Chapter 1 - The Empty Garden
Ten minutes earlier, the garden had looked like something created for a photograph.
White roses climbed the stone arches. Crystal lanterns hung from the branches of two ancient oak trees. Beyond the rows of ivory chairs, the Bellweather lake reflected the pale blue afternoon sky.
Maren had stood alone in the bridal room while a stylist adjusted the final pin in her hair.
Through the open window, she could hear Owen laughing.
That sound had steadied her.
It reminded her why she had agreed to hold the wedding at the Bellweather estate, even after months of pressure from Patricia.
Callum had wanted something smaller.
A registry office, perhaps, followed by dinner with close friends.
Maren had wanted the same.
Patricia had insisted that the future chairman of Bellweather Holdings could not marry without “appropriate recognition of the family name.”
She had hired the florist, selected the guest list, replaced Maren’s original invitations, and rejected three wedding cakes before approving a fourth.
She had even chosen Owen’s suit.
“It must not look as though he is part of the wedding party,” Patricia had told the tailor.
Callum had overheard and immediately declared Owen his official ring bearer.
For two weeks afterward, Patricia had barely spoken to him.
That morning, however, everything had seemed peaceful.
Edmund had eaten breakfast with Owen in the kitchen. He had shown the boy how to fold a napkin into a swan and promised to save him the first corner piece of the cake.
When Maren entered the room, Edmund had taken her hands.
“You make Callum happy,” he said. “Whatever else happens today, remember that.”
At the time, the words had sounded affectionate.
Now, as Maren stood in the closed kitchen with Callum holding the document, they felt like a warning.
“Where did you find this?” Callum asked Owen.
The boy pointed toward the pantry.
“Behind the biscuit box.”
Patricia looked at Edmund.
“You left it in the pantry?”
Edmund’s shoulders sagged.
“I did not leave it there.”
“You were instructed to destroy the draft.”
“I tried.”
Callum slammed the document onto the marble island.
“You both knew about this?”
Patricia did not flinch.
“Your grandfather understands that families like ours survive because someone is willing to make difficult decisions.”
“Families like ours?”
“Families with responsibilities.”
Maren kept one hand on Owen’s back.
“He is five years old, Patricia.”
“He is not the issue.”
“You pointed at him and said he wasn’t real family.”
“He is not a Bellweather.”
Callum stepped between them.
“He is my son.”
Patricia’s eyes hardened.
“No. He is the child of a woman you intend to marry.”
“He calls me Dad.”
“That does not alter his blood.”
Owen lowered his head.
Maren felt anger move through her with a force that frightened her.
She turned toward Callum.
“We’re leaving.”
His gaze snapped to hers.
“Maren.”
“I will not keep him in this house for another minute.”
“You shouldn’t.”
The voice came from outside the kitchen.
The stranger in the gray coat stood behind the glass doors leading to the terrace.
No one had noticed her move around the house.
She opened one door and entered.
She was perhaps sixty years old, with silver threaded through her dark hair. Rain had left small spots on the shoulders of her coat, though the sky above the estate had been clear all afternoon.
In one hand, she carried a leather folder.
In the other, she held a sealed envelope.
Patricia stared at her.
“You.”
The woman closed the door behind her.
“Yes, Patricia. Me.”
Edmund gripped the edge of the sink.
Callum looked from one face to another.
“Who are you?”
The woman’s attention remained on Owen.
“My name is Helena Ward.”
Maren knew the name.
She had seen it once, printed in small letters on an old photograph in Edmund’s study.
Helena Ward had been the Bellweather family’s legal counsel before Callum’s father died.
According to Patricia, Helena had stolen confidential documents and disappeared.
Callum seemed to recognize the name too.
“You worked for my father.”
“I did more than work for him.”
Patricia stepped forward.
“You were banned from this property.”
“By you. Not by its legal owner.”
“My father owns the estate,” Callum said.
Helena looked at Edmund.
“Does he?”
Edmund said nothing.
The silence gave the answer more clearly than words could have.
Helena placed the leather folder on the island.
“The document Owen found is not the only agreement signed in this house.”
Patricia reached for the folder.
Callum stopped her.
“Don’t.”
“Callum, she cannot be trusted.”
Helena smiled without warmth.
“That is what you told his father too.”
Maren felt Owen shifting beside her.
She crouched.
“Sweetheart, I need you to go with Mrs. Alvarez.”
The housekeeper stood near the service door, her face tight with concern.
Owen shook his head.
“I want to stay with you.”
“You’ll be just down the hall.”
“Patricia said I had to go away.”
Callum knelt in front of him.
“Listen to me. No one is sending you anywhere.”
“Even if you lose your company?”
The question silenced the room.
Callum put his hands on Owen’s shoulders.
“You are not something I trade for a company.”
Patricia turned away in disgust.
Callum continued.
“You and your mom are my family. That was true before today, and it will be true after today.”
Owen looked at the document on the island.
“Then why did Grandpa sign it?”
Callum glanced at Edmund.
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
Reluctantly, Owen allowed Mrs. Alvarez to lead him toward the service corridor.
Before leaving, he looked back at Helena.
The older woman watched him with an expression Maren could not understand.
Recognition.
Grief.
And something very close to fear.
After the door closed, Helena opened the leather folder.
Inside were copies of bank transfers, handwritten letters, and a photograph of three young men standing outside Bellweather House.
One was Edmund.
May you like
One was Callum’s father, Jonathan.
The third man looked so much like Owen that Maren forgot how to breathe.
