Chapter 82

Bella's POV:

I led the trembling woman—Martha, as her name tag read—through the hotel corridors, away from the lobby's prying eyes. My heart hammered against my ribs as we walked, the copper bee pendant swinging gently from her neck with each step. It was identical to mine. Absolutely identical.

We ended up in a quiet employee break room, empty at this hour. Martha sank into one of the plastic chairs, her hands shaking as they moved to the necklace. I sat across from her, forcing myself to breathe slowly despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"Please," she whispered, her fingers clutching the pendant. "Please don't call the police. I didn't steal it. I swear I didn't steal it."

"Then tell me where you got it." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "And don't lie to me."

Martha's eyes filled with tears. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she unfastened the clasp and held the necklace out between us. The bee caught the fluorescent light, its copper wings gleaming.

"Melissa gave it to me," she said quietly. "Ms. Melissa Moss. I took care of her for seven, almost eight years."

My throat tightened. "You're the caregiver. The one who left the sanctuary."

She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I didn't want to leave her. She was... she was such a gentle soul. Most of the time, she didn't recognize anyone. Didn't remember anything. She'd just sit by the window in her room, staring out at the gardens. Sometimes she'd hum to herself. But she never caused any trouble. Never hurt anyone."

I leaned forward, my hands gripping the edge of the table. "You said she gave you the necklace. When?"

"Last summer. It was late evening, around sunset." Martha's voice grew distant, as if she were seeing it all again. "I went to bring her dinner, like I always did. But when I walked into her room, she was... different. Her eyes were clear. Focused. She looked right at me and said my name. 'Martha.' Just like that. As if she'd been awake the whole time."

My chest constricted. "She was lucid?"

"For those few minutes, yes. It was like a miracle." Martha wiped at her eyes. "She reached up and took off this necklace. She pressed it into my hands and said, 'Thank you for taking care of me all these years. This is for you.' I tried to refuse, but she insisted. She seemed so... grateful. So aware."

"What happened after that?"

"I was so excited. I thought she'd finally recovered. I ran to get the doctor, told him Ms. Moss was lucid and speaking clearly. They did tests, examinations, everything." Martha's face crumpled. "But by the time they finished, she was gone again. Back to that distant, confused state. The doctor said it was just a temporary moment of clarity. That it happens sometimes with patients like her, but it doesn't mean recovery."

I felt my eyes burning. "That was the only time?"

"The only time I ever heard her speak a complete sentence. The only time she recognized me." Martha looked down at the necklace in her hands. "That's why I kept it. Not because it's valuable, but because it was the only real moment we shared. The only time she saw me as a person and not just... someone moving around her room."

I had to ask. I had to know. "Martha, is Melissa Moss really dead?"

The grief on her face looked genuine. "When I heard the news, I cried for days. I know I was just hired help, but I cared about her. She deserved better than to die alone in that place."

My hand slammed against the table, making Martha jump. "Answer my question. Did you see her die? Were you there when it happened?"

"No," Martha admitted, her voice small. "I wasn't there. I'd already left the sanctuary by then."

"What?" I stared at her. "Dr. Walsh told me you left after my mother died. She said you quit because of grief."

Martha shook her head vigorously. "No. No, that's not true. I left a month before Ms. Moss supposedly died. The director called me into her office and told me they were downsizing. That they couldn't afford to keep me on anymore. She gave me two weeks' severance and that was it."

My mind raced. "But that doesn't make sense. When I went to the sanctuary today, I saw new staff. Young caregivers who couldn't have been there more than a few months. Why would they fire you and then hire new people?"

"I don't know." Martha looked genuinely confused. "I thought it was strange too. Ms. Diana—your mother, the one who arranged for Ms. Moss's care—she specifically requested that I be assigned to her. Said she wanted someone experienced and trustworthy. It seemed odd that they'd let me go when I was personally requested."

Diana. My adoptive mother had made sure Melissa had a dedicated caregiver. Someone who would treat her with kindness. And then that caregiver had been conveniently removed just before Melissa's supposed death.

I pulled out my phone and opened my mobile banking app. "Martha, I need to tell you something. I'm Melissa Moss's biological daughter."

Her eyes went wide. "The daughter? The one she used to talk about in her confused moments?"

"She talked about me?"

"Sometimes. When she was having a bad day, she'd cry and say something about her baby. About losing her baby. I never knew what it meant." Martha stared at me, then at the necklace in her hands. "You're really her daughter?"

I pulled my own necklace out from under my shirt. The two pendants were identical—same copper bee, same delicate gold chain, same tiny diamonds embedded in the wings. "Diana Moore commissioned these thirty years ago. She gave one to me when I was twelve. She told me there were only two in the world. One for me, and one for someone very important."

Martha's hands trembled as she looked between the two necklaces. "They're exactly the same."

"Because they're a set. A mother-daughter set." I met her eyes. "I want to buy that necklace from you, Martha. Name your price."

"No." She pushed the necklace toward me across the table. "If you're her daughter, then this belongs to you. I was just keeping it safe."

"You took care of my mother for eight years. You were there when no one else was. You deserve to be compensated." I pulled up my transfer app. "Fifty thousand dollars. That's what I'm offering."

"That's too much. I can't—"

"You can and you will." I entered the amount and her account information, which she reluctantly provided. "Consider it payment for the information you're about to give me. I need to know everything about my mother. Everything you remember. Every detail, no matter how small."

The transfer went through. Martha stared at her phone as the notification came in, her face going pale. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll help me find out what really happened to her." I saved her contact information in my phone. "I don't believe she's dead, Martha. Too many things don't add up. And I'm going to prove it."

Martha nodded slowly, clutching both her phone and the necklace. "I'll help however I can. Ms. Moss deserved better than what happened to her. If there's any chance she's still alive..."

"There is." I stood up, my mind already racing ahead. "I need to go. But I'll be in touch soon. Don't tell anyone about this conversation. Not yet."

I left Martha in the break room and headed back to my car, my hands shaking as I gripped the steering wheel. The necklace around my neck felt heavier now, weighted with meaning. My mother had been lucid enough, at least once, to recognize kindness and express gratitude. She'd been aware enough to give away something precious.

Which meant she might still be aware now. Wherever she was.

I pulled out my phone and opened my messages. Liam had texted asking if I was okay. Skylar had sent three worried messages. And there was a missed call from Ethan that I deleted without listening to the voicemail.

But it was the message from Victor Hunt that caught my attention. He'd forwarded me something from Skylar, who'd asked him to look into Graymist Sanctuary's financials. My pulse quickened as I read his message.

Found something interesting. Graymist received a wire transfer of five million dollars last month. Payment came from an account registered to Moore Industries. Payer listed as Brandon Moore.

Brandon.

My hands clenched around the phone so hard my knuckles went white. I knew where I needed to go next.

Twenty minutes later, I was back at Graymist Psychiatric Sanctuary. The receptionist looked startled to see me again, but I walked past her without a word, heading straight for the director's office. Dr. Rebecca Walsh was still there, reviewing files at her desk. She looked up as I entered without knocking.

"Miss Moore." Her tone was carefully neutral. "I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon."

"I'm sure you weren't." I closed the door behind me and sat down in the chair across from her desk. "Let's talk about the five million dollars Brandon Moore paid you last month."

The color drained from her face. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she slowly closed the file she'd been reading and folded her hands on the desk.

"I see you've been doing your research."

"Answer the question, Dr. Walsh. Why did my father pay you five million dollars?"

She was quiet for another moment, her jaw working. When she finally spoke, her voice was tired. Defeated. "Because this facility is dying, Miss Moore. We've been operating at a loss for years. Most of our patients are elderly, abandoned by their families. The government subsidies barely cover basic care, let alone proper medical treatment. I have thirty-seven patients here and a staff of twenty. Everyone's salary is months behind."

"So you took a bribe."

"I took a donation." Her eyes flashed with defiance. "That money kept this place running. It paid the staff what they were owed. It bought medication and supplies. It kept thirty-seven vulnerable people from being thrown out onto the street."

"And what did you give Brandon in return?"

Dr. Walsh's shoulders sagged. "I gave him what he wanted."

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. "Which was?"

"Melissa Moss."

The world seemed to tilt. I gripped the arms of the chair to steady myself. "What did you just say?"

"Brandon Moore came here five weeks ago. He walked into my office, put a check for five million dollars on my desk, and said he was taking Melissa Moss with him. He said he had arrangements to make. That she'd be better cared for where he was taking her." Dr. Walsh met my eyes. "I didn't ask questions I should have asked. I didn't verify his relationship to her. I didn't demand to know where he was taking her or why. I just... I let him take her."

"You let him take her," I repeated, my voice hollow. "You let a man walk in here and take a patient without any verification. Without any legal documentation."

"He had a death certificate prepared. He wanted it to look like she'd died here naturally. I signed it." She looked away. "I'm not proud of what I did, Miss Moore. But this facility was going under. I had staff members who hadn't been paid in three months. I had patients who needed medications we couldn't afford. That five million dollars was a lifeline."

"Is she alive?" My voice cracked. "At least tell me that. When he took her, was she alive?"

"Yes." Dr. Walsh's voice was barely a whisper. "She was alive when she left here. I swear it."

I turned and walked out of her office, my mind reeling. Brandon had taken my mother. He'd paid five million dollars to make it look like she'd died, and then he'd taken her somewhere. But where? And why?

I made it back to my car before pulling out my phone with shaking hands. I scrolled to Brandon's number and hit call. He answered on the third ring.

"Well, well. My dear daughter finally decided to call."

"Where is she?" I didn't bother with pleasantries. "Where's Melissa Moss?"

There was a pause. Then Brandon laughed—a cold, cruel sound. "So you finally figured it out. I was wondering how long it would take you."

"Where is my mother?" I was gripping the phone so hard I thought it might crack. "What did you do with her?"

"Your mother is exactly where she belongs. Safe. Secure. And completely under my control." His voice was smug. "If you want to see her, Bella, you'll come to the Wildfire Pack house. We'll have a nice family chat."

"I'm coming right now."

"I'll be waiting." He hung up.

I sat in the car, my whole body shaking. My mother was alive. She was really alive. Brandon had her. He'd hidden her away, faked her death, and now he was using her as leverage.

But why? What did he want from me?

As I started the car and pulled onto the highway, my mind raced back to something Ethan had said yesterday, during our confrontation at the Moonhunt Estate. His words had seemed strange at the time, but I'd been too consumed by grief to process them.

"Maybe something happened after she went back to her room. Maybe she saw something or someone upset her."

At the time, I'd dismissed it. But now, thinking back, I realized Ethan had been genuinely confused. Genuinely trying to understand. He wasn't the type to make excuses—he usually either owned his mistakes arrogantly or found a way to blame me for them. But that day, he'd been almost frantic in his explanations. Desperate to make me believe he hadn't done anything wrong.

What if he'd been telling the truth? What if my mother's supposed death really had nothing to do with him?