Chapter One

Growing up as Emerald Lawson, life always felt like a blend of privilege and pressure. My father, Victor Lawson, was more than just the CEO of Blue Sky Studios. He was a man who wore his integrity like armor in a world that seemed to reward anything but honesty.

The day we were forced out of our own home still feels like a nightmare.

The sharp knock on the door startled me from my thoughts.

Aunt Marie looked up from the steaming cup of tea in her hands, her brows knitting together. “Are you expecting someone?”

I shook my head. No one ever came to this apartment unless invited, and after everything that had happened, I kept my circle small.

Cautiously, I walked to the door and peered through the peephole.

Bernard?

My uncle. My father’s brother. I opened the door just enough to glare at him. “What do you want?”

Bernard gave me a smile that never reached his eyes. “Is that any way to greet family?”

I stood there staring at him without a reply.

He sighed, feigning disappointment, then pulled out a stack of papers. “I came to remind you that everything Victor built now belongs to me. And I have the legal documents to prove it.”

Aunt Marie stood behind me now, tension radiating from her small frame. “Victor would never hand over Blue Sky to you,” she said coldly.

I snatched the papers from his hands and scanned them. A signature at the bottom—Victor Lawson’s. My father’s handwriting, but something was… off.

Memories hit me like a punch.

“I don’t trust Bernard with anything legal,” Dad had once told me, his voice firm. “If anything ever happens to me, don’t let him near Blue Sky.”

And yet, here was the proof that he had signed everything over.

Or at least, that’s what Bernard wanted everyone to believe.

“You expect me to believe this?” I spat, throwing the papers back at him.

Bernard caught them effortlessly, still smirking. “The courts believe it. And that’s all that matters.”

I wanted to scream, to claw the smug look off his face. Instead, I held my ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

“You won’t get away with this,” I said, my voice low and steady.

Bernard chuckled, stepping back. “Oh, Emerald,” he said, slipping the papers into his coat. “I already have.”

And then, just like that, he walked away.

I slammed the door shut, my entire body trembling.

Marie placed a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll fight this,” she whispered.

But I wasn’t sure how.

Few days later, I was in my room, staring at the wall, trying to gather the strength to fight Bernard’s growing tyranny. The next, a man in a dark suit was standing at the door, handing Mom a document stamped with an official seal.

“What is this?” Mom asked, her voice trembling as she clutched the papers.

“It’s an eviction notice,” the man said curtly. “You have 24 hours to vacate the premises.”

Mom’s face paled. “Eviction? This is our home. My husband built this!”

“The property is now under the sole ownership of Bernard Lawson,” the man replied, his tone devoid of sympathy. “He provided all necessary documentation to substantiate his claim.”

I froze in disbelief. Bernard had gone too far this time.

“Where’s Bernard?” I demanded, stepping forward. “Let me talk to him!”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked away, leaving Mom and me standing in the doorway of the home Dad had poured his life into.

We packed what little we could in stunned silence, the reality of what was happening sinking in with each passing minute. As we were loading our belongings into the car, Bernard arrived, his usual smugness radiating from every step.

“This is low, even for you,” I said, unable to hide the venom in my voice.

He smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “It’s nothing personal, Emerald. Just business. Besides, it’s my home now. I’m sure you and Linda will find something… more suitable.”

“This house belongs to the Lawson family,” Mom said, her voice shaking with anger. “Victor’s family.”

Bernard shrugged. “And I am Victor’s family. The only one who’s fit to carry on his legacy.”

“You’re not fit to carry his shoes,” I shot back, my hands clenched into fists. “Dad would be ashamed of you.”

Bernard’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing. “Careful, Emerald. You’re walking a dangerous line.”

We left the mansion that day, the weight of defeat pressing down on us like a heavy storm. It wasn’t just the house—it was the memories, the legacy, the sense of belonging.

Mom was quiet during the drive to a small apartment Aunt Marie had arranged for us. I could see the heartbreak in her eyes, but I knew she was trying to stay strong for my sake.

“It’s not over,” I told her, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “He might have the house, but he doesn’t have us. We’re still Dad’s family, and we’re not going to let him destroy everything.”

Mom nodded, though her expression remained distant. “Victor always believed in justice. We have to trust that the truth will come out.”

But trust felt like a fragile thing in the face of Bernard’s growing power.

The apartment was too quiet, too different. Every sound—distant sirens, the hum of the refrigerator, the creaks in the walls—seemed to amplify my thoughts. Thoughts of Dad, of Bernard, of how everything fell apart.

I kept replaying the night of the crash in my mind. The phone call. The vague, stuttering explanations from the police. Bernard’s hollow words at the funeral, his hand on my shoulder like he hadn’t just taken everything from us.

Something wasn’t right.

The sound of my mother’s soft sobs filled the cramped apartment, mingling with the hum of the heater struggling to warm the space. I stood by the window, staring out at the city that once felt like mine but now seemed like a foreign land.

We used to live in a mansion, surrounded by comfort and the certainty of tomorrow. Now, we were reduced to this—a two-bedroom apartment barely big enough to hold the pieces of our broken lives.

I never should have let my mother go out that night.

It was raining, and she had been upset—angry about Bernard, about how helpless we felt. She had wanted fresh air. I should have gone with her. I should have stopped her.

Instead, I had stayed behind, staring at those damn legal documents, trying to find the flaw that would expose Bernard.

My phone rang an hour later.

I remember the feeling of dread pooling in my stomach before I even answered.

“Is this Emerald Lawson?” a voice asked.

“Yes,” I said, my heart hammering.

“There’s been an accident.”

The words stole the breath from my lungs.

I barely remember rushing to the hospital, Aunt Marie driving through the pouring rain while I sat frozen, gripping my seatbelt so tightly my fingers went numb.

When we arrived, a nurse led me to a small, sterile room. My mother lay in a hospital bed, pale and unmoving. A doctor stood beside her, reading from a clipboard.

“The impact was severe,” he said. “She’s lucky to be alive.”

I heard the words, but they didn’t make sense. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

Aunt Marie asked the questions I couldn’t.

“What exactly happened?”

The doctor sighed. “From what we can tell, it was a hit-and-run.”

I swallowed, my throat tight. “Did anyone see who did it?”

He hesitated before shaking his head. “No witnesses. But judging by the angle of impact…” He cleared his throat. “It looked intentional.”

The room spun. I gripped the chair for balance.

“It looked intentional.”

My mother had confronted Bernard that morning. Had he done this?

I reached for my mother’s hand, her fingers cold against mine. Her breathing was steady, but she was unconscious.

The rage inside me turned ice-cold.

This wasn’t an accident.

This was a warning.

Few weeks later, mom was discharged. Aunt Marie had helped bring her home.

I stood there, forcing myself to breathe past the lump in my throat. Beside me, Mom was in her wheelchair, silent, her gaze fixed on the ground. She hadn’t said much since the accident. Since Dad. Since… everything. My mother, once vibrant and strong, had retreated into herself, leaving me to shoulder the weight of our shattered lives.

“Let’s go inside,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.

Mom didn’t respond, but she let me wheel her toward the door.

“This is home now,” i said, trying to sound optimistic. But my words felt hollow, even to my own ears.

At night, I couldn’t sleep.

“Emerald,” my aunt Marie’s voice cut through my thoughts, “are you okay?”

I turned to see her standing in the doorway, her face etched with concern. She had been our lifeline after everything fell apart. My mother, now wheelchair-bound, depended on her sister for support in ways that made me feel useless.

“I’m fine,” I lied, brushing a strand of hair from my face. But I wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot.

I sat at the kitchen table, my fingers tracing invisible patterns on the worn wooden surface. The air in the apartment was thick with unspoken words, the kind that sat heavy between people who had lost too much. Aunt Marie poured tea into two cups, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were waiting for me to say what was already written all over my face.

She set my cup in front of me, then took the seat across from me, watching me carefully. “You’ve got that look again,” she said. “The one that tells me you’re about to do something reckless.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Is it reckless to want the truth?”

Marie sighed, wrapping her hands around her cup. “No, sweetheart. But sometimes the truth is buried for a reason.”

I clenched my jaw. “Dad’s death was ruled an accident, but I never believed it. Not fully. The timing, the circumstances—it’s too perfect. And now Mom’s accident, too? She’s in a wheelchair because of a hit-and-run that no one saw? That’s not a coincidence.”

Marie didn’t argue. She just sat there, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“You think Bernard had something to do with it,” she said finally.

I scoffed, gripping the edge of the table. “I know he did. He took over Blue Sky like he was waiting for it. He threw us out of our home with fake sympathy, saying Dad left everything to him. And when I look back…” I swallowed, shaking my head. “The way he acted, the way he just stepped in without even pretending to grieve—it’s like he already knew it was going to happen.”

Marie exhaled slowly. “Emerald, I won’t tell you to let this go. I know you won’t. But you need to be smart about this. Bernard isn’t just some greedy man who stole your father’s company. If he’s capable of what you’re saying, then he’s dangerous.”

I met her gaze, my hands balling into fists. “I don’t care how dangerous he is. I need to know the truth. I need to find out what really happened to Dad and who ran Mom off the road.”

Marie’s eyes softened, but there was worry behind them. “And where do you even start?”

I inhaled deeply, steadying my voice. “The first step is simple. Gather information. Dad’s accident wasn’t a closed case, no matter how much Bernard wants everyone to believe it was. There were loose ends—things I remember. His sudden paranoia. His long phone calls in his study, muttering about the deal with Starlight. The way he pulled me aside and told me to always protect Mom.”

Marie stared at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You think Starlight Productions is involved?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. But Dad didn’t trust them. And if he refused their deal, maybe that’s where everything started. I need to talk to people who might know something—Greg, Dad’s assistant. Employees at Blue Sky. Even the Starlight executives.”

Marie leaned forward, her voice low. “And what if you don’t like what you find?”

I met her gaze, my resolve unshaken. “Then at least I’ll know. And I won’t stop until I do.”

Marie reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful, Emerald. You’re not just poking at old wounds. You’re walking straight into a storm.”

I squeezed back, but my mind was already racing ahead, piecing together everything I had, everything I still needed.

Because if there was one thing I knew for certain, it was this:

Dad didn’t just die. Someone made it happen. And Bernard Lawson was at the center of it all.