Chapter 159
Chapter 159:
Inside, the grand hallway was in disarray. Two maids were struggling to guide a dripping, loudly sobbing Alycia toward a guest bathroom. June walked past without a glance, not even blinking at the performance of fake tears. She headed straight for the East Study, the quietest and most isolated room in the massive estate.
She pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped inside.
The study smelled of old paper, leather, and dry cedar. June closed the doors behind her, shutting out the sound of the medical monitors and Alycia’s crying. She leaned her back against the thick wood and closed her eyes. Her chest heaved.
Her world was fracturing into a million sharp pieces.
She crossed to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the wind howled and violently shook the glass. A suffocating wave of anxiety washed over her. She needed a distraction — something to anchor her mind before it unraveled completely.
June turned and walked toward the towering mahogany bookshelf. She reached up to pull out a thick medical encyclopedia. Her trembling arm caught the edge of a heavy wooden box resting on the shelf. It tipped over.
It crashed onto the thick Persian rug with a heavy thud. The brass latch snapped open, and a pile of old, dusty items spilled across the floor.
𝗟a𝘁𝘦𝘴𝗍 с𝗵𝗮𝘱𝘵𝖾𝘳s 𝗈𝗻.с𝘰𝗆
June let out a slow, frustrated breath and knelt on the rug to gather the mess. The scattered items belonged to Eleanor. Among the papers, a thick leather photo album had slid directly against June’s knee.
She reached out and picked it up. Her fingers brushed the worn cover. Without thinking, she slowly opened it.
The pages were filled with decades of Compton family history. She turned through the thick, yellowed pages until she reached the middle of the album — and her hands went still.
It was a single Polaroid photograph, protected by a clear plastic sleeve. The background was a blinding white, snow-covered mountain in Switzerland. A young boy stood at the center of the frame, wearing a bright white ski jacket, with an incredibly warm, radiant smile that seemed to melt the snow around him. And there, at the outer corner of his right eye, was a tiny, jagged scar.
June’s breath caught. A hollow, agonizing ache bloomed in her chest. She slid the Polaroid free from its sleeve and turned it over.
On the back, a name was written in elegant, faded cursive: Caleb.
She stared at it. The monstrous, absurd truth she had already uncovered at the Compton family cemetery came rushing back, hitting her like a heavy concrete block. She had known for days, yet seeing this physical proof — the face of the boy she had loved for seven years, the boy who had thrown his own body over hers to shield her from the crushing weight of the avalanche — tore the wound open all over again.
“Here you are, Caleb,” June whispered to the empty room, her voice trembling with a devastating mixture of grief and dark, bitter irony. “I looked for you for seven years. I gave my entire soul, my endless patience, and my absolute devotion to a cold, vicious imposter — all because I believed he was you p>