ANNA'S POV

God, my head hurts.

A sharp, throbbing ache pulsed behind my eyes, forcing a groan out of me. I blinked several times, my lashes fluttering weakly as the blinding light from the window streamed across my face. My temples thudded like drums, and each breath I took made the pain worse.

I turned my head slightly, trying to shield my eyes from the brightness. The light was too strong, too clean, nothing like the dim, cracked blinds I was used to at home.

Wait a minute.

Windows?

My heart skipped. My place never had floor-to-ceiling windows. The most I had was a small square one with a half-broken latch and dust caked on the edges. I sat up a little, confusion flooding me as I took in my surroundings.

This wasn't my room. Not even close.

The bed beneath me was far too soft, covered in smooth white sheets that felt like silk under my fingertips. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something expensive, something floral I couldn't name. My gaze swept around the space, catching the tall drapes, the polished marble floors, and the soft hum of air conditioning from somewhere above.

What the hell?

I pushed myself upright, ignoring the spinning in my head. My hand went instinctively to my waist, the same spot where pain had flared yesterday, where everything had gone wrong.

Yesterday...

My breath caught. What happened last night? My mind scrambled through fragments - shadows, a strange woman, the feeling of collapsing.

My head whipped from left to right, scanning the room again. I wasn't home. I wasn't even in any place I'd ever seen before. Everything here was foreign the smell, the quiet hum, even the way the sunlight filtered in.

This was the first time I'd been here. But how did I get here?

My pulse quickened.

I hope it's really not what I'm thinking.

As I lowered my gaze, the smoothness of my dress caught my attention. I froze. The fabric brushing my skin wasn't what I'd worn last night. It was too fine, too soft. My heart sank.

Someone had changed my clothes while I was unconscious.

My entire body went cold.

Someone... saw everything.

The thought alone sent a sharp wave of anger through me. I clenched my fists, the fury replacing my confusion. Who gave them the right?

I swung my legs off the bed, standing up in one sharp motion. My bare feet hit the cold marble floor as I stormed toward the large double doors at the front of the room. I wasn't just going to sit here and wait around like some helpless victim. Whoever brought me here, whatever they wanted, they weren't getting it from me.

I had to get out.

I yanked open the doors, and the sight that greeted me froze me mid-step.

The hallway stretched wide and elegant, lined with golden lights and filled with paintings hung neatly along both sides. Each frame gleamed under the soft glow - landscapes, portraits, all beautiful, all expensive-looking.

But it wasn't just that.

The woman in one of the paintings caught my eye.

It was her.

The same woman from last night. The one who brought me here.

My chest tightened.

So it was true.

I took slow steps through the hall, my eyes scanning every detail. There was a faint echo beneath my feet, the kind you only hear in large, silent houses. My hand brushed along the side of a shelf, and that's when I noticed a small photo frame resting there.

Something about it pulled me closer.

I reached for it slowly, and the moment my eyes focused on the image, my breath hitched. There was a little girl in the photos and I was almost sure that the little girl resembled me.

Could this be me when I was younger? And if so, why would it be in this house?

This blue dress, I can recognize it anywhere because my mom never liked me wearing it. But it wasn't just me alone in the picture there was someone else.

The same woman.

She stood beside me, holding my hand, her smile soft and warm. I frowned, staring harder. I'd never seen her before in my life. Who was she? And how did this woman, whoever brought me here get this photo?

I rubbed my thumb against the old wooden frame, confusion and unease battling inside me. This picture shouldn't exist. Not like this.

A sound from downstairs broke my thoughts. Voices.

I quickly set the frame back on the shelf and moved forward, my steps cautious. My eyes found a massive spiral staircase ahead, gleaming under the sunlight. As I descended, I couldn't help but glance at the interior below.

The living room was breathtaking - high ceilings, polished floors, chandeliers that sparkled like ice. Everything screamed wealth.

But I didn't have time to be amazed. I needed to leave.

My focus shifted to the front door, where two men in black suits stood like statues. Their hands were clasped in front of them, their faces expressionless behind dark glasses.

My pace slowed.

Were they going to stop me?

I kept walking, trying to appear confident even though my pulse was hammering.

One of them noticed me approaching. He straightened immediately and stepped in front of the door, blocking my path.

"Good morning, ma'am. How are you feeling?" he asked politely.

Ma'am?

Was that what they called their victims?

I didn't answer. I just tried to sidestep him, but he moved again, firmly placing himself between me and the door.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're not allowed to leave."

My eyes narrowed. "You can't stop me," I snapped, hoping my voice didn't betray the panic rising inside me.

I tried again, moving to the left, but he mirrored my step perfectly, his head giving a small shake of warning.

My jaw tightened.

Fine. If words didn't work-

I darted forward suddenly, attempting to run past him, but before I knew it, my feet were off the ground. The man had grabbed me effortlessly, lifting me like I weighed nothing.

"Put me down!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the hall. "Help! Someone help me!"

I kicked and twisted, but his grip was unyielding, his arms like steel. I screamed again, though deep down, I knew no one outside could hear me.

"I'm sorry about this," he said calmly, "but you're in no condition to leave."

No condition? What was that supposed to mean?

He carried me back to the room I woke up in, ignoring my protests. When he finally set me down on the bed, I stumbled, catching my breath after all the struggling.

"Please calm yourself, ma'am," he said gently, though his tone was still firm.

I didn't listen. My legs tensed, ready to bolt again. But before I could move, I heard footsteps from behind him.

The sound of heels.

My eyes darted toward the door just as she appeared.

The woman from last night.

She stood there gracefully, her posture straight, her eyes steady and calm. She gave the bodyguard a small nod, and without a word, he stepped aside and left the room, closing the doors behind him.

Now it was just the two of us.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice sharp. "And where am I?"

She didn't flinch. Instead, she took a slow step forward. "Relax and have a seat," she said evenly. "I'll answer all the questions you want."

I hesitated, but eventually sat down on the edge of the bed, my heart still pounding.

The silence stretched for a moment before she finally spoke.

"First of all," she said softly, her eyes meeting mine, "my name is Margaret Quinn. And..."

She paused, her voice steady but heavy.

"I'm your mother."

ANNA'S POV

For a moment, my whole mind just stopped working. I stared at the woman standing in front of me like she had completely lost her mind.

From what she just said, there's every reason to believe she's crazy.

I didn't even realize when a short, hard laugh escaped my lips. It came out louder than I meant it to, echoing through the room like something sharp and broken. I bent slightly, pressing a hand to my stomach instinctively because of the small injury there. The movement made me wince, but somehow, I still kept laughing.

It was ridiculous.

After everything that happened to me yesterday, laughing should be the very last thing I was capable of. I had been thrown out into the cold, bleeding, humiliated, left to die on the street like I didn't matter. Now, this woman was standing in front of me, telling me she was my mother?

"You don't believe what I just said, do you?" she asked softly.

My laughter slowly faded, my voice trailing off into a shaky breath. I expected her to smile, to join in, to admit this was some twisted misunderstanding. But she didn't. She just sat there, calm and composed, staring at me with those soft, almost sorrowful eyes.

That frightened me more than anything.

"You couldn't even do proper research if you were going to kidnap me!" I snapped suddenly, my tone rising without warning as I shot to my feet. My voice, which had been filled with confusion and a bit of fear moments ago, was now cracking with anger.

Her brows drew together slightly. "Kidnap?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow, genuinely confused.

"You heard me right!" I fired back. "You don't realize what you just did is kidnapping? You brought me here against my will, and your men downstairs won't let me leave. In case you don't know, that's exactly what kidnapping means, miss."

I folded my arms, my whole body trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"I didn't kidnap you, Anna," she said quietly, her tone steady, almost soothing. "I saved you. You were in a terrible condition. You were bleeding and barely conscious. What kind of person would I be if I left you there, especially on the very first day I found you.... Thankfully the family doctor said you were going to be alright"

Her words hit something in me, but I didn't want to let them sink in. I shook my head quickly, stepping back. "I have a mother who could've done that for me!" I shouted, cutting her off.

Her expression didn't change. Only her eyes flickered, a faint pain crossing them.

"Whoever you think is your mother, my child, isn't," she said gently. "I am your real mother. I carried you for nine months. I wouldn't lie to you and I know you can see it too."

Her hand lifted slowly, almost trembling, as if she wanted to touch mine, but I pulled back immediately. My reaction was sharp, defensive, almost instinctive.

"So you just want me to abandon my family? The people I've known for years?" I snapped, still angry, my brows furrowing tightly. "You think I'll just believe some stranger who claims she's my mother? That's insane!"

She sighed deeply, but her voice stayed calm - too calm. "You might have grown up with those people," she said, "and you might call them family because your father made you believe so. But they are not your true family, Anna. I am."

Something in her tone made me pause.

It wasn't her calmness or her confidence,  it was the way she said "your father."

The word hit me like a tiny spark, freezing me mid-sentence. My mouth stayed slightly open, but no sound came out.

Your father.

So does that mean she really knows him?

The image of the photograph flashed in my mind, the one I saw earlier. A young version of me standing beside my father and a younger version of this same woman.

At first, I told myself it could've been photoshopped. This was the modern world where people could create anything, make anyone look like family if they wanted to. All it took was the right connection, the right technology, and a little imagination.

But something about that photo... the way it looked so old, the faded edges of the frame, the slight yellow tint to the picture, it didn't look fake. It looked real. Like it had been taken years ago.

My stomach twisted. If she truly knew my father, could she be telling the truth?

The resemblance between us was undeniable - the same eyes, the same lips, the same line of the jaw. Even the shape of our faces matched. I had noticed it before but refused to accept it.

Now I couldn't ignore it.

I let out a slow breath, my gaze drifting down to the polished floor. My anger started to calm, little by little, though I still wasn't ready to admit anything.

For the first time since she said those words, I wasn't thinking about shouting or running. I was thinking about everything that didn't make sense in my life.

Have I been living with the wrong people all these years?

It wasn't the first time I'd questioned it, honestly. There had been moments when I'd looked at my so-called mother and wondered why her affection felt so forced. Why she seemed to favor my sister, Bella, so openly? Why sometimes, when I was alone, I felt like I didn't belong in that house at all.

Is that woman I've called "mother" all my life really my mother?

Is Bella really my sister?

Because they sure didn't behave like it.

Those thoughts swirled in my head, uninvited and loud. The same questions I had buried before were clawing their way back now, refusing to stay quiet.

A strange feeling crept over me - not quite fear, not quite hope, but something restless in between. I wanted to know the truth. Desperately.

For the first time, I felt an urge I couldn't push away. I needed to find out if what this woman said was real.

In those few seconds, I pushed my anger aside and thought about everything clearly. As impossible as it sounded, there was a small, unsettling possibility that she might be right.

But I wasn't going to just accept her word. She could still be lying, playing some twisted game.

I needed proof.

And I knew exactly how to get it.

I would go to my mother's house, the woman who raised me, the one who threw me out just yesterday. I didn't care how angry she was, or that she didn't want to see me again. She had no choice but to listen this time.

Once I told her that another woman was claiming to be my mother, she would react. Maybe she would be furious at this woman, but she would fight for me.

She would have to.

I was sure of it.

I lifted my head again and looked at the woman standing in front of me. Her eyes softened when mine met hers, but I didn't let that shake me.

I wasn't a helpless girl anymore. Not after everything that happened.

I was determined now - determined to find out the truth, no matter what it turned out to be.