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Chapter_259
Whitney’s pulse pounded in her ears as she raced down the corridor, clutching Daniel—her Daniel—close to her chest. Every breath felt like a battle between panic and resolve. The encounter by the pond had shaken her to her core. Nothing about the boy she held made sense. He looked like her son, but his behavior, his words… he felt like a stranger.
“Mommy, hurry!” the boy whispered, his voice urgent and far too composed for a child his age. “The bodyguards are close. We need to move faster!”
Whitney’s feet faltered for half a beat at the word Mommy. It sounded right. It felt right. But the tone, the cool efficiency—it wasn’t Daniel. Not the sweet, curious boy she remembered. And yet… here he was, guiding her with ease through unfamiliar corridors, his hand gripping hers as if he were the adult.
They veered sharply into a side passage.
“This way,” the boy instructed, tugging her into a narrow hallway dimly lit and tight. His grip was firm, purposeful.
Behind them, the echo of heavy footsteps closed in.
Meanwhile, not far from their position, another little boy stood frozen in confusion—Samuel Valentine, the real heir, now called Sammy. He blinked up at the approaching bodyguard with furrowed brows.
“I’m not the young master,” he snapped, a twinge of fear sharpening his voice.
The bodyguard, flustered and visibly sweating, crouched down and spoke in a low, urgent whisper. “Please don’t do this, young master. We’ve been searching for you. Your father—Mr. Lippert—is worried sick.”
“I said I’m not him! I’m Daniel!” Sammy insisted, yanking his arm free.
But before the guard could press again, Sammy’s gaze darted past him. Further down the hall, he spotted her—Whitney. That familiar face he’d seen in so many photos on her phone, the woman he’d instinctively called Mommy even before he was sure.
“Mommy!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion.
The guard whipped around just in time to see Whitney and another child disappearing down the corridor. His eyes widened.
“Boss, we’ve got eyes on the young master! He’s heading west side!”
The comm crackled in his earpiece as he gave chase.
Sammy didn’t wait. He ran toward Whitney as fast as his legs could carry him. Confusion still clouded his mind—why was she running? Why had she called him Sammy earlier when he was Daniel? Nothing made sense. But he knew she was his mother. He felt it.
Whitney paused at the sound of the child’s voice, her breath catching. She turned just in time to see Sammy running toward her.
Wait… another Daniel?
She froze, torn between the two boys—the one in her arms, and the one calling her name.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears.
Before she could speak, the boy in her arms stiffened. “Put me down,” he said coldly. “I’m not your baby.”
Whitney stared at him in shock. The words pierced her like a dagger.
A beat later, another voice rang out.
“Stop right there!”
Her body turned instinctively toward the voice she knew all too well—Ludwik.
He emerged from the shadows like a phantom, flanked by a swarm of bodyguards. His expression was thunderclouds and betrayal, his eyes burning with restrained fury.
“Well, well,” Ludwik drawled, his tone icy. “This must be your new game, Whitney. Pretending to be the boy’s mother? Kidnapping my son right under my nose?”
Whitney stood tall, Daniel still in her arms. The weight of his rejection moments ago hadn’t lessened her resolve, only sharpened it.
“No,” she said, her voice steady. “This isn’t a game. I’m protecting my son.”
Ludwik’s mouth twitched with contempt. “Protecting him? From me?”
His gaze fell on Sammy, now clutching her coat, eyes wide and fearful.
“Tell me, Whitney,” Ludwik continued, stepping closer. “Which one is yours? Or are you just collecting children now?”
Whitney’s breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. “I’m telling you the truth, Ludwik. I never gave him up. You did.”
That struck a nerve. Ludwik’s expression darkened, jaw tightening as the unspoken past surged between them.
Meanwhile, the boy in her arms—Daniel—turned to her once more, something shifting in his gaze.
“Is she really my mother?” he asked softly, this time more to himself than anyone else.
The question hung in the air like a loaded gun.
Whitney felt her knees weaken. She looked between the two boys, both with matching features, both born of the same nightmare.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Yes, I am.”
But even she wasn’t sure which child she was saying it to.
