Chapter 3: The Call From the Man Who Buried Me Alive
Adrian went completely still.
I felt his hand tighten around mine.
Vincent continued speaking.
"I hear you've found a homeless girl with very interesting hair.""
Adrian leaned toward the phone.
"How do you know about her?""
"Because, nephew, people talk. Especially when you spend ninety thousand dollars in one morning.""
Adrian's expression hardened.
"Who is she?""
Vincent chuckled.
"That's an interesting question.""
"Answer me.""
"Before you start calling that girl your sister, there's something you should know.""
I looked at Adrian.
His face had become frighteningly calm.
"What?"" he demanded.
Vincent's voice dropped.
"Your mother didn't die twenty years ago.""
Adrian stumbled backward.
The photograph slipped from his hand and landed on the floor.
"What did you say?""
"Your mother is alive.""
"No.""
"Yes, Adrian.""
"She died in a car accident.""
"That's what you were told.""
Adrian's face twisted with disbelief.
"Who told me that?""
"Your father.""
For several seconds, the only sound in the salon was the soft hum of the air conditioning.
Adrian looked at Marco.
"Find out where my mother is.""
Vincent laughed again.
"You're still not listening. She's the one who paid me to make Isabella disappear.""
My stomach dropped.
Adrian's voice became dangerously quiet.
"You're lying.""
"Am I? Ask Wren about the gold necklace she's wearing.""
I instinctively grabbed the small pendant beneath my sweater.
Adrian turned toward me.
I stepped back.
He noticed.
"You're wearing a necklace?""
I nodded.
"Yes.""
"Can I see it?""
I hesitated.
For ten years, I had never taken it off.
It was the only possession I'd carried from my childhood.
The chain was thin and slightly tarnished. The pendant was a tiny gold locket shaped like a heart.
I'd found it around my neck after waking up in a hospital.
I didn't remember who had put it there.
But I remembered a voice telling me to protect it.
"Don't let anyone take this from you, Bella.""
I'd held onto it through shelters, abandoned buildings, subway stations, and freezing winters.
Sometimes I'd sold food to buy a replacement clasp when the chain broke.
I couldn't explain why it mattered so much.
It simply did.
I slowly pulled it over my head.
Adrian stared at it.
"Where did you get that?""
"I've had it since I was little.""
He reached toward it but stopped himself.
"May I?""
I placed it in his palm.
His fingers trembled.
There was a tiny engraving on the back.
A letter I had never understood.
I.
Adrian turned the pendant over.
"Isabella.""
He whispered the name.
Then he pressed a hidden catch.
The locket opened.
Inside was a miniature photograph of a woman with dark hair and green eyes.
The woman was holding a baby.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
To my little moon. No matter where life takes you, Mommy will always find you.
Adrian stared at the photograph.
His lips parted.
"That's my mother.""
I looked closer.
The woman in the photograph was the same woman who appeared in my oldest memory.
The woman standing beside a white staircase.
The woman whose face I had spent ten years trying to remember.
My knees weakened.
"Why would I have her photograph?""
Vincent answered through the phone.
"Because your mother wanted you to have it.""
Adrian grabbed the phone.
"Where is she?""
"Somewhere safe.""
"Give me an address.""
Vincent laughed.
"You're making the same mistake your father made. You think you can solve everything by shouting orders.""
Adrian slammed his palm against the table.
"WHERE IS MY MOTHER?""
"Ask Wren to look inside the locket again.""
I turned it over.
There was something beneath the photograph.
A tiny folded piece of paper.
I carefully removed it.
My fingers were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped it.
The paper contained a handwritten message.
If Isabella is ever found, tell her the truth about the night of the fire. Her mother didn't abandon her. Someone took her before the flames reached the nursery.
I looked up.
Adrian was staring at me.
"Who wrote that?""
"I don't know.""
Marco took the paper and examined it.
"Sir, there's a second line.""
He held it closer to the light.
A name had been written beneath the message.
*ELENA WHITMORE.*
Adrian's mother.
Then I noticed something else.
A small date.
October 14.
The exact date I'd been told I was found outside a hospital.
I looked at Adrian.
"That's the day I woke up.""
He took my shoulders.
"Wren, listen to me. Did anyone ever visit you when you were a child? Someone who called you by another name?""
I closed my eyes.
A hospital corridor.
White curtains.
A woman crying.
A nurse whispering.
And a man standing near the doorway.
"Yes.""
Adrian leaned closer.
"Who?""
"I remember a woman.""
"What did she look like?""
"Dark hair. Green eyes. She was crying.""
"Did she say anything?""
I swallowed.
"She told me she was sorry.""
Adrian's expression crumbled.
"What else?""
I opened my eyes.
"She said, 'One day, your brother will come for you.''"
Adrian stepped away.
For the first time since I'd met him, the feared billionaire looked like a frightened seventeen-year-old boy who had just discovered his sister might still be alive.
He covered his face.
I reached for him.
"I'm here.""
He lowered his hands.
Then his phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.
*STOP SEARCHING FOR ELENA. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SHE DID.*
A second message arrived.
It contained a photograph.
An old photograph of a woman standing outside a stone mansion.
The Whitmore estate.
The woman was holding a little girl by the hand.
The girl had long brown hair.
And behind her left ear was the crescent-shaped birthmark.
Adrian zoomed in.
Then he looked at the timestamp.
The photograph had been taken eleven years ago.
One year after the fire.
My heart began pounding.
"Adrian...""
He didn't respond.
He was staring at the woman beside the little girl.
Because the woman wasn't a stranger.
She was Elena Kane.
His supposedly dead mother.
And the little girl wasn't me.
It was another child.
A girl who looked exactly like me.
Then Marco noticed the final detail.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a message in red ink:
The wrong daughter was buried. The right one is still living with me.
Adrian slowly raised his eyes.
"How many daughters did my mother have?""
Before anyone could answer, the salon's front doors opened.
An elderly woman entered.
She wore a black coat, carried a silver walking cane, and had the same green eyes as the woman in the photograph.
She looked directly at me.
Her lips trembled.
Then she whispered:
"Isabella?""
Adrian turned around.
"Mother?""
The woman began to cry.
But instead of running toward us, she looked over her shoulder at the two men standing outside.
May you like
And screamed:
"GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!""
