CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Miss Karen opened the door before I even knocked. Her face lit up with the kind of warmth that didn't quite reach her eyes—like always.

"Sinclair, darling," she said, her arms open in welcome. "You're right on time."

I nodded, offering a half-smile. "Didn't want to keep you waiting."

She ushered me inside, her floral perfume mingling with the savory aroma wafting from the kitchen.

Tonight's dish: Pan-Seared Scallops with Gold Leaf. Lavish. Pretentious. Exactly her style.

The table was perfectly set, her silverware gleaming under the chandelier. Freda was already seated, looking as radiant as ever in a sundress. She gave me a soft smile as I pulled out a chair and sat down.

Dinner began in silence—at least on my part. Miss Karen filled the room with chatter, her voice bright as she recounted stories of her doctor's latest antics.

"Can you believe he called a music band for me? Right to the clinic! Two days ago, mind you," she said, laughing lightly, wrinkles shifting with her smile. "Said I needed cheering up. And oh, the saxophonist was so handsome."

Freda chuckled politely. "That's sweet of him."

I didn't say anything. My scallops sat barely touched on the plate. My fork toyed with the edge of the gold leaf like it offended me.

Because maybe it did.

Fifty million dollars. That's what Preston said people were being paid—for selling their kids. Could she have really done that to Darren?

The thought clung to my mind desperately.

They danced after dinner.

Freda gently pulled Miss Karen up as a soulful country tune played from a vintage vinyl record player in the corner. I leaned back in my chair, arms folded, watching.

Miss Karen swayed gently, laughter tumbling out of her lips. It was the happiest I had ever seen her—smiling with no facade, no curled lips hiding secrets.

And that's what made it harder.

Was now really the right time to destroy that peace?

As Freda and I cleaned up later, she handed me dishes while I scrubbed. We worked in rhythm and she soon left me to it. It was way easier, it made me clear my thoughts—not so much but it did. Moments later, a loud crunch echoed behind me.

I turned. Freda was grinning like a kid, a bitten apple in her hand.

"Really?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

She winked.

But before she could ask, I said it first, cool and casual, "I know you're curious."

She blinked. "About?"

"My investigation."

She leaned in, interested.

"I looked into Saavni," I said, rinsing another dish. "Turns out, she's clean. Just happened to be connected to the orphanage by coincidence."

"That's… good, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. But that's all I'm sharing for now."

I didn't mention Blossom Home. Or Rosemount. Or the cursed apartment 204. I didn't tell her about the nights I spent being taunted by whispers and shadows. She didn't need that weight. Not yet.

Miss Karen entered then, graceful as always, drying her hands on a cloth napkin.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," she said, settling onto the island stool.

I didn't respond. Just kept drying.

"There's a company in Danmas. Newspaper firm. A friend of mine is a partner there," she continued. "They need a reporter. Good pay. Quiet town. Free from… everything you're going through."

I exhaled slowly, keeping my tone even. "I'm good, Miss Karen."

"You sure? I think it'd be perfect for you. Fresh start."

"I said I'm fine," I replied firmly. "Besides, I'm planning to settle with Melody. In Tessal."

She tilted her head, a faint crease between her brows. "Still, maybe you should consider—"

I slammed the towel on the island.

"Why are you so hellbent on sending me to Danmas?"

She blinked, startled. "Sinclair…"

I stepped closer. "Is it because you don't want me to find out?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "Find out what?"

"The truth," I said, voice low. "That Darren was sold. And the money you're living off now is blood money—whatever they paid you for him."

Everything in the room froze.

Miss Karen's face went pale. Her lips parted, but no words came. She stared at me like the air had been sucked from her lungs.

I knew then.

I was right.

And that hurt more than I thought it would.

My voice cracked. "Why?"

Freda's eyes shot between us, her expression frozen, numb.

"Did Darren know?" I asked.

Miss Karen shook her head slowly.

I snapped, "Then why would you do something so cruel? Why would you sell him—and then have the audacity to use that money to take care of me?"

Tears spilled down her face as she stepped forward, hands clasped. "Sinclair, I'm so sorry… I didn't have a choice…"

Freda still hadn't spoken. Her eyes shimmered with disbelief, glued to the woman she had trusted her whole life.

Miss Karen choked on a sob. "Sarah—Darren's mother—when she passed, there were bills. So many bills. She borrowed five million dollars… in my name."

She wiped her cheeks. "I had to settle the debt. They promised me he'd be safe. That he'd be cared for. I thought—I thought I was doing the best I could."

I held her gaze. "How much?"

She didn't speak.

"How much did they offer you?" I repeated.

She swallowed. "Fifty million. At first."

"At first?" I echoed.

She looked away. "After the missing persons report hit the news… they gave me two hundred million. To stay quiet."

My heart thudded heavily. "Who are they?"

Miss Karen hesitated.

I stepped toward her, voice like ice. "If you know what's good for you, you'll start spilling now."

"I—I don't know their names," she said, shaking. "They always used an automated voice when they called. But I have the number. And an email. That's how they contacted me."

I nodded, cold. "Send it. Now."

She hurried away to retrieve it. I didn't wait. I turned, storming out of the enormous kitchen.

Whatever came next, I was ready.

And I wasn't letting Darren's truth die in the hands of people who thought money could buy silence.