CHAPTER 83: FIND OUT WHAT I AM

Eleanor’s POV

The moment the doctor finished bandaging my leg, I was out of the bed. The dull, throbbing pain was a small price to pay. I couldn’t stay in that sterile room, not knowing if Mira was okay.

I found her room, my heart hammering against my ribs. Pushing the door open slowly, I saw her lying in the bed, pale but breathing steadily. She was asleep. A wave of such profound relief washed over me that my knees felt weak.

I slumped into the chair beside her bed, the events of the day crashing down on me. The rage, the choking, the terror in Mira’s eyes.

I wouldn’t. I couldn’t ever let that power out again. Not until I learned how to control it. The thought of that darkness living inside me, waiting to break free, was terrifying.

I looked down at the white bandage wrapped tightly around my thigh.

Beatrice, I thought, my mental voice weary. Why isn’t this healing? I thought we were supposed to heal fast.

Her response was flat, drained of its usual sharpness. Our emotions affect everything. The rage, the guilt, the panic... it’s like a poison in our blood. It slows everything down. You need to calm down.

A bitter, silent laugh escaped me. Calm down? How could I possibly be calm? It wasn’t an option. It felt like a distant, impossible dream.

I let out a shaky breath, the truth settling over me like a heavy weight. I was going to have to go back on my word. I had to find out where I came from, what I was. The only people who might have any answers... were me parents. A fresh wave of bitterness rose in my throat. Why did I still think of them as my parents? They had never acted like it.

I’d completely forgotten about the race. It was already evening. Roxy, Liam, and Ben would be on the track right now. The thought made me reach for my phone, a desperate need for a distraction.

I looked around, spotting the small TV mounted on the wall. Moving carefully, I grabbed the remote and turned it on, quickly muting the volume so as not to disturb Mira.

The screen flickered to life, showing the Serpent’s Kiss track under the glare of massive stadium lights. Lots of cars were screaming down the straightaway, a blur of color and speed.

Watching the screen, I knew what I had to do. The only chance I had at answers was now, while the chaos I’d caused was still fresh.

I turned back to Mira, still sleeping peacefully. "I’m so sorry," I whispered. "And I’ll understand if you never want to speak to me again after this." The thought was a physical pain in my chest. Mira had been my anchor, the one person who saw my flaws and stayed. She wants me to be better, and i won’t let her down.

Steeling myself, I left the room, the weight of my decision making every step feel heavy. At the hospital entrance, I saw a swarm of reporters.

Panic flared. I quickly asked for a disposable face mask and a cheap hair net, and tucked my hair up. It wasn’t a great disguise, but it would have to do.

I slipped outside, called a taxi, and gave the driver an address I never thought I’d voluntarily return to.

***

The taxi pulled up to the imposing iron gates of the Moore estate. My stomach was a tight knot. The security guard in the booth recognized me, his eyes widening before he quickly schooled his features and buzzed me in without a word, though he gave me a long, strange look. I ignored it and walked up the familiar, hatefully manicured driveway.

I stood at the grand front door, my heart pounding. I knocked.

After a moment, the door was pulled open by Mrs. Cain, the head servant. Her face, usually a mask of pinched superiority, contorted into outright disgust.

"You," she spat, and immediately tried to slam the door in my face.

I was faster. I shoved my foot in the doorway, the impact jarring up my leg, and pushed my way inside.

"How dare you!" she shrieked. "How dare you set foot in this house after the havoc you’ve caused! You have disgraced this family’s name!"

I ignored her tirade, my gaze sweeping the foyer. "Where are Mr. and Mrs. Moore?"

"Who do you think you are?" she hissed, stepping closer. "Is it because you’re a racer now that you think you can act like this?"

I turned and gave her a look so cold I felt the temperature in the room drop. "If you want me to leave quickly, then you will go and tell the Moores that I am here. Now."

She must have seen the absolute, unyielding seriousness in my eyes. She cursed under her breath, shooting me a final, venomous glare before turning on her heel and marching away. The other servants, who had been pretending to dust and polish, quickly found something else to look at.

I didn’t have to wait long as I sat down. I heard them before I saw them—the furious, stomping footsteps of two people who believed they owned the world and everyone in it. Mr. and Mrs. Moore rounded the corner, their faces twisted with pure, unadulterated rage.

"How dare you come here!" my father—no, Mr. Moore—boomed, his voice echoing in the room. "After everything you’ve done! If we hadn’t found another donor for your poor sister’s blood, Priscilla wouldn’t be alive today because of your selfishness!"

I felt nothing. No guilt, no anger. Just a hollow emptiness. If they wanted to remain blind to Priscilla’s endless manipulations, that was their problem. I wouldn’t waste my energy forcing sense into them.

I stood up, my posture straight, my voice calm and clear. "I’m not here to beg or to fight. I’m only here for answers."

"Leave!" he thundered. "What makes you think I would answer any question from you? You disgraced us! You said you were cutting ties! Did you think begging would bring you back?"

A cold, mirthless smile touched my lips. "It’s a pity that’s not why I’m here."

I didn’t give them a warning. I simply focused, and let my claws slide out. The sharp points emerged from my fingertips, glinting under the chandelier’s light.

The effect was instantaneous. Horror wiped the anger from their faces, replacing it with sheer, primal fear. Mrs. Moore stammered, her hand flying to her throat. "W-What... what is this? What’s happening?"

"I believe you know exactly what you’re seeing," I said, my voice flat. "So I’ll cut to the chase. Where did I come from?"

Mr. Moore stumbled back a step, trying and failing to mask his shock. It quickly curdled back into anger, this time laced with a deep, visceral disgust. "I should have known," he spat, his eyes raking over my claws. "I should have known you weren’t like us. Your stupid, defiant attitude from birth kept proving it again and again!"

"This can’t be," Mrs. Moore whispered, her face ashen. "It’s not possible... I couldn’t have given birth to such a... a monster!"

Their reactions told me everything I needed to know. The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and the truth was more liberating than I could have imagined.

"From the way you’re reacting," I said, my voice eerily calm, "it seems you weren’t aware either. So it just means I was switched at birth."

The words were a physical blow. Mrs. Moore’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint. Servants rushed forward from the shadows, crying out in alarm.

As the servants fluttered around his unconscious wife, Mr. Moore stared at me, his face a grotesque mask of terror and revulsion.

I didn’t retract my claws.

"I want the details of the place I was born," I said, my voice cutting through the chaos. "The hospital, the date, everything. I need to find out which family I actually came from."