Chapter 149 The Sister Who Came to Claim Her
Alexander: POV
Three days had passed since I'd made the decision to contact that family. I hadn't expected their response to be so swift. Tonight, Celeste Ashford-Hunt sat in my waiting room, having flown across the Atlantic the moment she received my call.
The evening air carried the salt tang of the ocean as I stood in my office, staring at the security monitor. Celeste sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
She'd been there for twenty minutes, and I still hadn't decided whether to let her see Elena.
My phone buzzed. Morrison's text: She's getting restless. What do you want me to tell her?
I typed back: I'll handle it. Give me five minutes.
I found Elena in her room, sitting by the window with a book in her lap, though she wasn't reading it. Her hand rested on the slight curve of her abdomen, a gesture that had become almost unconscious.
The evening light caught the silver locket at her throat—the piece of jewelry that had led me to her true identity.
"Elena," I said softly.
She looked up, and something in my expression must have warned her. "What's wrong?"
"There's someone here to see you. Someone who says she knows you." I moved into the room, keeping my voice calm. "A woman named Celeste Ashford-Hunt. She claims to be your sister."
Elena's face went blank, that careful neutrality she'd developed when confronted with information about a past she couldn't remember. "My sister," she repeated slowly. "I have a sister?"
"According to her, yes. She says you were taken from your family when you were two years old. They've been searching for you ever since."
"Two years old." Elena's hand moved unconsciously to the locket at her throat. "But how did you find them?"
"The locket," I said carefully. "I had it investigated. The craftsmanship, the style—it led us to a family in London."
She was quiet for a long moment. "Do you want me to see her?"
The question caught me off guard. Not should I or will you let me, but do I want to. As if she trusted me to know what was best for her.
And God help me, I wanted to say no. I wanted to send Celeste away, to keep Elena here in this carefully constructed bubble where she was safe, where she was mine.
"That's your decision," I said carefully. "But she's very emotional. Seeing you is going to be overwhelming for her, and that might be overwhelming for you."
Elena nodded slowly. "Will you be there? When I meet her?"
"If you want me to be."
"I do." Her hand found mine, her fingers cold. "You're the only person I know. I need you there."
The trust in her voice was like a knife to the chest. "Of course. I'll be right beside you."
---
I brought Celeste to one of the smaller sitting rooms. Elena sat on the sofa, her posture rigid with tension. I stood behind her, one hand resting lightly on the back of the sofa.
Celeste stopped in the doorway when she saw Elena, her breath catching audibly.
She was a striking woman in her thirties, tall and willowy with effortless elegance. Her brown hair was swept back in a chignon, revealing high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Her hazel eyes—so different from Elena's amber—were already brimming with tears.
"Elena," Celeste whispered, her voice breaking. "Oh my God. Elena."
Elena stared at her, that same blank expression on her face. "Hello."
Celeste took a step forward, her eyes drinking in every detail of Elena's face. "You look just like her. Just like our mother." Tears spilled down her cheeks now. "I can't believe—after all these years—"
She broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth as a sob escaped. Elena glanced up at me, confusion and discomfort clear in her expression.
"I'm sorry," Celeste said, wiping at her tears with shaking hands. "I promised myself I wouldn't do this, but seeing you—" Her eyes fell on the locket at Elena's throat, and fresh tears started. "And you're still wearing it. After all these years, you kept it."
"Is she really my sister?" Elena asked, looking up at me.
The question was directed at me, not at Celeste, and I saw the hurt flash across Celeste's face.
"This is Celeste Ashford-Hunt," I said quietly. "Your biological sister."
Elena's eyes widened. "My sister." She looked back at Celeste, studying her face with clinical detachment. "We're related?"
"Yes." Celeste moved closer, slowly, her eyes never leaving the locket. "You're my baby sister. We've been looking for you for so long, Elena. So long." She gestured gently toward the necklace. "That locket... it's a family heirloom. Mother gave it to you on your second birthday, just weeks before you were taken."
Elena's hand moved to touch the silver pendant. "This belonged to my mother?"
"Yes. The initials—A.M.H.—they stand for your real name. Amélie Moreau-Hunt. That's who you were before... before everything happened."
"Amélie," Elena whispered, testing the name. "Not Elena?"
"Elena might be the name you were given later," Celeste explained, her voice gentle. "But you were born Amélie. Our mother—Catherine Moreau—she chose that name. She died when you were eight, but she never stopped looking for you."
I saw confusion deepen in Elena's expression, and then something else—a flash of hurt and bewilderment.
"Where were you?" Elena asked, her voice small and uncertain. "When I was suffering, when I was alone, where were you? Where was this family that was supposedly looking for me?"
Celeste's face crumpled. "We tried. God, Elena, we tried everything. We hired investigators, we followed every lead. But we kept coming up empty-handed. We didn't know where you were until Alexander contacted us."
Elena turned to look at me, her eyes wide with confusion rather than accusation. "You... you found them? When did you know about this? Why didn't..." Her voice trailed off, as if she couldn't quite form the question she wanted to ask.
"I only just found out myself," I said, keeping my voice steady. "The locket—I had it investigated. That's how I found them. I contacted them as soon as I knew."
Elena looked back at Celeste, her expression lost and overwhelmed. "I don't remember you," she said quietly. "I don't remember any of this. You say we're sisters, but when I look at you, I feel nothing. You're a stranger to me."
Celeste's hands trembled as she reached out, stopping just short of touching Elena's arm.
"I know," Celeste said, her voice thick with tears. "I know you don't remember. But I remember, Elena. I remember everything. Teaching you to walk, reading you bedtime stories. I remember the day you were taken, the way Mother screamed. I've been waiting over 20 years to find you again."
Elena was quiet for a long moment, processing this. I could see the emotions warring across her face—confusion, longing, a desperate kind of hope.
"I want to go with you," Elena said suddenly, looking at Celeste. "I want to go home. To my real family."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt my hand tighten on the back of the sofa.
Celeste's face lit up with joy. "Yes. Yes, of course. That's why I'm here. I came to bring you home, Elena."
"But..." Elena's voice faltered, uncertainty creeping in. She looked up at me, then back at Celeste. "I don't know. This is all so overwhelming. I don't remember anything, and now suddenly I have a sister, a family..."
Her hand moved to her temple, pressing against the scar there. "What if I'm making the wrong choice? What if leaving here makes things worse?"
She turned to me, her amber eyes wide with confusion and fear. "Alexander, what do you think I should do? You know my condition better than anyone. Is it safe for me to travel? Should I go with her?"