Chapter 61: Daughter Or Slave.

Weeks had passed since Stella's tragic passing and subsequent burial. Desmond was moving on in a steady manner, Denise was healing with Shane's unwavering support, and Dua was trying to heal both from her mother's death and the hurt Steven caused her. Presently she packed her bags, prepared to leave for the Sierre family house.

“Do you really have to go?” Denise asked, concern etched across her face. Dua simply nodded in response.

“But why? Why are you so determined to uncover the truth about Diane?” Desmond questioned, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Because our lives are intertwined,” Dua replied, her voice steadier than she felt. “Why do we share identical looks? Why did I appear here right after she vanished?” Her eyes searched their faces for answers, hoping they held the keys to her questions.

“If you keep spiraling into this, you’ll drive yourself insane,” Desmond warned, shaking his head.

"Have you told your husband you're leaving?” Denise interjected, trying to steer the conversation.

“He's not home, and no one knows when he’ll be back," Dua said.

"And what if he’s just away for a bit?" Denise probed. "You really ought to let him know.”

Desmond narrowed his gaze at Dua, suspicious. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something off between you and brother-in-law?”

“Desmond, you’re fifteen. Think and act like one,” Dua snapped, her irritation rising as Desmond chuckled in response.

“Are you ready to go?” Shane chimed in, emerging from the kitchen with a warm smile.

“Yeah,” Dua nodded in acknowledgment.

“Take care of yourself, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out to me,” he urged, and Dua returned his kindness with a grateful smile before saying her goodbyes and leaving the house.

Upon arriving at the Sierre residence, she was taken aback by the shocked expressions that greeted her. “What’s with those faces? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Dua broke the awkward silence with a teasing grin.

“Now that the Devil kicked you out, you’ve returned to us,” Bob mocked, a glint of mischief in his voice.

"Kicked me out?" Dua laughed, a hint of disbelief in her voice. "Why would my husband do that?"

Mark raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You came on your own accord?"

"She seems to shed tears every time I come around, so I thought I'd stop the tears for a while," Dua replied, glancing meaningfully at Sandra.

Sandra enveloped Dua in a warm hug. "I always knew you’d never abandon me, my daughter," she whispered, kissing Dua’s nape affectionately.

“Alright, let go—I can't breathe,” Dua remarked, and Sandra chuckled as she released her.

“Just in time! We're about to have breakfast,” Sandra said, her eyes shining with warmth.

“Breakfast? At this time? It’s almost noon! Do you guys always have breakfast this late?” Dua asked incredulously.

“This is our usual time,” Mark replied, surprised that she didn’t remember this detail of their routine.

Dua inwardly questioned, "Usual time for breakfast? What kind of messed-up family do you have, Diane?"

As they gathered around the dining table, the others watched Dua intently while she ate. Noticing their stares, Dua looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing, we’re just surprised you’re using your right hand so well,” Sandra replied, a mix of concern and curiosity in her tone.

“Is my right hand…?” Dua trailed off.

“Yes, you fell when you were a kid and hurt it badly. Since then, you’ve struggled to use it effectively, which is why you became left-handed,” Sandra explained gently.

Dua’s mouth formed an “oh” as that piece of information clicked into place.

“Why do you seem so surprised? You of all people should remember that incident,” Mark said, giving her a skeptical look.

Dua met his gaze confidently. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you I’m not Diane, would you?”

“Never mind that. I was just… flustered,” Mark muttered, looking away.

“I’m still left-handed, just trying to use my right hand from time to time so it isn't completely useless,” she said, attempting to clarify.

“I thought so,” Sandra smiled back, and Dua forced a smile in return to mask her discomfort.

“How is convincing the Devil to be the Mafia Lord going?” Bob asked, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of expectation.

“I haven’t started,” Dua replied nonchalantly, not looking up from her plate.

“Why?” Bob pressed, his impatience growing.

“I’ve been busy,” Dua shot back, her fork stilling for a moment.

“You have no excuse to delay the task I gave you!!” Bob’s voice rose, a tempest of anger spilling from him.

Dua scoffed, “Hey, today is Sunday. I’d like to keep the Sabbath holy. I’m not in the mood for drama, so let’s try to keep the peace.”

“I’m giving you two days to complete the task,” Bob commanded, completely ignoring her warning.

Dua set her fork down and faced him, irritation flashing in her eyes. “Hey,” she said firmly, “Is Diane your daughter, or is she just your slave?”

Bob fell silent, the sting of her words hitting him like a slap as he stormed away from the table, anger radiating off him.

"Diane," Mark called as his gaze followed Bob in concern.

“What? You wanna pick up where he left off?” Dua snapped, her patience running thin.

Mark raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, and Dua rolled her eyes, returning to her meal.

After finishing, she stood up and walked away from the table. Once she was out of earshot, Mark couldn’t suppress his doubts any longer. “She’s not Diane,” he admitted to Sandra, a frown etched on his face.

“Don’t say that,” Sandra chided softly, her voice a warning.

“Diane would never forget the accident she had as a kid. She hasn’t used her right hand since then. Sure, Diane can be rude and spoiled, but she always treated us nicely—like an angel,” Mark insisted, trying to make Sandra see reason.

“She never claimed to have forgotten the accident, and you heard her. She’s just trying to reclaim the use of her right hand, and frankly, if I was told to kill my husband, I’d be hostile too,” Sandra countered, her tone resolute.

“Mom!” Mark protested, dismayed.

"We all know how deeply she loves Steven, yet we asked her to do the unthinkable: to take his life. So, frankly, I’m not surprised by the hostility she's been directing toward us. If you were in her position, you would feel the same way," Sandra replied.

"She is Diane Sierre, my daughter. I never want to hear you speak about her in such a derogatory manner again," Sandra warned, her tone firm and unwavering.

"You’re her elder brother; you should be protecting her, not slandering her," she added, casting a disappointed glance at him before walking away from the table.

As Sandra entered the living room, her heart sank, frozen in place as her eyes fell upon the figure everyone dreaded.

"Where's my wife?" Steven's voice cut through the air, icy and authoritative, leaving no room for argument.

The tension in the room thickened as everyone braced for his next move.