#Chapter 6: Whispered Disbelief

Lauren's POV The room froze, the air thick with stunned silence, as if the world itself had hit pause. Owen’s small, clear voice lingered. “Mommy?”—a single word that rippled through the stillness, shattering logic and piecing it back together in a way that didn’t quite make sense. My chest tightened. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs, caught somewhere between confusion and an ache I couldn’t name. Behind me, a maid let out a sharp, startled squeak, breaking the spell. Before I could fully process what had happened, a firm hand gripped my arm, tugging me backward. One of Owen’s bodyguards stepped in, his expression unreadable but his movements swift and commanding. “Out. Now,” he said curtly, ushering me and the others out of the room without a second thought. The door slammed shut behind us, the sound reverberating down the white hallway. We stood there, bathed in the harsh buzz of the fluorescent lights, the tension stretching taut between us like an invisible thread about to snap. I barely registered the others around me, still grappling with the echo of Owen’s voice in my head. Hushed whispers stirred from the group of doctors behind me, the sound like cracks splintering through stone. Their initial disbelief quickly twisted into something uglier, a cruel amusement that coiled in the pit of my stomach. “Well, Dr. Ava” one of them muttered, his voice dripping with mockery, “maybe you weren’t called here for the boy after all. Dressed like that, perhaps you’re trying to catch the attention of his father instead?” I forced myself to breathe, to keep my expression steady. Reacting wouldn’t help—it would only fuel their fire. I turned slowly, fixing the speaker with a level stare. My voice, when I spoke, was calm but sharp enough to cut through the tension. “Mistaking someone for their parent is a behavior common in children on the spectrum,” I said, each word deliberate, precise. “But your comments, Doctor, make me question your professionalism far more than his condition. By all means, step back in. I’m curious if 'Mommy' will come up again—or if the child will stick to his theme of ‘abstract expressionism.’ with that paint.” The air grew heavier, the smug glances shifting into unease. A few doctors exchanged awkward looks, their postures stiffening under my gaze. The man who’d spoken—Dr. Bramble, I vaguely remembered—bristled, his smirk faltering as he searched for a retort. None came. “Typical,” he muttered, finally breaking the silence. With a dramatic spin, he stormed off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. The remaining doctors avoided my eyes, their earlier confidence deflated. I let out a slow breath, pressing a hand to my chest, grounding myself with the steady rhythm of my breathing. Whatever the reason for Owen’s slip-up, it wasn’t something I could afford to dwell on—not yet. I adjusted the strap of my bag and started down the hallway, tuning out the murmurs behind me. The buzz of my phone pulled me from my thoughts, the vibration sharp against my palm. I fished it from my pocket, grateful for the distraction. “Mommy, where are you?” Abigail’s cheerful voice burst through the line. “I want to have lunch with you!” A smile tugged at my lips. “I’m just finishing up at work, sweetheart. How about I pick us up something on the way home?” “Pizza!” she chirped, her excitement like a spark that ignited my own. I laughed softly. “Pizza it is.” As Abigail chattered on about her day—about her stuffed animals’ “very important meeting” and the new dress she wanted to show me—the knot in my chest unraveled. Her voice was the grounding I didn’t realize I needed, pulling me back into the warmth of something simple and real. I pressed the elevator button, the familiar hum of its arrival blending into the rhythm of our conversation. But when the doors slid open, the smile on my face faltered. Sophia. She stood inside, her posture rigid, her expression paled, her hair just a crimson as I remembered it. But her eyes betrayed her, wide and filled with something raw—shock, maybe even fear. For a moment, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. I froze for only a moment, the phone still pressed to my ear. Sophia’s lips parted slightly, as if she might say something, but no words came. The silence stretched between us, taut and brittle. I stepped into the elevator without hesitation, my movements deliberate. Sophia shifted slightly, her gaze locked on mine, but I refused to let her rattle me. Instead, I reached out and pressed the button for my floor. “Baby,” I said into the phone, my voice soft but steady, “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Sophia didn’t speak, her presence a silent weight passing to leave beside me out the doors. But I didn’t need her words to know what she was thinking—the flicker of recognition in her eyes said it all. The elevator hummed to life, its soft whir filling the silence. I kept my gaze fixed ahead, my grip tightening around the phone as I ended the call. My eyes locked on the back of her head just as the doors slid shut. Sophia's POV My heart stopped the moment the elevator doors opened. There she was. Lauren. No, it couldn’t be. My mind was screaming in denial. Lauren was dead. She had been dead for five years. And yet, there she stood—alive, breathing, and with seemingly no recollection of me. She stepped inside the elevator, phone pressed to her ear, her soft laugh cutting through the air like a ghostly echo from the past. “Baby,” she said, her voice light and warm, “I’ll see you soon, okay?” The word baby sank into my brain, sharp and piercing. My stomach twisted. Had she already found a new lover? It was her. It had to be. I stepped past her quickly, casting a few furtive glances over my shoulder. Her emotionless gaze lingered on me, even as the doors closed with a soft thunk, sealing her away. I let out a shaky breath, leaning against the wall for support. My fingers moved instinctively to tuck my scarlet locks behind my ears, grounding myself. I barely noticed Dr. Bramble until his voice jolted me back to reality. “Sophia? You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” A ghost. That’s exactly what it felt like. I spun toward him, gripping his arm with more force than I intended. “Who was that woman just now?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, trembling with panicked rage. Dr. Bramble blinked, clearly startled by my intensity. “Her? Oh, that’s Dr. Ava. She’s an expert we brought in to consult on Owen’s case.” The name Ava sounded wrong. Foreign. Dr. Bramble hesitated, then leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “She’s already stirred things up, though. Did you hear? Owen called her ‘Mommy.’” The world tilted beneath my feet. “Mommy?” I echoed, my voice low, disbelief dripping from the word. The doctor nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and wary. Panic surged through me, sharp and unrelenting. My chest tightened as the implications hit me like a wrecking ball. Lauren—or Ava, as she called herself—was alive. And if Alexander found out… My breath quickened, panic clawing its way through my chest. For years, Alexander hadn’t been able to let go of Lauren. Her shadow had haunted him, lingered between us no matter how hard I worked to push it aside. If he discovered she was alive now, here, everything I’d built could crumble in an instant. A fiery surge of fury replaced the icy fear. No. I wouldn’t let her take everything from me. Not after everything I had sacrificed. I stormed down the hallway, my heels clicking sharply against the floor. The staff glanced at me nervously as I threw open Owen’s door, not caring about their startled expressions. “Owen,” I snapped, my voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Why did you call that woman ‘Mommy’?” The boy didn’t even flinch. He looked up from his laptop, dark eyes as sharp and unreadable as ever, his expression one of cold indifference. “You’re too noisy,” he said flatly, before returning his attention to the screen. His words were sharp and humiliating. My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms as I forced myself not to lash out. Owen simply ignored me, his small hands moving deftly over the keyboard, as if I didn’t even exist. The brat. I spun on my heel, slamming the door shut behind me, my mind racing. If Lauren was really alive and trying to connect to Owen, it wouldn’t be long before the truth unraveled. I might just lose everything. My chance to marry Alexander. Things couldn’t get much worse. No. I couldn’t let that happen. I turned to Dr. Bramble, who had been lingering nearby, his expression uncertain. “Find out everything about her,” I said, my voice low and urgent. “Ava. Where she lives, who she’s connected to—everything. And make sure Alexander doesn’t meet her. Do you understand?” Dr. Bramble nodded quickly, his discomfort evident, but I didn’t care. As he hurried off, a dark determination settled in my chest. Lauren—or Ava—may have come back from the dead, but I wasn’t about to let her ruin everything I’d built. She wouldn’t get the chance.