The guests erupted into chaotic whispers, cell phones instantly raised to record the unbelievable spectacle. Adrian staggered backward, his face entirely drained of blood as he stared horrified at the woman he had almost married.
“We’re… siblings?” he choked out, dropping the velvet ring box onto the manicured grass.
Victoria didn’t hear him. She was sobbing uncontrollably, clutching Emma on the ground as if letting go would make her vanish into the past all over again. “My baby,” she wept, her manicured fingers trembling against Emma’s torn lace. “I’ll never let you go. Everything I have is yours.”
Buried in Victoria’s shoulder, Emma’s violent weeping began to subside.
The guests’ cameras couldn’t capture the subtle shift in the bride’s face. But if anyone had been standing close enough, they would have seen her terrified, trembling eyes freeze into a look of absolute, chilling calculation.
Emma slowly opened her eyes and looked past her new “mother’s” shaking frame, catching the gaze of a man standing quietly at the edge of the floral arch. He gave a microscopic nod. He was a master forger—the same man who had flawlessly replicated the silver starfish pendant three months ago. The same man who had carefully carved the X-shaped scar into Emma’s chest using a leaked, twenty-two-year-old police report.
Marrying Adrian would have meant surviving an ironclad prenup and Victoria’s daily, vicious meddling. But a long-lost daughter? A biological child is entitled to a guaranteed, uncontestable half of the billion-dollar Ashford estate. Husbands can divorce you. Blood is forever.
Emma squeezed her eyes shut, summoning a fresh wave of perfectly timed tears. She hugged the old woman tighter, a razor-sharp smile curling against Victoria’s shoulder.
“I’m home, Mother,” Emma whispered, her voice trembling with flawless emotion. “I’m finally home.”