CHAPTER TWENTY

Penelope's POV

"Madison is pregnant."

The words pulsed in my mind, repeating over and over like a sinister chant. My fingers clenched around the diary, the leather-bound cover pressing into my palm as I stared at the page in disbelief.

Pregnant.

Madison had been pregnant.

A slow chill crept up my spine as realization settled in. Not only did I have to pretend to be Madison—I had to pretend to be a pregnant Madison. And what made it worse was that the ink was fresh, the loops of Madison's handwriting still dark and neat against the paper. This wasn't an old entry. It was recent.

Had Julien known?

If he had, why hadn't he mentioned it? Was the baby his? And more importantly—was this pregnancy the reason for her death?

The questions twisted in my gut, choking me with an anxiety I had no way of soothing. Because I would never get the answers. Madison was gone.

And whoever had called her phone, announcing her death, had never called again.

Did they know I was impersonating her? Had they been watching me this entire time?

A sudden voice snapped me out of my trance.

"Mrs. Laurent, are you listening?"

I blinked rapidly, looking up to see Miss Tessa staring at me expectantly. She had been speaking for a while now, flipping through a large planner as she discussed the upcoming LauRiot launch, but I had barely absorbed a word of it.

"I—yes," I stammered.

Miss Tessa pursed her lips, unimpressed. "Right. Well, as I was saying, I need the stock data from LauRiot's announcement day. You said you had it, but I can't seem to find it in the files you sent over."

Stock data? What stock data?

I had no idea what that could be and I was not interested in scrambling to know.

But then, an idea struck me.

Julien.

If there was any place that had those documents, it would be in his office. And if I was going to look for them, I might as well snoop around.

"Right," I said quickly, standing up. "I'll get it now."

I left before Miss Tessa could question me further, my heart pounding as I made my way through the house.

Despite having been here for over 24 hours, I still wasn't familiar with all the rooms. I wandered through the sleek hallways, past the glistening chandeliers and marble floors, searching for a door that looked important enough to belong to Julien's office.

Finally, I found it.

A large, dark oak door with intricate carvings on the frame. It had a keypad, but when I tested the handle, it wasn't locked. Julien had probably assumed there was no reason to keep it secured.

Big mistake.

I slipped inside and let the door shut behind me.

The office was enormous, almost like a library. Dark wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with expensive-looking books, leather-bound journals, and decorative artifacts. The massive mahogany desk at the center was pristine—almost too pristine.

I wasted no time and got to work, rifling through the drawers first.

Nothing unusual—just stacks of neatly arranged documents, some personal, some business-related. No hidden letters. No suspicious notes about how he knew I wasn't Madison.

I moved to the bookshelf, running my fingers along the spines of the books. A part of me hoped I'd find something tucked between the pages—some kind of hidden note or file. But instead, I found something unexpected.

A photobook.

Frowning, I pulled it out.

The first few pictures were unsurprising—Julien at work, shaking hands with business partners, posing at company events. But as I flipped further, the images changed.

Julien at an orphanage home.

Julien playing with kids, handing out food, even smiling—a genuine, warm smile that I had never seen on him before. His dimple in full display.

I hesitated.

Julien didn't seem like the type to do charity work. It didn't fit with the ruthless, cold-hearted man I had come to know.

Had Madison known about this?

I kept flipping, my fingers skimming over the glossy pages, until suddenly, something slipped out. A loose photograph.

I bent down and picked it up.

The moment my eyes landed on it, my breath caught in my throat.

It was me.

Not Madison.

Me.

The picture showed me working an afternoon shift at Greg's Diner—the small, run-down restaurant where I had worked for years. I was in my uniform, my hair tied back, wiping down a table.

My blood ran cold.

Why did Julien have this?

How long had he known?

I gripped the photograph tightly, my heart hammering against my ribs as a terrifying realization crept into my mind.

Julien had been watching me. Long before Madison died.