Chapter 261

Chapter 261
Serena's POV

“Huh?” My brows furrowed, confusion spinning faster than reason. “What are you talking about?”

The young woman nodded politely. “Yes. Zoey Rik.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to find my voice. “But… you look like her. Like Shelly.”

“I’m not,” she said gently.

“She’s not Shelly,” Hades said, stepping closer. “And she’s not your mother’s daughter.”

I stared at him, trying to piece sense from the madness. “What are you saying?”

The older woman beside Zoey stepped forward, her tone quiet but steady. “She’s Zoey,” she said. “My daughter.”

I looked from her to Hades, my confusion slowly hardening into anger. “Are you making this up? Is this your twisted way of covering what you did to Shelly?”

“No,” Hades said firmly, his eyes locked on mine. “This is the truth.”

“No,” I snapped, shaking my head. “The truth is she’s Shelly!”

I turned abruptly, rushed into the living room, and grabbed the old photo from the table, the one my mother had shown me. Shelly’s soft face stared back, young and innocent. I came back out and held it up between us.

“My mother said this was her daughter.”

Hades looked at it, then at me. His voice came quiet but sharp. “Well… your mother lied.”

“What?”

Before I could speak again, a voice drifted from inside the house.

“Serena?”

I turned.

My mother stood at the hallway entrance, her expression unreadable, my father hovering just behind her.

I pushed the door open wider, heart pounding. “Mom—Dad—look at this. Shelly is alive. But this woman and Hades claim she's not your daughter. Tell them they’re wrong. Tell them Shelly is your daughter!”

Mother’s face went pale as she looked from Zoey to Hades, then to the photograph in my trembling hands. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Father stood silent, eyes darting nervously.

The air grew heavy. The wind outside stirred the leaves, carrying a low, unsettling chill into the house.

I stepped closer, desperate. “Mom?”

Her eyes glistened, her throat moved—but still, silence.

The photo trembled in my fingers until the edges cut tiny crescents into my skin. I could feel the salt on my cheeks and the ragged hitch of breath that wouldn’t settle. The environment felt too small, the walls leaning in like they wanted to listen.

“Mother,” I demanded, voice raw, clutching the picture to my chest. “Why are you just looking? Shelly is here. Won’t you—won’t you hug her? Tell her she’s your daughter.”

Mother’s mouth opened and closed. No answer came. Her eyes were glassy and far away, and for a second I thought she might crumble where she stood.

Father shifted beside her, rubbing his thumb along his knuckle like he was trying to erase a bruise none of us could see. Finally he inhaled and the sound was all apology and defeat.

“That’s…that’s not Shelly, my dear,” he said, voice small as a mouse.

The words hit me like cold iron. “What?” I repeated, because that made it softer, easier to swallow. “This photo—Zoey—she looks like Shelly. She is Shelly.”

Mother’s fingers twined together until her knuckles blanched. She let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been pained. “Yes,” she said slowly, then lifted her eyes to mine like she was peering into a place I’d kept locked for years. “That is the girl in the photograph.” She swallowed. “But she is not my daughter, Shelly.”

The syllables fell and the floor slipped under me.

“No,” I said, because my brain refused to accept what my ears had just delivered. “No. You’re lying. Aeson—” The name crashed out of me like a current. “Aeson told us—”

Father’s face tightened. He looked at Mother and then back at me, and his admission came out like someone trying to pry free a shard of glass. “Aeson…he told us to lie.”

My hands felt suddenly too heavy. “What?” I whispered. The living room had receded into the distance.

Mother’s shoulders heaved and she drew a photograph from her cardigan pocket, fingers trembling as she unfolded it. She held that older, faded picture out to me like an offering.

“This is Shelly,” she said, voice cracking. “She died twelve years ago. An organ failure — the doctors said there was nothing they could do.” Her gaze snagged on mine, fierce and pleading. “When Aeson came that night, he brought the other photo and said if we told you it was Shelly, and played along with his words, you'd be separated from Hades. He threatened us. We were terrified.”

My stomach rolled. The pieces that had been jagged and scattered assembled with a sickening click. “He threatened you? He made you lie?”

“He said you would only be safe with him and for that to happen you have to hate Hades,” Father said, voice brittle. “He told us to say she was Shelly. He said it was the only way.”

My throat closed. Aeson’s features, the soft way he had smiled when he’d come to the house before, blurred into menace. My fingers dug into the photo until the paper bent.

“He forced us,” Mother whispered, and a wave of shame, fear, something like grief, swept over her. “I am so sorry, Serena. I thought—if you believed, you would be kept from danger. I should have told you differently. I should have protected you from him.”

I wanted to vomit. Betrayal tasted metallic at the back of my tongue. “So the girl in the picture—she’s not Shelly, and you lied because Aeson threatened you?” My voice cracked on the last word. The room swam.

Before anyone could reply, a presence at the lawn announced itself, Matt.

Hades’ voice was low when he spoke, calm like a blade wrapped in velvet. “Matt, take them to their house.”

Matt moved to the porch, helping Zoey and the older woman gather themselves. Zoey’s eyes were wide, uncertain, the same face as the photograph but older, steadier. For a second the sight of her felt like a mirror split in two.

After that left, Hades turned to me and said, voice soft. “I told you the other day that I'll tell you what I'm keeping from you when the right time comes because I couldn’t hold that secret anymore. Twelve years ago I… I made mistakes. I didn’t mean for any of this.”

My pulse hammered. “What do you mean?” The question was useless and necessary all at once.