Chapter 77 Get the initiative

Diana

The morning sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Bernard's guest suite woke me from the deepest sleep I'd had in days. For a blissful moment, I forgot everything.

Then reality crashed back, and I groaned, pulling a pillow over my face.

"Good morning, Elizabeth Diana Morris," I mumbled into the pillow. "Ready for another day of complete insanity?"

I dragged myself out of bed, padding across the plush carpet to the bathroom. The face that stared back at me from the mirror looked tired but somehow different. Was that the face of a Morris heiress? Or just regular Diana Peters having an existential crisis?

"Both," I whispered, remembering Bernard's text from last night. "You're Diana Peters, who is also Elizabeth Diana Morris. Both are true."

My stomach feel hungry, reminding me that identity crisis or not, I still needed breakfast. I found the kitchen fully stocked with everything I could want—artisanal bread, farm-fresh eggs, organic fruit, and coffee beans that probably cost more than my weekly grocery budget.

As I waited for the fancy coffee machine to work its magic, my phone buzzed with a text from Tommy:

"Good morning. James still advises remaining at current location today. Need anything from outside?"

I typed back quickly: "Just information. Any updates on Johnson's people?"

"Still monitoring your apartment. Mr. Wilson investigating potential information leak. Mr. Jones returning from Chicago this evening."

Bernard coming back tonight. The thought sent me anticipation, nervousness.

"Thanks for your talking," I replied.

In my thought, I may stay here untill one days or more time.

“Please bring me some books, magazines or novels.”

“Okay, I will sent them after one hour."

With coffee in hand, I wandered through the guest suite, taking in details I'd missed last night. The place was impeccably decorated—nothing personal, everything perfect, just like Bernard himself. It made me wonder what his actual penthouse looked like beyond the brief glimpse I'd had during our dinner.

"Stop thinking about Bernard," I scolded myself. "You have bigger issues to deal with."

Like what to do about my adoptive mother. Should I tell her the truth? That the baby she thought she'd legally adopted had actually been kidnapped from one of the wealthiest families in New York? Bernard had cautioned against it, suggesting it might be traumatic for her.

"He would say that," I muttered, taking an angry sip of coffee. "Keep everything in control."

But what if he was right? My mom had raised me with love, believing I was hers. Finding out she'd unknowingly participated in a kidnapping could devastate her.

I was pacing now, my bare feet on the thick carpet. The apartment suddenly felt too small, too confined. I needed to do something, anything, to feel like I had some control over my life.

With determination, I set down my coffee cup and marched to the closet, pulling out jeans and a sweater from the collection Bernard had so conveniently provided in my size. If I was stuck here another day, I wasn't going to sit around feeling sorry for myself. I was going to gather information.

Once dressed, I dialed the number Bernard had texted me from last night.

"Diana." His voice answered on the first ring, sounding surprised. "Is everything alright?"

"I want access to Morris Industries' files about me," I said, skipping pleasantries. "Not just what you selected for that tablet. Everything."

There was a brief pause. "Much of that information is in secured archives at headquarters."

"Then get it for me," I insisted. "If I'm going to be stuck in this gilded cage for my 'protection,' I might as well use the time productively."

"You're not in a cage, Diana," Bernard said, his voice irritatingly calm. "You're in a safety location because Thomas Johnson's people are actively surveilling your apartment."

"Whatever. The point is, I want access to all the information about my kidnapping, about the investigations over the years, about my birth mother's condition. Everything."

Another pause. I could almost see Bernard weighing options in his mind.

"I'll have relevant files delivered today," he finally said. "Though I should warn you that some of the material may be... difficult to process."

"I think I can handle it," I replied dryly. "I've already processed finding out I'm a kidnapped heiress and that my boss is my uncle. Pretty much anything else is just a footnote at this point."

"Fair assessment," Bernard conceded, and I thought I detected the ghost of a laugh in his voice. "I'll have Vivian prepare the files immediately."

"Thank you." I hesitated, then asked, "How are your meetings going?"

“Almost finished," He paused a little and then continueing."I'll be returning this evening. Would you... be willing to speak with me then?"

His tone was rare with unconfidence.