Vengeance Vs Motherhood

The cold night air clung to Amara's skin as she climbed down the side of the mansion, her hands slipping along the edge of the tiled roof. 

Her breath came in shallow, desperate puffs, heart drumming wildly in her chest. When her feet finally touched the ground, she didn't stop. She ran, barefoot, across the grass and into the house through the kitchen backdoor, her nightgown soaked in sweat and the hem stained with mud.

She rushed upstairs and locked the door behind her. Only then did she allow her knees to buckle. She slumped to the floor, breathing hard, her fingers trembling as they clutched the flash drive like a lifeline.

The flash drive. It was a key.

She crawled to the desk, pulled the small laptop out from the drawer, and powered it on. Her hands trembled as she inserted the drive. A folder popped up, but every file was locked. A passcode barrier. Her shoulders sagged immediately.

"No," she whispered.

She bit her lip, blinking back the sting in her eyes. Everything she needed to unravel Magnus's empire, to destroy what murdered her was there.

But it was just out of reach. "I have to find that passcode," she muttered. "I have to."

She had agreed to Dora's spell, The Womb of Return. Her body returned to life, her soul bound to a deadline. Elias, the twins, even herself will all perish If Magnus's legacy wasn't destroyed.

The door knocked. A sharp rap, she jumped.

"Yes?" she called, quickly shutting the laptop and throwing the bedsheet over it.

Flora's gentle voice filtered in. "Miss, Elias says come downstairs. He's waiting."

Amara swallowed hard. "I'll be right there."

She stood before the mirror, wiping her face quickly. She pulled her long braid over her shoulder and fixed her night robe. As calm as she tried to look, her reflection betrayed her. Wide eyes, pale lips, and that haunted, lingering fire behind her gaze.

Downstairs, the air was warm, heavy with the scent of burning wood and cinnamon tea. Elias sat on the couch, stiff-backed, fingers interlaced on his knee. Beside him, the twins sat.

Amara stepped forward slowly. Her breath caught, her heart trembled.

"These are my children," Elias said.. Her breath hitched.

Jose looked up first. He said, "We met her yesterday. She is lovely."

Amara knelt slowly, voice barely above a whisper. "Hello, sweetheart."

Elias cleared his throat. "You'll be with them from now on. Read to them. Care for them. Be what... a mother would be."

Amara's voice cracked. 

"Their mother is... late," Elias said as his voice stiffened. He looked at her like he'd just seen a ghost.

The twins reached out to Amara and hugged her. They were already comfortable. Her arms instinctively opened, and they wrapped around her waist. Amara's heart shattered in silence.

Elias stood abruptly. "Flora, take the children to bed."

The maid came quickly, guiding the sleepy twins up the stairs. Amara rose slowly, her legs weak.

Elias watched her, eyes fixed. He was studying her. He called for Lydia and Pedro immediately.

When they entered, he didn't mince words. "I want her records. Her background, family, and everything."

Pedro frowned. "Sir? I thought she was vetted."

"Just do it." They left. Elias didn't speak. Just stared at her a moment longer before walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hallway.

Amara climbed back to her room in silence.

She opened the laptop again. She stared at the screen. Three things crossed her mind: the passcode, the twins, the deadline.

She gripped the flash drive.

"This is the first step," she whispered. "Magnus must fall."

She stood by the window, gazing out at the moonlight. Her heart ached, the children she thought she'd never hold were just downstairs, sleeping, dreaming, living in a lie.

And if she failed... they'd die too.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Not from fear but from the weight. Vengeance and motherhood: her heart was being torn apart.

A soft wind swept through the open window, brushing her cheek like a ghost's kiss. She closed the window, whispering to herself.

"Before December 28th... everything burns."

Behind her, a shadow stirred, unseen, uninvited.

Watching her every move.

Elias didn't sleep that night.

The moonlight washed across the floor of his study, casting long shadows over the books and the thick files he'd piled beside him. His hands trembled slightly as he turned another page on Amara's staff profile.

"It doesn't make sense," he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion. "She talks like her, moves like her, even that soft cough she makes when nervous, it's her."

He stared at the picture on his desk. His late wife, Amara, smiling under a soft veil of curls.

And now this new housekeeper, bearing the same name, the same voice, the same eyes.

He stood up, ran a hand through his graying hair, and grabbed his phone. The blue screen glowed sharply against the darkness.

"Valerie," he said the moment she picked up. "I need you to do something urgent for me."

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm sending you a name and a picture. Her name is Amara. She's working here as a housekeeper. I need everything, background, relatives, job history, the deepest possible trace. Use the corporation's advanced search protocols."

Valerie replied on the other end. "Understood. Give me an hour."

Elias hung up and stared at the shadows again. His chest was tight. If it was some kind of trick, someone was playing with fire… If not…

He didn't dare finish the thought.

Exactly an hour later, his phone rang. Valerie's voice came through, professional but unsure.

"I ran the data, sir. Searched through every archive. She's listed as a housekeeper with past jobs at the Lazsus estate and the Henfield manor. Home address is Backum Street. Her parents are alive, Jude and Marlene, and she has two siblings."

"Are you certain?" Elias whispered.

"Sir, the data is clean. Verified through official channels. Here's the file. I just sent it to your secure inbox."

"Alright. Thanks."

He ended the call and dropped the phone onto his desk like it burned his hand.

It didn't add up.

The profile was too clean. Too perfect, not a single hole, no loose ends.

He looked at the picture again, heart pounding louder now. His fingers curled slowly into a fist.

"I buried you…," he whispered to the shadows. "So who the hell are you?"

And behind the cracked door of the study, unseen and silent, a figure stepped away, Flora, the maid, her breath caught in her throat.

She had heard everything.