Victoria clung to the girl she thought she’d lost forever, her tears soaking into Emma’s torn white lace. The crowd of two hundred guests held their breath, completely mesmerized by the tragic miracle unfolding on the manicured lawn.
But as Victoria buried her face in the bride’s shoulder, Emma’s desperate sobs abruptly stopped.
Her tear-streaked face smoothed into a mask of chilling, deadpan calm. Opening her eyes, Emma looked straight past the weeping matriarch and locked eyes with Adrian.
Beneath the floral arch, the groom didn’t look horrified by the revelation that he was supposedly marrying his sister. His earlier panic vanished. Instead, Adrian simply checked his Rolex, then gave Emma a slow, approving nod.
Emma stroked Victoria’s trembling back. “Oh, Mother,” she cried aloud for the audience. Then, dropping her voice to a lethal, icy whisper meant only for Victoria, she added, “I’m not your baby.”
Victoria stiffened, the blood draining from her face. She tried to recoil, but Emma’s fingers clamped onto her spine like iron, pinning the older woman in the embrace.
“It took a scalpel to fake this scar, and three months to source a replica pendant,” Emma hissed, her lips brushing Victoria’s ear. “But it took Adrian five years to figure out his little sister was never actually kidnapped.”
Victoria began to violently tremble, letting out a suffocated gasp.
“We know it was you,” Emma whispered, smiling brightly for the flashing cameras. “We know what you buried under the estate’s rose garden twenty-two years ago. Now, you’re going to stand up, dry your tears, and sign the entire Ashford trust over to me. Or the police bring the dogs.”
Adrian stepped forward, flashing a cold, predatory grin. “Come on, Mom,” he said softly. “Let’s finish the wedding.”