Chapter 2: The Ashes of Truth
The safe contained no money, no deeds, and no stock certificates. It contained a single, small velvet box and a stack of yellowing documents. Victoria’s hands shook as she opened the box. Inside was a silver heart-shaped locket. It was singed on one side, black with the residue of a fire that had supposedly consumed everything.
She opened the locket. Inside was a photo of her and Emily, taken the morning of the fire.
The ballroom was deathly quiet. Even the string quartet had ceased their playing. Victoria turned around, the locket clutched in her hand like a talisman.
“You told me she died,” Victoria said, her voice rising to a dangerous, icy pitch. “You told me she was lost in the fire. You held me while I cried, Eleanor. You told me it was my fault for not holding her hand tight enough.”
Eleanor stood by the champagne tower, her eyes darting toward the exits. The socialites who had fawned over her all evening were now huddled in corners, filming the breakdown of the Ashford dynasty.
“She was a burden,” Eleanor spat, the mask finally falling away completely. “Your father was obsessed with her. He was going to rewrite his will, leave everything to that brat. I did what was necessary for you, Victoria. I sent her away to a home in the countryside, paid for her keep, and made sure she would never come back to claim what was yours.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Sarah—the girl Victoria had known as Emily—stepped forward, her eyes bright with tears.
“You didn’t send me to a home,” Sarah said, her voice trembling. “You sold me. You sold me to a family that didn't want a daughter, they wanted a servant. I spent ten years earning my way out of that house just to find the sister who forgot I existed.”
Victoria felt the floor sway. The narrative of her life—her coldness, her armor, her "elegance"—was a lie built on Eleanor’s greed. She looked at Sarah, truly looked at her, and saw the child who had cried, “Don't leave me, Tori!” She realized then that the fire hadn't killed Emily; the lie had killed the part of Victoria that knew how to love.
“Security,” Victoria said, her voice now cold as ice. “Escort Eleanor out. And call the police. I believe there’s a kidnapping case to be reopened.”
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Eleanor screamed, a ragged, unhinged sound, as the guards seized her. She looked at Victoria with pure hatred. “You think you’ve won? You’re just like me, Victoria! You’re just as cold, just as hard. You’ll never have a real family!”
“I don't need you to tell me who my family is,” Victoria replied, stepping past her.
