The Double ( or More ?) Life of The Fake Heiress

James watched Mirabella’s retreating figure, a proud little spitfire if he ever saw one. It took a moment before a chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head in bemusement.

Piloting the car up front, Wyatt glanced in the rearview mirror at his boss, who seemed totally unfazed by the apparent snub. He questioned himself yet again. Was this really James? It felt like a switcheroo.

“Drive,” James said, his tone languid and ice–cold, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor.

Wyatt was stunned. No, his boss was still the same.

As Wyatt revved the engine, he couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the old wooden box in James‘ grasp, his curiosity piqued. “That box looks ancient. What’s in it?”

James lowered his gaze to the box, which seemed to be crafted from mahogany with ornate carvings that suggested its age. The comers were worn smooth, and the color deepened, which indeed made it look quite vintage, like a relic from another time. A particular symbol etched on the box seemed vaguely familiar to James as if he had seen it somewhere before.

He pondered for a moment and toyed with the latch but ultimately didn’t open the box. Instead, he placed it beside him and turned to look out the window before saying offhandedly. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

Wyatt remained silent. Could Mirabella be someone with extraordinary talents?

Around half an hour later, they pulled up to Catherine’s apartment complex.

“I can take it up for you.” Wyatt offered as he killed the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt.

James glanced at the wooden box. “No, I’ll go. Wait for me here.”

Wyatt looked surprised but nodded. “Be careful.”

James arched an eyebrow. “You worry too much.” ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

With

the box in hand, he exited the car, leaving Wyatt to rub his nose. Old habits die hard, after all.

Riding the elevator up. James soon rang Catherine’s doorbell.

A couple of minutes later, the inner door swung open, and as Catherine recognized who stood outside, she hurriedly unlocked the security door. “James, dear, you’ve come!”

James greeted her with a cordial smile. “Hello, Granny. How are you?”

“Come in, come in,” she urged, finding him a clean pair of slippers from the shoe cabinet. “What brings you by today? No classes?”

Slipping into the slippers, James followed behind her, his volce genteel. “I had the afternoon off and thought I’d swing by to check on you.”

Once in the living room, James looked around before handing over the wooden box. “Granny, this is something Mirabella asked me to bring you.”

Catherine was about to offer James a glass of water when she heard his words. Her hand trembled, the glass slipped and crashed to the floor, shards and water scattering everywhere.

“Careful, Granny,” James quickly sald, putting the box on a side table.

As he reached out to aid her to the sofa and was about to tend to the broken glass, Catherine’s hand shot out, gripping his arm. Her face had turned pale, and her lips quivered. It took her a moment to stammer out a complete sentence. “Mira does she not wish to visit me anymore?”

James, taken aback by Catherine’s distress, paused.