie," another officer urged, his tone growing impatient, "if you want this to end, you need to be honest with us."

Finally, I lifted my eyes to meet his. "I want a lawyer," I said, my voice unwavering.

One of the officers sighed, clearly frustrated. "We’ll get to that, but for now, you need to answer our questions."

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms. "If you let me make a call—to my mother—you’ll get the answers you’re looking for. But you won’t, will you?"

The officers exchanged a brief glance but remained silent.

"I demand to call her," I insisted, my voice rising slightly. "If you do, you'll understand exactly who I am and the truth about everything."

"Enough," one of the officers snapped, slamming his hand on the table. "You’re not calling anyone until we’re finished here."

The door swung open, and Ginger entered with Daniel trailing behind her. Ginger’s eyes immediately landed on the jewelry I was wearing.

"Take it off," she ordered, her voice as cold as ice.

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"The necklace," Ginger repeated, her finger pointing at it. "And the rest of the jewelry. You’re a thief, Tracie. You don’t deserve to wear them."

I clenched my jaw in defiance. "These are mine."

Ginger let out a laugh, as if the idea were absurd. "Yours? Don’t make me laugh. I’ll hold onto them until the real Lady Whitaker shows up. Let’s see how long you can keep pretending."

"Ginger," Daniel said hesitantly, but she shot him a glare, silencing him instantly.

She turned back to me with a sharp look. "Just because your last name is Whitaker doesn’t mean you’re part of the family. I’ve known you since college, Tracie. The Whitaker family doesn’t even have a daughter. Stop pretending."

I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to argue. Of course, they didn’t know the truth about my family—my parents had never spoken of me publicly. It was a choice I made to protect myself, but now, seeing everything unfold, it felt like the time to reveal who I truly was.

Ginger glanced at Daniel. "We should take the jewelry and return it to Lady Whitaker. Maybe she’ll reconsider the partnership."

"That sounds like a good plan," Daniel agreed, his voice distant.

I scoffed. "Your father’s dead, and all you care about is money?" I shook my head in disgust. "It almost makes me think you wanted him gone."

"Shut up, Tracie," Ginger snapped, and for the first time, I could see the true malice in her eyes. The more I saw her, the more I loathed her—and Daniel too. He should’ve been the one who died.

Ginger stepped closer to me, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the necklace around my neck. "Take it off," she demanded, pointing at the chain. "You don’t have the right to wear that."

I raised an eyebrow and met her glare with one of my own. "I’m not giving you anything. It’s mine."

"Yours?" Ginger let out a sarcastic laugh. "Stop lying. You stole it. Hand it over, or I’ll take it from you myself."

She reached for the necklace, her fingers brushing the gold chain, but I quickly stepped back, swatting her hand away.

"Don’t touch me," I snapped, my temper flaring.

"You don’t deserve it!" Ginger hissed, her anger erupting as she lunged at me again.

We struggled, her nails scraping against my neck as I pushed her hands away. The noise drew the attention of both the police officers and Daniel.

"Enough!" A commanding voice rang out, silencing the chaos in an instant.

Everyone turned toward the door, where a tall, poised woman stood—my mother.

“Lady Leanne,” Ginger said, her voice faltering as she stepped back. “You’re here… I didn’t expect you to come in person.” She pointed at me quickly. “This woman stole your jewelry. We're sure of it. You should punish her!”

Leanne Whitaker’s eyes swept over the room, her expression unreadable as she looked at the jewelry, then back at Ginger. “Yes, that jewelry is mine,” she said calmly.

Ginger smirked, satisfied, and turned to Daniel. “See? I told you. Anyway, Miss Whitaker, we’re here to return it and—”

“So,” she said, cutting her off, “you must be the fiancée of that bastard who hurt my daughter.”

Ginger’s face dropped. “What?”

“You heard me,” Leanne said coolly. “Hurt. My. Daughter.”

Ginger blinked rapidly, her mind racing to process the words. “Your… daughter?” she asked, her voice shaky as she slowly turned to me.

Leanne gestured toward me with a graceful wave. “Yes. Tracie Whitaker, my daughter. Why else do you think she has my jewelry?"

The room erupted in gasps.

Ginger and Daniel turned to stare at me, their mouths open in shock.

Daniel shook his head, his voice trembling. “How… How is that possible? No, I've known Tracie since high school and she's this poor---”

I stood, meeting his disbelieving gaze. “Poor girl? Well, too bad, I wasn't the poor girl you thought. If only you believed me when I said it.”

The police officers shifted uncomfortably, their authority shrinking under Leanne’s piercing glare.

“We didn’t know, Lady Whitaker,” one officer stammered. “We—”

“You’ll regret shaming my daughter like this,” Leanne said coldly. “Your department will hear from my lawyers. Tracie, let’s go.”

I followed her out of the room, my mind still spinning. As we stepped outside, I spotted a car waiting by the curb. Leaning against it was Bobbie, a cigarette between his fingers. He looked calm, unbothered, and irritatingly handsome.

His dark eyes flicked to mine, and a smirk tugged at his lips.

“Mom,” I said, stopping in my tracks, “What is that man doing here? He’s the killer. He’s the one who killed Penny and I was almost framed for it!”

Leanne glanced at him before looking back at me. A small, knowing smile curved her lips.

“I know, Tracie,” she said softly. “And that man is also your fiancé.”

“How is Bobbie my fiancé? He’s a killer. I saw him murder Penny Eddy. How could you allow this?”

Leanne didn’t even flinch at my accusation. Before she could respond, Bobbie, leaning casually against the car, flicked his cigarette to the ground and stepped closer.

“You saw me kill him?” he asked, his lips curving into an infuriating smirk.

“Yes,” I snapped, standing my ground despite the way his presence unsettled me. “Why do you need to ask when you were there! Stop fooling me! I should even tell the police that—”

He leaned in, his dark eyes locking onto mine. His voice dropped to a near whisper, teasing and dangerous. “If you don’t stop saying I killed him,” he said, his breath warm against my ear, “I’m going to kiss you.”

My breath hitched, and my face burned with anger and embarrassment. “You wouldn’t dare,” I muttered, taking a step back.

His smirk deepened, but he didn’t say anything else. I turned sharply to my mother, my frustration spilling over. “I need an explanation about what’s going on. Now.”

Leanne, unbothered by the tension, gestured toward the waiting car. “You’ll have all your answers when we get back to the estate.”

The ride to the Whitaker estate was silent, but my mind wasn’t. It had been years since I’d set foot on the sprawling property, but the moment we arrived, memories came rushing back.

The grand gates opened, revealing manicured gardens and the imposing mansion at the center. The fountain in the courtyard still sparkled under the sun, just as I remembered.

As I stepped out of the car, my chest tightened. The scent of blooming flowers brought back flashes of my childhood—running through these very gardens, carefree and innocent. But those memories felt distant now, almost foreign.

I walked through the front doors, my heels clicking against the polished marble floors. Everything was as it had been years ago, yet it felt different. The warmth I once associated with this place was replaced by an uneasy chill.

My mother’s voice broke through my thoughts. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

I turned to her, my jaw clenched. “Stop avoiding the question. Why did you allow Bobbie—a mafia boss and murderer—into this family? And why, of all people, would you arrange for me to marry him?”

Leanne’s expression didn’t falter. She walked slowly to the grand sitting room, gesturing for me to follow. I did, the tension between us building with each step.

When we reached the room, she turned to me, her face calm but her voice firm. “If Bobbie is a murderer,” she said, her eyes piercing mine, “then are you also calling us murderers?”

“You’re calling us murderers?” my mother repeated, her voice calm yet laced with an edge that sent chills down my spine.

I stared at her, confused and uneasy. “Why would you say that?”

I was confused. All of a sudden, I felt like I didn’t know my mother or perhaps my family. Was it because I was away for long?

“What does this have to do with Bobbie or anything else?”

Leanne’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “It’s time you knew the truth, Tracie. Our wealth didn’t just come from clean business dealings. The Whitaker family doesn’t just sit at the top because we’re rich. We’ve built an empire—above and below ground. What you call illegal, we call it ours, too.”

I blinked, her words sinking in like stones dropping into water. “You’re saying… we run something underground? Like… the mafia?”

I shook my head. That would be impossible. I waited for my mother to say it was a joke but—Leanne crossed her arms, nodding slightly. “Our wealth is both a shield and a weapon. Everything you’ve known—the grand estates, the name that commands respect—it’s built on more than just what’s visible to the public. That’s the Whitaker legacy, Tracie. It’s been a family secret for generations.”

Shock coursed through me. “How could I not know about this?” I demanded. “You’ve kept this from me my entire life!”

“We wanted to protect you,” she said simply. “You were our only child, and the world we operate in isn’t forgiving. When you asked to leave and live independently, we allowed it. To keep you safe, we told the world we didn’t have a daughter. It worked. No one came after you.”

Her words hit me like a punch. I’d spent years trying to prove myself, to live outside the shadow of my family, only to learn now that my freedom had been nothing more than an illusion.

“So why tell me now?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You’re making me regret coming back.”

My headache. It felt like I’m going to vomit from too much information.

“Because the time has come for you to return,” she said firmly. “You’re a Whitaker. You need to take your place and manage the family. We have allowed you to be independent, fall in love and get broken, but now, you need to do what we say from now on.”

I took a step back, shaking my head. “No,” I said, my voice rising. “I can’t be part of this. Whatever you’re doing, it’s illegal. I won’t be dragged into it.”

Leanne’s expression didn’t change. “There’s no way out, Tracie. You can’t separate yourself from this family. What will you do if you walk away? Tell the world about our dealings? Expose us?”

Her question hung in the air like a heavy weight. Yes, what am I going to do?

I can’t just tell the police about it—and it’s not like that. I cursed.

I exhaled slowly, my anger deflating into exhaustion. “I won’t do that,” I said quietly. “But… everything feels like a blur right now. I’m overwhelmed. I need time to process all of this.”

Leanne’s sharp gaze softened just slightly. “Take the night to rest,” she said. “But remember—this is your reality now.”

She left the room, the sound of her heels echoing down the hall.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the ornate decor surrounding me. Everything about this room—the luxurious silk curtains, the grand chandelier, the vintage furniture—felt foreign.

Lying back on the bed, I tried to clear my head, but the weight of everything my mother had just told me pressed down on my chest. The family I thought I knew didn’t exist. We’re a mafia group.

“Oh, god,” I whispered to myself. “What am I going to do now?”

I couldn’t sleep so I grabbed the remote and turned on the television, hoping for a distraction.

But the screen lit up with headlines that made my stomach drop.

“BREAKING NEWS: Tracie Whitaker Confirmed as the Only Daughter of the Whitaker Family Empire.”

“Europe’s Wealthiest Family’s Hidden Heiress Revealed.”

“Tracie Whitaker’s Shocking Return Sparks Speculation About the Whitaker Legacy.”

Pictures of me flashed on the screen—walking into the police station, standing beside my mother, even old photographs from my childhood.

I sat up, my heart pounding. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

They knew who I was now. Everyone knew.

And there was no turning back.