Updated Nov 23, 2025 • ~11 min read
The nursery was painted the softest shade of lavender.
I stood in the doorway, taking it all in—the white crib with its delicate mobile of stars and moons, the rocking chair positioned by the window, the shelves already filled with books Lily wouldn’t be able to read for years. Everything was perfect, curated, expensive.
Everything screamed Ophelia.
“You must be Keira.”
I turned to find a woman in her mid-thirties smiling at me, a sleeping Lily cradled against her shoulder. She had kind eyes and the slightly rumpled look of someone who spent her days wrangling an infant.
“I’m Macy,” she continued, her voice warm. “The nanny. Mr. Vale said you’d be stopping by.”
“Hi. Yes. I’m—” I gestured awkwardly at myself. “I’m Keira.”
“The sister.” Macy’s smile didn’t waver, but something shifted in her expression. Sympathy, maybe. Or pity. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Mrs. Vale was a wonderful mother.”
The words felt automatic, the kind of thing people said because they had to. But there was sincerity beneath them.
“Thank you,” I managed.
Macy shifted Lily slightly. “She’s just dozed off, but you’re welcome to hold her if you’d like. She’s pretty good about staying asleep once she’s down.”
I hesitated, suddenly terrified. What if I dropped her? What if I held her wrong? What if—
“It’s okay,” Macy said gently, reading my fear. “You won’t break her. Here.”
She transferred Lily into my arms with practiced ease, adjusting my hold until the baby was secure. And then there she was—tiny and warm and perfect, her little chest rising and falling with each breath, her brown eyes hidden behind impossibly long lashes.
My niece.
Maybe my daughter, if the DNA test came back wrong.
The thought sent a jolt through my chest—part terror, part something I didn’t want to name.
“She’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“She is.” Macy settled into the rocking chair, watching me with an assessing gaze. “Mr. Vale said you’ll be taking on more of the caregiving? That I’m to teach you the routines?”
“If that’s okay. I don’t want to step on your toes, I just—”
“It’s more than okay.” Macy’s expression softened. “Mr. Vale is trying, but he’s drowning in work and grief. And his mother…” She trailed off diplomatically.
“Marissa isn’t the nurturing type?”
“Let’s just say she has strong opinions about how things should be done, but rarely offers to do them herself.” Macy smiled wryly. “I think Lily will benefit from having another woman in her life who actually wants to be present.”
The implication stung a little. Had Ophelia not been present? Or was Macy just being kind about the fact that my sister was dead and someone needed to fill the void?
“What’s her schedule like?” I asked, steering the conversation to safer territory.
“Pretty standard for six months. She wakes around six, nurses—well, takes a bottle now—plays for a bit, naps around nine. Up again at eleven, another bottle, more play, afternoon nap at two. Then awake until her bath at six-thirty, final bottle at seven, and down for the night around eight.”
I tried to commit it all to memory, but it felt overwhelming. “And at night?”
“She usually sleeps through, thank God. Sometimes she wakes once around three for a quick feed, but we’re working on eliminating that.”
Lily stirred in my arms, her tiny face scrunching up. For one terrifying moment I thought she’d wake up crying, but then she settled again, one small fist curling against my chest.
Something inside me cracked open.
“Can I…” I swallowed hard. “Can I do the bedtime routine tonight? With you, I mean. To learn?”
Macy’s smile was genuine. “I think that would be perfect. Bath is at six-thirty, like I said. Why don’t you come back then?”
I nodded, reluctant to hand Lily back but knowing I needed to unpack, to settle in, to figure out how I was going to survive living in this house.
Macy took the baby gently, settling her into the crib. “She’s a good sleeper during the day too. I’ll come get you if she wakes before six-thirty.”
“Thank you.”
I left the nursery and headed back to Ophelia’s suite, my mind spinning.
The next few hours passed in a blur. I unpacked my meager belongings—three days’ worth of clothes, basic toiletries, my sketchbook and pencils that went everywhere with me. Everything fit in one drawer of Ophelia’s massive dresser. The contrast was almost laughable.
I was exploring the bathroom—marble everything, a tub big enough to swim in, more luxury beauty products than I’d ever owned—when I heard the suite doors open.
“Hello?” I called, stepping back into the sitting room.
A young woman in uniform stood there, her arms full of garment bags. “Miss Sterling? I’m Tess from the main house. Mr. Vale asked me to bring these up for you.”
“What are they?”
She hung the bags on a decorative rack near the closet. “Clothes, miss. He said you came with only a small suitcase and might need more suitable attire for living in the house.”
Suitable attire. Translation: my Target basics weren’t up to Vale standards.
“That’s really not necessary—”
“He was quite insistent.” Tess smiled apologetically. “He also asked me to show you the dining room layout and the kitchen, in case you wanted to prepare your own meals or feed the baby. And he wanted you to know that dinner is served at seven in the formal dining room, but you’re welcome to eat in your suite if you prefer.”
The idea of sitting across from Damon at some massive formal table made my stomach clench.
“Suite dining sounds perfect,” I said quickly.
Tess nodded. “I’ll let the kitchen know. And if you need anything else, there’s a phone on the side table that connects directly to the house staff.”
She left, and I was alone again with the garment bags.
Curiosity won out. I unzipped the first one and froze.
Inside was a dress—soft cashmere in a deep navy, exactly my size, with a designer label I recognized from magazine ads. The second bag held another dress, this one forest green. The third was full of basics—jeans, sweaters, blouses, all perfectly coordinated, all absurdly expensive.
How did he know my size?
The answer came with a sick jolt: Ophelia. We’d been the same size our whole lives. She’d probably left behind a closet full of designer clothes, and Damon had just replicated them for me.
I shoved the garment bags aside, suddenly furious. I didn’t need his charity. Didn’t need to dress up like some replacement for his dead wife.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: This is Macy. Lily’s awake if you want to come down early.
I checked the time. Five-thirty. I still had an hour before the bath routine, but maybe Macy was giving me an out, a chance to spend more time with the baby.
I headed back to the nursery, grateful for the distraction.
Lily was awake, gurgling happily in Macy’s arms as the nanny changed her diaper with efficient ease.
“Want to try?” Macy offered.
“God, no. Not yet.” I laughed nervously. “I’ll work up to diaper duty.”
“Smart woman.” Macy finished snapping Lily’s onesie and handed her over. “Here. You can hold her while I prep the bath.”
Lily blinked up at me with those enormous brown eyes, her little mouth forming a perfect O of curiosity. She didn’t cry, didn’t fuss. Just stared, like she was trying to figure out who I was and why I smelled different from everyone else.
“Hi, sweet girl,” I whispered. “I’m your Aunt Keira. I know we just met, but I promise I’m going to do my best by you, okay?”
She made a small cooing sound that might have been agreement or might have been gas, but I chose to take it as approval.
“Bath time,” Macy called from the attached bathroom.
I carried Lily in and watched, mesmerized, as Macy walked me through the entire routine—testing the water temperature, supporting the baby’s head, washing gently with special soap that smelled like lavender and innocence.
“You want to try?” Macy asked.
“I’ll watch a few more times first,” I admitted. “I’m terrified I’ll drown her.”
“You won’t. But take your time. There’s no rush.”
After the bath, Macy showed me how to prepare a bottle, the exact temperature Lily preferred, how to hold her at the right angle to prevent gas. I absorbed it all, committing every detail to memory.
And when Lily’s eyes started to droop, Macy handed me the nearly empty bottle.
“You finish feeding her, then put her down. I’ll be right here if you need help.”
My hands shook slightly as I took over, cradling Lily close as she drank the last ounce. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing evening out. She was so small. So trusting.
So mine, maybe.
“Put her in the crib on her back,” Macy instructed quietly. “Firm mattress, nothing else in there.”
I stood slowly, terrified of waking her, and carried Lily to the crib. Lowering her down felt like defusing a bomb—one wrong move and everything would explode into crying.
But she stayed asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling peacefully.
“You’re a natural,” Macy said, smiling.
I wasn’t. But I could learn. For Lily, I could learn anything.
We tiptoed out of the nursery, leaving the door cracked, and I thanked Macy profusely before heading back to Ophelia’s suite.
The clock read seven-thirty. Dinner had probably been served downstairs, but I had no desire to see anyone. The suite kitchen was stocked with basics, and I made myself toast and tea, eating alone in the too-big space while my mind raced.
This was my life now. Ophelia’s clothes, Ophelia’s wing, Ophelia’s daughter. Ophelia’s husband.
The man I’d loved first and lost anyway.
A knock startled me.
“Come in,” I called, expecting Tess or maybe Macy.
But it was Damon who entered, still in his work clothes, exhaustion carved into every line of his face.
“You didn’t come to dinner,” he said.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Liar.” He nodded at my sad toast. “Tess said you asked for a tray sent up.”
“I didn’t want to intrude on your evening.”
“It’s your house too now.” The words sounded forced, like he was still trying to convince himself. “For the next two weeks at least. Until we know.”
The DNA test. Always between us, ticking like a time bomb.
“Did you see Lily tonight?” he asked, softer now.
“I did. Helped with the bath and bedtime bottle.”
Something in his expression eased. “Good. That’s… good.”
We stood there in awkward silence, two people who’d orbited each other for years without ever getting close enough to collide.
“The clothes,” I finally said. “You didn’t have to—”
“I did.” He cut me off. “You can’t live here in the same three outfits. People will talk.”
“Let them talk.”
“You don’t understand what it’s like, having every move scrutinized.” His jaw tightened. “My mother already has her society friends whispering about you moving in. If you look like you don’t belong, it’ll only feed the rumors.”
“So I’m supposed to dress up like Ophelia to make your mother’s friends comfortable?”
The words came out sharper than I intended, and Damon flinched.
“You’re supposed to dress like Lily’s guardian,” he said quietly. “Like someone who belongs in her life. That’s all.”
He was right, but I hated it anyway.
“Fine,” I conceded. “Thank you for the clothes.”
He nodded once, then turned to leave. But at the door, he paused.
“Keira?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here. For Lily’s sake.”
For Lily’s sake. Not for his. Not because he wanted me here.
Just another reminder that I was a means to an end, not a person he chose.
“Goodnight, Damon.”
“Goodnight.”
The doors closed, and I was alone again in Ophelia’s perfect prison.
I looked at the garment bags, at the designer clothes that would help me play the part.
Then I grabbed my phone and texted Beatrice: I think I made a huge mistake.
Her response came immediately: Then come home.
But as I stared at that text, I thought of Lily’s brown eyes and her tiny hand curled against my chest and the way Damon’s voice had broken when he talked about raising another man’s child.
I can’t, I texted back.
I know, Beatrice replied. Guard your heart, Keira. Please.
I set the phone down and stared out the windows at the dark gardens below.
My heart was already gone.
Now I just had to survive the fall.
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