Chapter 134

Chapter 134
Vera POV

I stared at the textured ceiling of my bedroom at the Parker mansion, unable to sleep. The moonlight filtered through the silk curtains, casting eerie shadows across my face, but it wasn't the light keeping me awake.

It was her. Anna Parker—always Anna fucking Parker.

I punched my pillow in frustration before quickly composing myself with a deep breath. That incompetent George Wilson had one job—handle Anna—and he'd completely blown it. Now he was lying in a hospital bed with a stab wound, while she was sitting in a jail cell like some kind of victim. The thought made my blood boil.

Anna had always been the thorn in my side, from the moment Richard and Irene found her after all those years. Their long-lost daughter, returned from her pathetic adopted family. Everyone acted like it was some miraculous reunion, but all I saw was a threat. For sixteen years, I'd been the Parker daughter—the only Parker daughter. Then Anna showed up and suddenly I was just the adopted one.

I turned onto my side, the silk pillowcase cool against my flushed cheek, mind racing with the implications of this latest disaster. Sure, Anna was temporarily locked up, but that wouldn't last forever. And worse, Irene's condition was deteriorating daily. The doctors kept saying she needed a bone marrow transplant, and of course, Anna was the only match.

Honestly, I couldn't care less if Irene lived or died. But I wasn't stupid. My position in this family had always depended on Irene's affection. My relationship with Richard was... complicated at best. If Irene died, my standing in the Parker household would crumble like a house of cards. The thought sent a wave of anxiety through my chest, tightening around my ribs.

What was even more terrifying was the realization that Richard had never once mentioned passing control of Parker Investment Group to me. Not once. Despite all my years of playing the perfect daughter, attending the right schools, making the right connections, sitting through endless boring dinners with his business associates, he'd never looked at me and seen a successor. The family business would likely go to some distant male cousin, or worse—to Anna, if she ever decided to cooperate.

I couldn't let that happen. I needed to secure my position before it was too late. Before Irene...

Suddenly, a plan began forming in my mind, sharp and clear as crystal. Irene might be dying, but she still had Richard's ear. If I could convince her to pressure Richard about the company succession—make her insist that I should be the one to take over—he might actually listen. He'd never been able to deny her anything when it really mattered. Not when she looked at him with those pleading eyes, not when she used that soft, fragile voice.

Yes, that could work. I'd need to play the devoted daughter even more convincingly. Make Irene believe that only I could take the responsibility. That Anna was too unstable, too outside the family culture, too damaged to be trusted with something so important.

I'd start tomorrow. Bring Irene her favorite white peonies from that boutique florist on Madison Avenue, maybe some old family photos—the ones with just the three of us, before Anna came back and ruined everything. Remind her of all we'd built together, all the memories that predated Anna's return. The charity galas, the society luncheons, the perfectly coordinated Christmas cards. I'd make her see that the future of the Parker name rested with me, not Anna.

A memory suddenly surfaced, unbidden but oddly comforting. I must have been around ten years old—young enough to still believe in fairy tales, old enough to understand the harsh realities of my situation.

I'd overheard the maids whispering in the kitchen one afternoon. They didn't know I was there, hidden behind the pantry door, my small hands clutching a glass of milk.

"Poor thing," one of them had said, her voice dripping with pity. "She doesn't know Mrs. Parker isn't her real mother."

"Someone should tell her," another voice replied. "Before she gets too attached."

My blood had turned to ice. Not Irene's real daughter? The words echoed in my head for days, weeks. I became obsessed with the fear that Irene would send me away once she found out I knew. I'd already tasted this life—the private schools, the designer clothes, the way people looked at me with respect when I said my last name was Parker. I couldn't go back. I wouldn't go back to wherever I'd come from.

So I'd devised a plan. Simple, really. Elegant in its manipulation.

We'd been crossing a road after a shopping trip. I was wearing my favorite pink cashmere coat and a matching hat that Irene had bought me that very afternoon. As we reached the other side, I'd deliberately let the hat slip from my fingers, watching it tumble across the pavement back toward the traffic.

"Oh no!" I'd cried out, my voice perfectly pitched between dismay and childish impulsivity. "My hat!"

Before Irene could stop me, I'd darted back into the street. I can still remember the screech of tires, the blare of horns, the shouts of pedestrians. But what I remember most clearly was Irene's face—white as a sheet, mouth open in a silent scream.

I'd grabbed the hat and scurried back, letting Irene pull me into her arms. She was shaking, actually shaking, tears streaming down her face.

"Vera! Vera, my God, you could have been killed!"

I'd looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, manufactured tears starting to well. "Mommy... will you leaving me?"

The look on her face had been priceless. Shock, guilt, and then a fierce, protective love that I knew I'd successfully cemented.

"Never," she'd whispered, crushing me against her chest so hard I could barely breathe. "Never, never, never. You're my daughter, Vera. Mine. Do you understand? I will never let you go."

Lying in my bed now, I couldn't help the cold smile that spread across my face. Even at ten years old, I'd known exactly what strings to pull, exactly how to manipulate emotion to get what I wanted. That skill had only sharpened with age.

Impressive, I thought, a surge of self-satisfaction warming my chest. Really fucking impressive.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs interrupted my bitter thoughts. Richard must be home. I sat up quickly, running my fingers through my hair to make it look slightly disheveled.

I made my way downstairs quietly, my bare feet silent on the imported marble floors. Richard stood in the foyer, his Brooks Brothers suit rumpled, his tie loosened. The moonlight streaming through the hallway windows outlined his exhausted silhouette. He looked older somehow, the lines on his face deeper than usual, his shoulders slightly hunched.

"Dad," I called softly, injecting just the right amount of concern into my voice. "Did you just come from seeing Mom at the hospital?"

Richard turned to face me, and something in his gaze made my stomach clench uncomfortably. His eyes were colder than normal, holding something I couldn't quite read. Suspicion? Disappointment? Knowledge?

Before I could analyze it further, he spoke. "Vera, did you know about Anna? That she's been arrested?"

My heart stopped. For a split second, I felt genuine panic claw at my throat. How did he know?

"What?" I managed, my voice coming out slightly higher than intended. I forced myself to take a breath, to look confused rather than guilty. "Arrested? Anna's been arrested?" I let my eyes widen. "Dad, how... how do you know about this?"

"The police called," Richard said, his tone flat. "They needed to inform the family."

Relief flooded through me. Just the police, following procedure. Nothing more. I let my shoulders relax slightly, allowed concern to replace the shock on my face.

"Oh my God," I breathed. "What happened? Is she okay?" I paused, then added carefully, "Dad, are you going to bail her out?"

Richard's jaw tightened. He looked away from me, his gaze drifting to some point over my shoulder. For a long moment, he didn't answer, and I could see the conflict playing across his features—duty warring with anger, family obligation clashing with wounded pride.

"She made it perfectly clear she wants nothing to do with this family," he finally said, his voice clipped and cold. "She said it herself, didn't she? That we're not her real family anymore." He shook his head. "So why should I bail her out?"

He moved toward the staircase, clearly ending the conversation. "I'm tired, Vera. I'm going to bed."

I stood watching as he climbed the stairs, each step heavy with exhaustion. When he reached the landing and disappeared into the darkness of the upper floor, I remained frozen in place.

Interesting, I thought. Very interesting.

Richard wasn't going to help Anna. Whether that was genuine anger or just wounded pride didn't matter. What mattered was that Anna would stay locked up, at least for now. Away from Irene. Away from Richard. Unable to interfere with my plans.

I laughed nervously to myself in the empty foyer. "Dad? Is everything okay? Did something happen with Mom?" I said aloud to no one, practicing my concerned daughter voice.

Oh. I responded to the silence, studying the space where Richard had stood, wondering what had caused this shift in him.

With these questions swirling in my mind, I returned to my bedroom. The silk sheets felt cool as I slipped back under them, but my body was warm with satisfaction. As I lay back down, my thoughts drifted once again to Anna. She was probably sitting in her cold cell right now, thinking she'd escaped the worst.

How wrong she was.

I clenched my fists under the covers, feeling the thread count against my knuckles, a renewed hatred burning in my chest. "Anna," I whispered into the darkness, my voice soft but deadly serious, "I won't let you get away so easily."

The promise hung in the air like a curse, and for the first time that night, I felt the tension in my body begin to ease, replaced by a cold, calculated calm. Whatever happened next, I would make sure Anna Parker paid for everything she'd took away from me.

That was a guarantee.