Forgotten Daughter, Unforgettable Comeback

Lilah Walsh had just returned from the countryside when a bucket of cold water drenched her before she could even step through the door.

For an instant, instinct urged her to fight back—but a sharp, disdainful voice cut through first. "Who knows what kind of germs you picked up out there? Since you're already soaked, you might as well wash up and get examined before setting foot inside."

Lilah's gaze hardened as it landed on Lachlan Walsh—her father, the man who had discarded her like unwanted baggage years ago.

Ignoring the startled servants rushing to restrain her, Lilah strode into the living room, water dripping from her hair and clothes. Without hesitation, she seized a glass from the table and flung its contents squarely at the maid who had drenched her. "Better to be physically sick than rotten to the core," she muttered evenly as she fixed her gaze on Lachlan, her voice cold enough to still the room.

Years back, Lilah's mother—Lachlan's first wife—had become seriously ill and eventually died after giving birth to Lilah. Within weeks, Lachlan had sent the infant Lilah to her grandmother's remote village and married his longtime mistress, the secretary who had warmed his bed for years.

For eighteen long years, not once had Lachlan bothered to visit Lilah.

Not long ago, after suffering serious injuries during her last mission, Lilah had been left with lingering complications. Her grandmother, believing Lilah's condition to be terminal, had reluctantly contacted Lachlan to send Lilah to his side for proper treatment.

Accepting that her days might be numbered, Lilah had agreed to return—partly to ease her grandmother's concern, and partly to make Lachlan answer for his past cruelty.

The weight of Lilah's gaze made Lachlan stiffen, a pulse of indignation tightening his features. He'd already confirmed with the doctor that Lilah's condition was terminal—half a month left at best. That was the only reason he'd caved to the old woman's plea. Yet, two full weeks had passed, and Lilah was not only alive but standing there, very much defiant.

Lachlan had agreed to bring Lilah back solely for the shares her grandmother still controlled, but the thought of Lilah's illness made his skin crawl. What if she were contagious? He'd counted on Lilah having the sense to refuse moving in, to spare them all the discomfort—but she hadn't.

Lachlan drew a breath to speak, his expression darkening like a gathering storm. But before he could say a word, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Watch your damn mouth! You should be grateful Dad even agreed to take you back!"

The interruption drew Lilah's gaze toward the staircase, where Elissa Walsh descended in a flurry of perfume and polished heels, every inch of her perfectly put together.

Elissa was Lachlan's younger daughter—his mistress's child—born only three months after Lilah.

Elissa sauntered up and looped her arm through Lachlan's with practiced sweetness. "Country bumpkins really don't know how to behave, do they?"

Lilah's lips curved in a smile brittle as glass. "You're right. I could never match your refinement—especially since I grew up without a father to teach me proper manners."

"Both of you, enough!" Lachlan barked, his patience snapping. "Stop bickering. This house is chaotic enough without your nonsense." His glare shifted to Lilah. "You're the older one here. Would it kill you to be nicer to your younger sister and hold your tongue for once?"

"Yeah." Lilah's casual answer shut Lachlan up, leaving a tight frustration at the corners of his mouth. "Look, I have my—condition, remember? I can't be expected to put up with other people's nonsense."

Lachlan appeared to be on the verge of exploding. After a while, he hissed, "You're going to the hospital tomorrow. I'll arrange another psychiatric evaluation. You clearly need a more thorough assessment."

"Dad," Elissa whined, clinging to his arm and trying to drive Lilah out, "I was scared of being infected!"

He kept his temper tucked away and soothed Elissa with indulgent, practiced patience. Turning toward Lilah, he stated firmly, "Until the examination is finished, you'll stay in the room beside the garden. Behave yourself if you want to stay in this house."

Lilah gave a small, unbothered smirk and followed the servant without answering.

From behind her, Elissa's shrill voice carried after her. "That room is Dillon's studio! He loses it when anyone touches his things. Sleep there if you must, but don't lay a finger on anything! And the one next door is Frank's storage room. Every item in there is worth a fortune. Lay a hand on anything, and you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

"Elissa Walsh." Lilah's voice cut through the air like a blade.

Elissa stopped short, wariness flickering in her eyes. "What?"

A gleam of cold amusement curved Lilah's lips as her gaze pinned Elissa in place. "Keep yapping, and I'll move into your room instead."

Under the weight of mixed fury and dread, Elissa's expression crumpled.

Lilah looked delighted with Elissa's reaction, her tone languid yet laced with quiet cruelty. "You're barely three months younger than me. My mother was still alive when you were born. That makes you living proof of Lachlan's unfaithfulness during his marriage. And you dare to talk to me like that?"

Elissa stood rooted to the spot before breaking down in sobs.

Unbothered, Lilah slung her bag over her shoulder and strolled toward the room.

Once inside, she shut the door and let the quiet settle around her. Pulling out her phone, she scrolled through a few unread messages, replying to each in turn. She had just set the device aside when it began to ring.

A high-pitched wail came through the speaker. "Took you long enough! I was losing my mind thinking you'd disappeared for good!"

Lilah instinctively pulled the phone away, letting the hysterics play out until the sobbing on the other end dwindled. Only then did she bring the phone back to her ear. "You done wailing yet? If you don't have anything important to say, I'm hanging up."

"Wait, wait! I actually have something important!"

"Then spit it out."

"I just heard the bastard who ambushed you didn't die after all. He's seriously injured—and he's hunting down the miracle doctor, Panacea."

Lilah's gaze hardened as she remarked, "Darn. Tough bastard. Still kicking after all that."

Half a year ago, Lilah had clashed with Blackhawk on the open water—a brutal fight that ended with her putting two bullets straight into his vitals. She'd been certain he wouldn't crawl out of that. Yet somehow, he had.

She hadn't fared much better. The blast had left shrapnel buried deep in her skull and a wound that never truly healed, which was why her grandmother had mistaken it for a terminal illness.

Before Lilah could respond, a piercing ache ripped through her head. Her fingers twitched, the phone nearly slipping from her grasp as her body refused to obey her will.