Chapter 1 · My Rival Wore My Stolen Jewels

There was a crack inside that bangle.

I was seven when I chipped the bangle against the sink while helping Mom with the dishes. She didn't scold me. She said the mark was a good thing. From then on, wherever the bangle ended up, we'd always know it was ours.

So when I spotted it on a stranger's wrist at our company gala, I recognized it immediately, not from the color of the emerald or the design, but from that crack.

The woman was clinking glasses with someone, laughing loudly.

My hands started shaking. Not from anger, but from something else entirely.

I pulled out my phone and called 911.

By the time the police arrived, she was still laughing, wineglass in hand, her burgundy nails perfectly manicured as the emerald bangle caught the ballroom lights.

"What's going on?" she asked when two uniformed officers approached, the smile still on her face.

"We received a report that some of the jewelry you're wearing may have been obtained unlawfully," one officer said.

Her smile froze for a second before she gave another laugh.

"What are you talking about? My boyfriend gave it to me. He went all the way to Aurelia to get it for me."

"We'll need you to cooperate with our investigation."

That was when she finally noticed me standing about ten feet away. She didn't know who I was, but I knew exactly what was on her wrist.

"Who are you?" she asked, looking me up and down.

I didn't answer.

One of the officers turned to me. "You're the one who called, correct? Could you show us the evidence you mentioned?"

I took a photograph out of my bag.

It was Mom's wedding photo from 23 years ago. She was wearing a red dress, and an emerald bangle with a crack on the inside was on her wrist, identical to the one in front of me.

The woman glanced at the photograph, and her expression shifted from confidence to confusion.

"That's impossible. Edward bought this for me."

Edward.

Edward Miller. My husband.

Whispers began spreading through the crowd.

I stood there with my phone still in my hand, the emergency call glowing on the screen.

I wasn't crying, and somehow the trembling had stopped. The hands that had been shaking moments earlier were perfectly steady now.

"That bangle belonged to my mother," I said, my voice calmer than I'd expected. "She died 11 years ago."

The entire ballroom went silent.

The woman opened her mouth but couldn't seem to find anything to say, while my eyes returned to the crack on her wrist, the one I'd made when I was seven.

Mom had called that mark a good thing. She could never have imagined that 23 years later, her bangle would end up on another woman's wrist because the husband I'd chosen had taken it from me.

The woman was taken away to give a statement, and when she looked back at me on her way out, there was no defiance in her expression, only bewilderment. She seemed to have no idea what Edward had done.

But I couldn't spare any thought for her.

I stood in the ballroom surrounded by coworkers, vaguely aware of someone calling my name and someone else handing me water, but their voices barely registered. Only one thought mattered.

There were seven more pieces of Mom's jewelry in the safe at home.

Were they still genuine?

*****

I didn't go home that night.

I sat in the company parking lot for two hours before opening my phone and searching one phrase.

[Emerald jewelry appraisal.]

I didn't send Edward a single message, although he sent me three.

The first read, [Babe, I'm working late tonight. I won't be home for dinner.]

The second was, [How's the gala?]

The third was nothing more than a smiley face.

I stared at that smiley face, then locked my phone.

The winter breeze swept past the car windows, bringing back another November, the month Mom died.

Before she passed, she'd held my hand and said, "Kate, take good care of the things in that wardrobe. I've spent my whole life saving for them."

Edward had tried more times than I could count to convince me to throw out that old, ugly wardrobe, but I'd always refused because it had belonged to Mom.

I ran my fingers over my bare wrist. The police had taken the bangle as evidence, but I still remembered exactly how that crack felt beneath my fingertips.

Chapter 1

There was a crack inside that bangle.

So when I spotted it on a stranger's wrist at our company gala, I recognized it immediately, not from the color of the emerald or the design, but from that crack.

The woman was clinking glasses with someone, laughing loudly.

My hands started shaking. Not from anger, but from something else entirely.

I pulled out my phone and called 911.

By the time the police arrived, she was still laughing, wineglass in hand, her burgundy nails perfectly manicured as the emerald bangle caught the ballroom lights.

"What's going on?" she asked when two uniformed officers approached, the smile still on her face.

"We received a report that some of the jewelry you're wearing may have been obtained unlawfully," one officer said.

Her smile froze for a second before she gave another laugh.

"What are you talking about? My boyfriend gave it to me. He went all the way to Aurelia to get it for me."

"We'll need you to cooperate with our investigation."

That was when she finally noticed me standing about ten feet away. She didn't know who I was, but I knew exactly what was on her wrist.

"Who are you?" she asked, looking me up and down.

I didn't answer.

One of the officers turned to me. "You're the one who called, correct? Could you show us the evidence you mentioned?"

I took a photograph out of my bag.

It was Mom's wedding photo from 23 years ago. She was wearing a red dress, and an emerald bangle with a crack on the inside was on her wrist, identical to the one in front of me.

The woman glanced at the photograph, and her expression shifted from confidence to confusion.

"That's impossible. Edward bought this for me."

Edward.

Edward Miller. My husband.

Whispers began spreading through the crowd.

I stood there with my phone still in my hand, the emergency call glowing on the screen.

I wasn't crying, and somehow the trembling had stopped. The hands that had been shaking moments earlier were perfectly steady now.

"That bangle belonged to my mother," I said, my voice calmer than I'd expected. "She died 11 years ago."

The entire ballroom went silent.

The woman opened her mouth but couldn't seem to find anything to say, while my eyes returned to the crack on her wrist, the one I'd made when I was seven.

Mom had called that mark a good thing. She could never have imagined that 23 years later, her bangle would end up on another woman's wrist because the husband I'd chosen had taken it from me.

But I couldn't spare any thought for her.

I stood in the ballroom surrounded by coworkers, vaguely aware of someone calling my name and someone else handing me water, but their voices barely registered. Only one thought mattered.

There were seven more pieces of Mom's jewelry in the safe at home.

Were they still genuine?

*****

I didn't go home that night.

I sat in the company parking lot for two hours before opening my phone and searching one phrase.

[Emerald jewelry appraisal.]

I didn't send Edward a single message, although he sent me three.

The first read, [Babe, I'm working late tonight. I won't be home for dinner.]

The second was, [How's the gala?]

The third was nothing more than a smiley face.

I stared at that smiley face, then locked my phone.

The winter breeze swept past the car windows, bringing back another November, the month Mom died.

Before she passed, she'd held my hand and said, "Kate, take good care of the things in that wardrobe. I've spent my whole life saving for them."

Edward had tried more times than I could count to convince me to throw out that old, ugly wardrobe, but I'd always refused because it had belonged to Mom.

I ran my fingers over my bare wrist. The police had taken the bangle as evidence, but I still remembered exactly how that crack felt beneath my fingertips.