Kat continues, directing her attention to me. “I suppose I should formally introduce myself—or reintroduce myself,as it were.” A saccharine smile lifts her cheeks. “I was born Ekaterina Volkov,” she says, pausing a beat. When she doesn’t seem to get the reaction she’s looking for out of me, she continues. “But you might know me better as Valeria Thomas.”
My heart stutters. Valeria Thomas is my mother’s name. I must have misheard. “No.” I shake my head as shock, doubt, and confusion spin in a perfect storm in my mind. “No way.”
“First—would you like some tea? I always feel that tea or champagne help a tough conversation go down a little more smoothly.”
I nod, my gaze slicing across the room to linger on the glossy parquet floors. Every cell in my body is vibrating with anxious energy. The urge to turn and run for the door is strong, but my desire to hear what else she might say outweighs everything else. “Champagne, please.”
Katcalls for her housemaid. A short woman of Latin descent appears from a room down the hall. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Magda—could you bring a bottle of Moet and three flutes to the sitting room?”
The shorter woman nods, vanishing back into what I assume is the kitchen.
“Come.” Kat waves for Aubrey and me to follow her. We move silently into the sitting room, where the polished parquet floors and rich velvet settees offset a fireplace that is nearly as tall as I am. She gestures for us to settle across from her on one of the sofas. She crosses her legs, folds her hands together and rests them on her knee before Magda returns with a serving tray of champagne and flutes, pouring us each a glass. “Thank you, Magda.”
Kat lifts her glass in a gesture of cheers. “To newfound friends and family.”
I’m hardly able to hold back tears as I swallow the bubbly liquid.
“You must have so many questions,” she begins.
I nod, at a loss for where to even start.
“First, I want you to know that I would never lie to you.” Kat’s smile feels less than authentic, as if she’s trying to manufacture a genuine sentiment. I don’t believe her. In fact, I don’t really have faith that this woman has a genuine or authentic bone in her body. “What I’m about to tell you will be shocking; truth is so much stranger than fiction, don’t you think?” Katsips again and then sets her glass down.
I don’t reply. I don’t want to give this woman any more of me than I have to.
“I want to start by saying I know what you’ve been told.” She holds my gaze for a few long beats. “And none of it is true.” She pauses, waiting for my reaction. When I don’t give her one, she continues, “Your father staged my mental breakdown to discredit me. He paid a psychiatrist a large sum of money to have me declared unfit—a harm to myself and you. As if I would ever hurt my own child.”
“Why would he do that?” I don’t bother to hide the disdain in my tone.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Anger bleeds through her words. She sighs, then makes an effort to explain further. “For starters, if he can discredit me, he doesn't have to pay me a red cent for a divorce. If I simply just... vanish, he’s off the hook for his responsibilities.”
“That sounds like bullshit. The man you’re describing isn’t the man I know, the man who raised me.”
“I understand that it looks that way from your perspective, but the version of events you’ve been fed has been carefully orchestrated, Elyse.”
“Why would I believe you? I don’t even know you,” I say.
“You have to understand—making a problem disappear for a man like him is much easier than following the regular course of events that most people are used to. Having his reputation destroyed with accusations of abuse and infidelity would be far worse for his business and public persona than having a wife who had a psychotic break. The first would encourage mistrust of his decision-making and ability to lead a multimillion dollar business—can you imagine if the gossip columns knewthe truth? He’d struggle to convince investors to give him all the money required to keep his businesses afloat. A crazy wife, on the other hand, elicits sympathy. Add into the mix a young daughter he’s raising on his own and you have a recipe for continued success. People want to invest in a man they like. Your father is a smart man—the smartest I’ve ever met. It’s one of the things I loved most about him in the beginning, and it’s the very thing that destroyed me in the end.”
I don’t say anything. I just sit there in shock. The knowledge that I am related to both of these women is unnerving. Even more so because they knew. They played me. They withheld the truth and manipulated me like a puppet on a string. Resentment surges in me. I can’t help it—I feel betrayed. And I feel like it’s my time to do something about it, but what, I’m not sure. My hands feel tied—but only because I’ve tied them with my own naivete and willingness to place trust in people I never really knew.
“What are you thinking?” Kat interrupts my thoughts.
I swallow my resentment, as I try to put into words what I’m feeling. “I don’t know what to say, to be honest.”
“That’s to be expected, I suppose.” Kat’s expression is sober.
Aubrey clears her throat, gaze hanging on Kat’s before she turns to me, a look of empathy on her face as she takes in my silence. “I think you should know something else...” she begins. “Your mother—Kat—” she gestures to the woman across from us, “she founded The Society. She’s the driving force behind our mission. In the years I’ve known her”—my eyes widen with Aubrey’s admission that she’s known my mother far longer than she previously let on—“She’s always been an advocate for women, but after our father managed to have her committed to a psychiatric facility—after he tried to obliterate her and removeher from society, take her life from her to protect his own selfish interests—she made it official. Remember I told you that my mom was an intern when your father raped her?”
I nod.
“She was an intern at Greystone Psychiatric. After Daniel Thomas raped her she helped your mother escape. That’s why my mom lost her job—helping your mom. She knew your mom wasn’t crazy—my mom had been raped by your mom’s husband so she knew he was a predator capable of anything.” Aubrey’s features are tight, controlled. “When your mom left Greystone Psychiatric, she started The Society. She took back her power and went from a fragile victim to a sharp, calculating woman.”
I glance from Aubrey to the woman who claims to be my mother. I have no words for all I’ve been told in the last hour. My world has shifted on its axis. My life has always been simple and straightforward, but now I wonder if I was merely a victim of a fantasy that was told to me. My sense of safety was fabricated. My perspective begins to shift as I realize my mother—if she is who she claims to be—turned her victimhood into something shrewd and dangerous. She became a woman capable of ending the lives of men.
“How do I know what you’re saying is real and not just more lies?” I finally ask her.
