The Lost Heiress: Loved By Three

A room of my own

(Avery)

The heavy front door closed behind me with a soft thud that reverberated through the enormous Blake estate. I swallowed hard and looked around, my eyes struggling to take in the opulence that seemed to mock everything I'd known just hours ago. Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings, walls lined with glossy portraits of people I didn't recognize but who were somehow part of my story now.

Mrs. Blake took my hand gently, leading me down a long hallway. My heart pounded so loud I was sure they could hear it. The house was warm, unlike the sterile orphanage dorms where I had spent the last seventeen years. Here, every surface shined, and the scent of fresh flowers and leather bound books drifted in the air.

"Your room is this way," Mrs. Blake said softly, her voice like a lullaby I never knew I needed. "We kept it ready for you all these years."

The door opened on a space so different from my room at Prestwick since it's a boarding school. Luckily for me, my scholarship covered all living expenses.

I had to blink several times. Sunlight poured in through tall windows draped with thick velvet curtains, illuminating a bed so large it looked like it belonged in a castle. The sheets were crisp and white, pillows stacked like a mountain.

There was a desk made of dark wood with a fresh stack of notebooks and a brand new laptop waiting for me. A small bookshelf held copies of classics, including a pristine edition of Macbeth that made me smile. A vase of fresh lilies sat on the nightstand, filling the room with a delicate fragrance.

I stepped inside slowly, my fingers trailing over the soft duvet as if touching it would prove this wasn't a dream. I sank onto the edge of the bed, and the silence around me felt unfamiliar but not uncomfortable. I pushed up my thick glasses on my face, feeling their weight as I blinked at the light pouring in.

"This is your room," Mrs. Blake said, closing the door gently behind her. "Yours."

I swallowed again, my throat tight. "It's… beautiful."

"It's your home now," she said, sitting beside me. "I know this is a lot to take in. We want to help you in every way we can."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that this moment wasn't just a cruel trick, some elaborate lie designed to confuse me. But the truth was tangled in a mess of disbelief and hope I didn't know how to unravel.

"I don't know how to be here," I admitted.

Mrs. Blake reached for my hand, squeezing it. "We'll teach you. Step by step."

I looked around again, taking in the ornate gold framed mirror, the soft rug beneath my feet, the delicate paintings on the walls. It was like stepping into a different world. A world I'd never thought I'd be part of.

"Have you eaten?" Mrs. Blake asked gently. "We've prepared something for you downstairs."

The question made my stomach rumble. I realized I hadn't eaten since the library disaster.

"I guess I'm hungry," I said.

She smiled, relief softening her features. "Good. Come with me."

As we walked through the grand hallways toward the dining room, I couldn't stop stealing glances at the art, the antiques, the luxury that surrounded me. Every step felt surreal.

The dining room was just as impressive as the rest of the house. A long mahogany table stretched across the room, set with fine china and gleaming silverware. Crystal glasses sparkled under the light, and a vase of fresh roses stood at the center.

Mr. Blake was already there, looking more relaxed than he had in the library. Beside him sat Elias, his posture rigid and expression unreadable. Mr. Blake stood as we entered, his eyes warm when they met mine, while Elias barely glanced up from his plate.

"We thought you might be hungry," he said, gesturing toward the place set at the head of the table.

I hesitated, then nodded and took the seat. The room was quiet except for the soft clinking of cutlery and the quiet hum of the city beyond the windows.

Mrs. Blake served me first, placing a plate of roast chicken, steamed vegetables, and mashed potatoes in front of me. It was the kind of meal I'd only ever tasted at holiday dinners with foster families.

"This is all so much," I said quietly, my fingers nervously twisting the edge of my napkin.

Mr. Blake smiled gently. "It's understandable. You've been through a lot. We want you to know you're safe here."

Elias cut his chicken with precise movements, his voice flat when he finally spoke. "It's going to take time to adjust to how things work here." His tone suggested he doubted I'd manage it well.

I looked at him, trying to read his expression. "I'm willing to learn."

"Good," he said curtly, not meeting my eyes. "Because there are expectations."

The tension in his words made my stomach tighten, but I nodded anyway.

After a few bites, the door opened quietly and a young boy entered. He looked about fifteen, with the same green eyes that my parents had. His dark hair was messy, and there was a shy smile on his face.

"Avery?" he asked, stepping forward. "Mom said I could come say hi."

I blinked, overwhelmed by the sudden new presence. "Hi."

He hesitated, then held out a hand. "I'm Caleb. Your brother."

I stared at his hand for a moment, then smiled and shook it. "Nice to meet you, Caleb."

The awkwardness between us was real, but beneath it, I felt a strange warmth. I wasn't alone anymore.

He smiled and sat down beside me, stealing a bite of mashed potatoes when no one was looking.

"I've been waiting a long time for you," he said quietly.

His words caught me off guard. I realized that while I'd spent my life feeling abandoned, Caleb had spent his wondering where I'd been.

I reached out, resting my hand on his arm. "I'm here now."

The conversation flowed easier after that, small exchanges about school and books that felt surprisingly natural. Caleb asked about Prestwick, and I found myself describing the library where everything had changed just hours ago. Mrs. Blake watched us with gentle eyes, occasionally adding a comment or question that drew us both out of our shells. Elias remained mostly silent, his responses clipped when directly addressed.

When I mentioned my love for Shakespeare, Caleb's face lit up. "Mom has this incredible collection upstairs. First editions, signed copies, things I'm not even allowed to touch."

"Probably best to start with the regular copies," Elias interjected coolly. "Those books are worth more than most people make in a year."

The comment stung, but I kept my voice steady. "I understand they're valuable."

"Maybe we can look at them together sometime," I suggested to Caleb, and his grin widened despite the awkward moment.

"Really? That would be amazing. I've been dying to show someone who actually gets it."

The simple exchange felt like the first real connection I'd made in this overwhelming new world. For a moment, the opulence around us faded, and it was just two siblings discovering they had something in common.

Mr. Blake cleared his throat gently. "Perhaps after you've settled in properly, we can give you a full tour of the house. There's quite a bit to see."

I nodded, suddenly aware again of how vast this place was, how many rooms and hallways I hadn't even glimpsed yet. The thought was both exciting and daunting.

"Take your time," Mrs. Blake added softly. "There's no rush to figure everything out at once."