Victoria clung to Emma on the manicured lawn, her agonizing sobs echoing through the dead-silent crowd of wedding guests. “My daughter,” she wept, her fingers desperately gripping the torn lace of the bride’s dress. “I finally found you.”
“Mother,” Emma cried back, burying her face into Victoria’s neck.
Behind them, Adrian stood frozen, the flawless picture of a bewildered groom who had just realized he almost married his own sister.
But as Victoria closed her eyes, thanking a God she hadn’t prayed to in two decades, the trembling in Emma’s shoulders abruptly stopped. Her tear-streaked face hardened into calculated stillness. Slowly, she opened her eyes, looking over the weeping billionaire’s shoulder to lock gazes with her groom.
Adrian’s mask of shock melted. A chilling, imperceptible smirk crept across his face.
He hadn’t fallen in love with a penniless nobody. He had found a girl ruthless enough to play the ultimate con. The crude “X” scar on Emma’s shoulder wasn’t a childhood tragedy—it was carved by Adrian’s own hunting knife six months ago, perfectly matching the classified police file he’d bribed a detective to acquire. The vintage silver starfish pendant? A flawless black-market replica.
The Ashford family trust was ironclad: if Victoria’s biological daughter ever returned, she would instantly inherit the entire billion-dollar estate, leaving Adrian—the bitterly resented, adopted replacement—with absolutely nothing.
Unless, of course, the prodigal daughter shared everything with him. Victoria’s violent public outburst hadn’t ruined their wedding; it was the exact trap they had masterminded to legitimize Emma’s identity in front of two hundred witnesses.
Emma stroked Victoria’s hair, her voice dripping with artificial warmth. “I’m home now. I’ll never leave you.” Over Victoria’s shaking back, Emma smiled at Adrian as he silently mouthed two words: *We won.*