Chapter 2 - THE VIDEO
I pressed play.
The screen of my phone lit up my dark kitchen.
There was the conservatory, glowing with string lights and white roses. There was the dessert table. And there was Jessamine.
She was standing perfectly still. No slipping. No stumbling over her high heels.
She set her champagne coupe down with deliberate care.
Then, she leaned slightly forward.
“Let’s see how special she feels after this,” Jessamine whispered.
Then she placed both hands on the chocolate fountain and shoved.
The crash on the video sounded even more violent than I remembered. But it wasn’t the crash that made my breath catch in my throat. It was what happened right before she spoke.
I paused the video and dragged the progress bar backward.
I played it again.
And again.
Jessamine hadn’t been talking to herself.
She was holding her phone in her left hand, tilted upward. The screen was illuminated. She was on a video call.
I zoomed in on the reflection in the glass window directly behind her. The image was grainy, but the brightness of her phone screen cast a clear reflection against the dark night outside.
I could see the face of the person she was talking to.
It wasn't a friend from her hometown. It wasn't her mother.
It was a man.
A man wearing a distinctive, heavy gold signet ring on his index finger.
My stomach plummeted.
I knew that ring. I had bought it.
It belonged to my son, Emory.
My mind spun in a hundred different directions. Emory had been standing across the room when the fountain fell. I remembered him rushing forward, yelling at me to stop when I pushed the cake into Jessamine’s face. He had looked shocked. Angry.
But if Emory was on a video call with his wife right before she destroyed his sister’s engagement party... what did that mean?
Did he know what she was going to do?
Was my son, the boy I had raised to protect his sister, part of this?
I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. Emory loved Verity. He had helped her fiancé, Mark, pick out the engagement ring.
I needed to see the ring on the video again. I zoomed in further, squinting at the pixels.
That was when the first reversal hit me.
It wasn't a live video call.
Jessamine was watching a pre-recorded video.
The man on the screen—my son—was moving, speaking, but the lighting on his face was daylight. The party was at night. Jessamine was watching a video of Emory right before she pushed the fountain.
Why?
What was he saying in that video that made her look up with such cold, calculated fury and destroy Verity's night?
I tapped the screen to text Simone.
“Simone. Thank you. Do not send this to anyone else. I am handling it.”
I didn't sleep. At 7:00 AM, I got dressed and drove straight to Emory and Jessamine’s house.
I didn't call ahead.
Emory opened the door. He looked exhausted, rubbing his eyes in his bathrobe.
“Mom?” He frowned. “What are you doing here? I told you yesterday I needed space.”
“I didn't come to argue, Emory. I came to apologize.”
He blinked, surprised. He opened the door wider, letting me into the foyer.
“Jessamine is still asleep,” he said quietly, leading me to the kitchen. “She was up half the night crying. The cake icing caused a rash on her cheeks.”
I bit my tongue. I kept my face entirely neutral.
“I lost my temper,” I said smoothly. “I shouldn't have put my hands on her.”
Emory poured two cups of coffee. His shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Thank you, Mom. That means a lot. She really did just trip.”
I looked at his hands as he handed me a mug.
The gold signet ring was on his right index finger.
“Emory,” I said, taking a sip of the hot coffee. “Can I ask you something about yesterday afternoon? Before the party started.”
He leaned against the counter. “Sure.”
“Did you and Jessamine have a fight?”
His posture stiffened immediately. He looked away, his eyes darting toward the hallway that led to their master bedroom.
“No. Why would you ask that?”
“Because she arrived twenty minutes late,” I said carefully. “And she seemed very tense.”
Emory exhaled a long breath. He rubbed the back of his neck, right above the collar of his robe.
“We didn't fight,” he said. “But we did have a serious conversation.”
“About what?”
He looked at me, his expression caught between guilt and defiance.
“About the inheritance, Mom.”
I froze.
My husband had passed away five years ago. He had left a modest estate, divided equally between Emory and Verity, held in a trust until they turned thirty or got married. Emory had received his portion when he married Jessamine. Verity was due to receive hers once she married Mark.
“What about Verity's inheritance?” I asked.
“Jessamine found some paperwork,” Emory said, lowering his voice. “She saw the trust documents. She realized Dad left Verity the lake cabin.”
My heart hammered.
The lake cabin wasn't just property. It was the place Verity had spent every summer. Emory had never cared for it; he hated the outdoors. My husband had specifically deeded it to Verity, while Emory received the equivalent value in stocks.
“And?” I pushed.
“And Jessamine feels it’s unfair. She thinks real estate appreciates faster than the portfolio I got. She asked me to talk to Verity about selling it and splitting the cash.”
“And what did you tell her, Emory?”
He looked me dead in the eye.
“I told her absolutely not. It belongs to Verity. I recorded a quick video message for her while she was getting dressed for the party, telling her to drop it completely and put on a happy face for my sister.”
The pieces slammed together.
Jessamine hadn't been watching a video of Emory plotting with her.
She was watching him tell her no.
She had destroyed Verity’s fountain not just out of jealousy over the party, but because she was furious that Verity possessed something she couldn't touch.
“I see,” I said quietly.
I set my coffee mug down. I was about to show him Simone's video when a sound stopped me.
Footsteps on the hardwood floor.
Jessamine walked into the kitchen.
She was wearing a silk robe. There was no rash on her face. Her skin was perfectly clear.
She stopped when she saw me, her eyes narrowing.
But it wasn't her face I was looking at.
It was her neck.
Resting against her collarbone, catching the morning light, was a delicate, vintage pearl necklace.
I stopped breathing.
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That necklace belonged to my late mother. I had given it to Verity on her eighteenth birthday. She had been searching for it for three weeks, heartbroken because she thought she had lost it.
And now it was around Jessamine’s neck.
