Miranda opened her mouth to speak, but her breath caught.

Her eyes had there drifted down to my collarbone.

Resting against my skin was a heavy platinum necklace, set with a square-cut emerald surrounded by diamonds.

It was the Sterling Legacy necklace, a piece that had vanished from the family vault twenty years ago.

Or rather, a piece that my grandfather had kept safe from the people who stole our name.

“Where did you get that?” Miranda whispered, her voice suddenly trembling.

“It belongs to me,” I said.

Julian stepped closer, his eyes locked on the green stone. “Mother, that looks exactly like the piece in grandfather Arthur’s ledger.”

“Quiet, Julian,” Miranda snapped, though she never took her eyes off my neck.

The guests around us began to murmur, sensing the sudden shift in the air.

Miranda looked around the ballroom, her public smile returning for a brief, frantic second to placate the onlookers.

Then she grabbed my wrist, her fingers digging deep into my skin.

Her hand was cold and damp.

“We are going to talk,” Miranda muttered, her voice shaking with a mixture of rage and fear. “Right now.”

“I think that is a good idea,” I said.

She did not let go of my wrist.

She turned and began pulling me through the crowd, heading toward the back corridor of the mansion.

Julian followed us closely, his face a mask of intense concentration.

We left the warmth and music of the ballroom behind, stepping into the dim, quiet hallway that led to the private wing.

At the end of the hall stood a heavy oak door, carved with the Sterling crest.

It was the late Arthur Sterling’s private library, a room that had remained locked since the day he died.

Miranda pulled a brass key from the pocket of her gown, her hands shaking so violently she almost dropped it.