Inside, Vivian Crowell moved through the crowd like a monarch surveying her kingdom. Her silver gown shimmered under crystal chandeliers, and her smile carried the assurance of someone who believed control was permanent.
“I want everything flawless,” she said to a nearby planner. “Nothing unpredictable.”
Her satisfaction did not last long.
The doors opened, and the room shifted. I walked in holding Maxwell’s hand, with Isaac close on my other side. Their tailored suits matched in understated elegance, and their expressions were calm but curious. Conversations stalled. Heads turned. Recognition rippled outward like a wave.
Ronan stood near the altar, adjusting his cufflinks, until his gaze met mine.
Color drained from his face.
His eyes dropped to the boys, and I saw the moment when memory collided with reality. The resemblance was undeniable. The same sharp gaze. The same thoughtful stillness. The same inherited presence that no amount of money could disguise.
Vivian’s glass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the marble floor.
I stopped several rows from the front, meeting her stare with unwavering composure.