The Fake Heiress: Captured By Her Warden

The Hamptons estate was a fortress disguised as a home. High hedges, iron gates, and cameras on every corner.

The car stopped in front of the main house. Servants stood in a line, heads bowed.

Eleanor gripped Vesper's hand so hard her knuckles were white. "We're home, darling. You're safe."

Vesper stepped out. The air smelled of salt and money.

Two people waited on the steps.

An old man in a wheelchair, his hands resting on a black cane. Archibald Sterling. The patriarch.

And a young woman in a white power suit. Victoria Sterling. The sister.

Archibald didn't smile. He looked at Vesper like she was a stain on his driveway.

"I can smell the poverty from here," Archibald rasped.

"Father, please," Eleanor begged. "She's back."

Victoria stepped forward. She was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way. She hugged Vesper. It was stiff. Cold.

"Welcome home, sis," Victoria whispered in Vesper's ear. "I don't know what gutter you crawled out of, but I will make you wish you stayed there."

Vesper's instinct was to drive her knee into Victoria's stomach. Instead, she flinched. She pulled away, keeping her eyes on the ground.

"Take her to the guest wing," Archibald ordered. "Scrub her down. Burn those clothes. She doesn't eat at the main table until the DNA results come back."

Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, led Vesper away.

The guest room was larger than Vesper's entire apartment. But the windows had decorative bars.

"Strip," Mrs. Higgins said.

Vesper stood in the bathroom. She took off the filthy smock and compression gear. She stood naked under the harsh lights. It was humiliating. It was a search.

Mrs. Higgins checked her hair for lice. She checked her arms for needle marks. Her eyes lingered on the fresh, thick bandage on Vesper's shoulder.

"What's this?" the housekeeper asked, her voice sharp.

"I fell," Vesper said, her voice small. "Running. On the street."

Mrs. Higgins grunted, seemingly satisfied it wasn't a track mark, and pointed to the shower.

Vesper stepped into the shower. The water was hot. She let it run over her face. She checked the mirror. It was a two-way glass. She could feel the lens behind it.

Victoria was watching.

Vesper grabbed a bar of soap. She scrubbed her skin raw, acting out the part of the dirty girl trying to wash away her sins. She made sure to wince when she touched her shoulder, but she hid the actual wound from the camera's angle.

She dressed in the silk pajamas laid out for her. They felt like chains.

Midnight.

The house was silent. Vesper slipped out of her room. She moved on the balls of her feet, avoiding the floorboards she knew would creak.

She needed calories. Her body was burning through energy to heal.

She entered the kitchen.

Someone was there.

A man leaned against the counter, eating a piece of cold chicken. Liam. Victoria's fiancé.

He looked Vesper up and down. He smirked. "So, you're the long-lost sister. You clean up nice."

He took a step toward her. "Victoria is asleep. We could... catch up."

Vesper picked up a steak knife from the counter. She didn't hold it like a dinner guest. She held it like a weapon. Blade reversed along her forearm.

She looked him in the eye. The "scared girl" mask slipped for a fraction of a second.

"Take another step," Vesper said, her voice flat, "and you'll be eating through a straw."

Liam froze. The air in the kitchen changed. He saw something in her eyes that terrified him.

"Crazy bitch," he muttered. He backed out of the room.

Vesper grabbed an apple and a servant's tablet left on the counter. She retreated to the pantry.

She connected to the wifi.

Search: Harding Bishop.

Result: Request for Warrant - Sterling Estate. Status: Pending. Addendum: Bishop has invoked the 'Corporate Security Act' to place a 24/7 surveillance team on the property perimeter.

He was coming.

Vesper needed to cement her identity. She needed to pass the DNA test. She needed to access the historical medical records to ensure the sample she provided matched Cassandra Sterling's, not Vesper Vale's.

She knew where Archibald kept the family medical records. The study.

She moved through the dark hallways. She reached the heavy oak doors of the study. She reached for the handle.

The door clicked open from the inside.

Archibald sat in his wheelchair in the dark. A shotgun rested across his lap.

"Rats always come out at night," he said.