Chapter 2 - THE SILVER BRACELET
The chair scraped loudly against the marble floor.
I didn't have to look to know who had stood up. The collective gasp from the thirty-six guests was enough.
Lily stood frozen in her black-and-white maid's uniform, her hands trembling as she clutched the edge of the serving cart.
Vanessa Laurent’s eyes darted from me to the young woman. Her perfect, cruel smile vanished.
“Her?” Vanessa let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “You abandoned your post for a housekeeper? Adrian, this is absurd. He’s trying to protect a servant by inventing a fairy tale.”
Adrian Moretti didn't laugh. He stared at Lily, his dark eyes narrowing as he tried to piece together the fragments of an eighteen-year-old mystery.
“Frank,” Adrian said, his voice dangerously low. “Is this true?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, keeping my posture straight despite the ache in my knees. “Lily is the child I took to the shelter that night.”
Lily took a hesitant step forward. “Mr. Sullivan... I don't understand. My mother told me we ran from a bad man. She never told me who saved us.”
“Your mother was a brave woman, Lily,” I said softly.
Vanessa slammed her hands on the table. “This is a pathetic distraction! Adrian, he’s lying. Where is the proof? Where is the documentation?”
“I don't have documentation,” I said.
I reached into the inner pocket of my tailored suit jacket. My fingers brushed against the cold metal I had carried for nearly two decades.
“But I do have this.”
I placed a tarnished silver bracelet on the table next to my discarded medal. It was delicate, engraved with a pattern of intertwined roses.
Lily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “That’s my mother’s. She cried when she realized she lost it that night.”
Adrian stepped closer to the table, his eyes locked on the silver jewelry. The color drained from his face.
He didn't just recognize the bracelet. He looked terrified of it.
“Answer me, Frank,” Adrian whispered, his voice shaking. “Where did that woman get this bracelet?”
Vanessa scoffed. “Probably stole it.”
“No,” Adrian snapped, silencing his fiancée instantly. He picked up the silver band, tracing the roses with his thumb.
“My father had this custom-made in Italy,” Adrian said, looking up at me. “He gave it to my older sister, Elena. The night before she supposedly died in a car crash.”
The room erupted into frantic whispers.
Elena Moretti. The tragic loss of the Moretti family.
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But I looked Adrian dead in the eye.
“Elena didn't die in a car crash, sir,” I said. “She was the woman in my car.”
