Chapter 3

In a private club on Manhattan's Upper East Side, champagne bubbles glittered with a cold light in crystal flutes. This was the summit of New York's society—and the hell I had once been driven out of.

When Caspian and I stepped into the hall, the air seemed to still for a few seconds. Every gaze drifted toward me, faint and clinging—this city never lacked for spectators, especially for a woman who had "risen from the dead."

Thorne was speaking with several Wall Street heavyweights, his handsome face wearing its trademark coldness and arrogance. Delphine stood at his side, a priceless sapphire necklace at her throat. Her face was still beautiful—and written all over with greed.

She saw me first. In that instant the glass in her hand jolted hard, her poise collapsing in a heartbeat. She murmured something into Thorne's ear, and he turned slowly.

When his gaze swept over me and confirmed I was the "castoff wife" from five years ago, the shock in his eyes flickered and died—replaced by an even more venomous disgust. He strode toward me, every step radiating a condescending pressure.

"Seraphine?" He stopped in front of me, his voice low and dangerous, laced with a sickening air of charity. "Looks like that five million taught you how to package yourself. But even draped in couture, at your core you're still that cheap woman who'd do anything for a name."

A low ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. Delphine covered her lips, laughing until she trembled. "Darling, haven't you realized yet? This is Manhattan's most exclusive circle—not a place for someone who clawed her way in chasing attention."

I looked at the two of them calmly, as if watching a pair of cockroaches. Caspian stood half a step behind me, saying nothing—but that steady presence was a wall at my back.

And it was then, in that atmosphere thick with malice, that a little boy in a finely tailored suit came running out from behind the crowd, chasing a butterfly. He stumbled and slammed straight into my knee.

Instinctively I bent to steady him—and before he'd even found his footing, that small, tender hand caught the hem of my dress.

In that instant, it was as if a current shot straight through me. As if some force outside myself took over, I crouched down, my movements so gentle they felt strange even to me, and reached to straighten his crooked bow tie.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?"

The boy looked up. Those eyes, deep as still pools, matched exactly the shape I had imagined a thousand times. He stared at me, and across that small, tender face flickered an inexpressible longing.

He parted his lips, his voice soft yet clear as it carried across the whole hall:

"Have we meet?"

The room fell dead silent.

Every drop of color drained from Delphine's face. She practically shrieked as she rushed over and snatched the child back into her arms, so roughly that he cried out. "Be quiet!" she said, forcing composure, staking her claim shrilly. "This is my son, Silas! This madwoman is playing some disgusting mind game. Security—throw her out!"

Thorne came forward, his face dark, menace rolling off him. "Seraphine, if you want to die, I'll be glad to help you."

I stood my ground. My heart pounded from that single "Mommy," but I pressed down the tremor and held a cold smile.

"Throw me out?" I said softly. "Thorne—if you'd like to pry the lid off that 'stillborn' truth from five years ago, right here in front of all these Wall Street titans, be my guest."

Thorne's pupils constricted, veins bulging on the backs of his hands. "The truth? What truth?" He hesitated a beat, then roared, "For revenge, you'd throw away even this last shred of decency?"

He thought I was only using the child to vent. He had no idea what a tempest was raging inside me. I gave that sanctimonious pair one cold glance, then lowered my eyes to the child.

Silas squirmed uneasily under Delphine's rough grip, tilting his head to one side in fear. And in the bright crystal light, I saw it—just behind his right ear—

"That's—!" A tidal wave crashed through my heart.