cian Cross

phina through the night,

to the kitchen and stared at the untouched dinner meant for two. It even followed her upstairs,

e y

t defending him to anyone who whispered she married into the Cross family for their wealth

wondering if she'd been the onl

ght up in the moment. Her wedding dress spilled around her, hand resting on Lucian

ace. Was he happy? Or had

rned white, gri

this question, because no ans

life for the last five years-was built on a lie. But if he'd

ed it downstairs, setting it on the dining table-

ing and end of her marria

out everything from when things still felt new-old invitations, pictures, birthday cards, notes, random receipts, even tha

hey became

was originally planned for six months later. She remembered Lucian's father

uld tell your father I'm not running away." He'd just said,

hy had Alistair Cro

r engagement party. Everyone smiled for the camera, except Alistai

mother. Not the simple, polite curiosities. He'd pressed for specifics-where she'd grown up, who her parents

ian wanted to know her better. But

heir marriage. Lucian asking, "Does you

ments?" sh

om before yo

"She never ke

Just curious. And sh

he cou

table. "Why were you asking?"

nto three boxes after her death. Seraphina never opened

s, letters, photographs, a little silver pendant. Most of it was u

own signature at the bottom. She remembered signing it-Lucian insisted it was just some form

read ev

hrough: Any financial interest or inherited property connected to the

fam

gnature on some document a

of the pages with her

the way Alistair Cross watched her from the shadows. Once, Vivienne-her old friend-had said, "There's

divorce, she wanted him there. Not to beg him to come back-she wante

d ignoring it, but when she glanc

her mother's

ngs about your mother's past I

She typed back: What does t

anded almos

ryt

ood ra

r message c

this with anyone from the C

lls close in. Whatever this secret was,

phs. Most were ordinary-her mother gardening, standing by an old ca

d one she'd nev

edges. Her mother was young-in her la

ss stood acr

r mother looked furious. Alistair was stone-faced. They weren't smili

mother's handwriting: He came back

a's hand

years ago. The year

ld photograph to the weddi

Cross-Lucian's father-long bef

those years, had L

tting her body collapse i

ifted. It wasn't just, Why did L

s family wa

something back then, why had Luc

thought she was Lucian's wife. Maybe, she was nothing but a pawn. And whatever the

, slicing thro

an C

name, debating. Th

, Lucian?" she said,

t sound surprised or confused-just sil

a, whatever you found-don't go d

ened around th

ind out what happened twenty-five years ago, you

ne wen

r. She looked down at the old photograph-her mother

t just know about the se

ing afraid. She was goin