Lina’s words hung in the air like smoke, choking me.

The truth. About your mother.

I stared at her, my chest tight, my pulse hammering so loud I could barely hear my own thoughts. My mother was a ghost in this house—her portraits polished, her name whispered, but her memory smothered by Father’s rules. She’d died when I was ten. That was the only truth I’d ever been allowed.

“What are you talking about?” My voice came out sharp, panicked. “My mother is ...