Orla stared at her mother, blood draining from her face at Eleanor's unexpected question. The silence in the room stretched like a rubber band about to snap.
Lachlan froze mid-stride. "What did you just say?"
"Is Lyra truly not your daughter?" Eleanor repeated, her voice gaining strength. "The way you've always treated her... it's beyond resentment for an illegitimate child. It's as if you despise her very existence."
Colette chose that moment to enter the living room. Her eyes darted between Lachlan and Eleanor, sensing the tension immediately.
"What's going on here?" she demanded, stepping protectively closer to Orla.
Eleanor ignored her, keeping her gaze fixed on her husband. "Answer me, Lachlan."
He recovered quickly, scoffing to mask his discomfort. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course she's mine. Unfortunately."
"Then explain why you hate her so much," Eleanor pressed.
