Chapter 1 - The Woman on the Marble FloorThe first thing Genevieve Hart heard was the champagne glass breaking.
The second was a woman screaming her name.
“Genevieve!”
Nearly two hundred guests turned at once.
Genevieve had barely stepped away from table fourteen when a hand closed around her upper arm. Hard.
She spun around and found Evelyn Vale staring at her with an expression so cold it made the glittering ballroom suddenly feel ten degrees colder.
Evelyn was the groom’s aunt, though calling her simply an aunt felt ridiculous. She was one of those women whose presence seemed to change the temperature of a room. Silver-blonde hair swept into a flawless twist. Diamonds along her throat. A champagne-colored gown that probably cost more than Genevieve earned in six months.
“What are you doing?” Genevieve asked.
Evelyn’s fingers tightened.
“Give it back.”
“Give what back?”
A murmur traveled through the ballroom.
Genevieve became painfully aware of the faces turning toward them.
This was supposed to be the wedding of the year.
Beckett Vale, heir to one of the largest privately held real-estate empires on the East Coast, was marrying Victoria Ashford in the Grand Regent’s Imperial Ballroom. There were politicians in the room, hedge-fund managers, actors Genevieve recognized from streaming shows, and at least three people whose names regularly appeared on magazine covers.
Genevieve didn’t belong among them.
She was there because Victoria had once been a client of her father.
Years before his death, Daniel Hart had repaired an antique mantel clock for the Ashford family. Victoria had remembered Genevieve when she needed someone to examine several antique timepieces being used as decorative pieces for the wedding.
It was a small job.
Inspect the pieces. Confirm they were safe to display.
Leave quietly.
Genevieve had planned to do exactly that.
Instead, Evelyn Vale suddenly shoved her.
Genevieve’s heel caught against the leg of a gold Chiavari chair.
The chair toppled.
So did she.
Her hip struck the marble first, then her palm. Pain shot through her wrist.
Gasps rose around her.
Someone dropped another glass.
Genevieve looked up from the floor, stunned.
Evelyn stood over her.
And pointed.
“She stole it!”
The words rang across the ballroom.
Genevieve’s stomach dropped.
“What?”
“The Vale watch.”
Silence.
Not normal silence.
The kind that happens when everyone senses scandal and is afraid to miss a single second.
Evelyn’s voice sharpened.
“The antique watch from Beckett’s private collection. It was in the family display twenty minutes ago. Now it’s gone.”
“I didn’t take anything.”
“You were seen near the display.”
“I was hired to inspect the clocks.”
“And conveniently, one of the most valuable objects in this building disappears.”
Genevieve pushed herself upright.
Her face burned.
Phones had appeared in several hands.
Of course they had.
By morning, she would probably be a viral clip.
Woman Accused of Robbing Billionaire Wedding.
Wonderful.
“I’m not a thief.”
“Then open your purse.”
Genevieve stared at Evelyn.
“No.”
A ripple moved through the crowd.
Evelyn smiled.
There it was.
The smile of someone who believed refusal was guilt.
Two security officers started forward.
Then the ballroom doors opened behind them.
Nobody announced him.
Nobody needed to.
Beckett Vale entered.
Black suit. Black shirt. No tie now, though Genevieve remembered seeing one during the ceremony.
Tall.
Dark hair pushed slightly out of place, as if he had run a hand through it.
A face that had appeared on financial magazines far more often than celebrity pages, though Genevieve suspected that had more to do with Beck’s dislike of photographers than any lack of public interest.
He stopped inside the doorway.
His eyes moved across the crowd.
Then landed on Genevieve.
Still sitting on the marble floor.
Something changed in his expression.
Not pity.
Recognition.
That frightened her more.
Evelyn turned.
“Beckett, thank God. She—”
Beck walked past her.
Straight toward Genevieve.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
He stopped beside the overturned chair and looked down.
Genevieve stared back.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Beck extended his hand.
She hesitated.
“Take it,” he said quietly.
His voice wasn’t warm.
But it wasn’t cruel either.
Genevieve placed her hand in his.
He pulled her upright.
Across the ballroom, somebody whispered, “What the hell?”
Evelyn apparently shared the sentiment.
“What are you doing?”
Beck ignored her.
He looked at Genevieve’s scraped palm.
“You hurt?”
“My dignity more than anything.”
For the first time, something almost human touched his face.
Almost.
Then his gaze dropped.
The overturned chair lay between them.
Something tiny glimmered beneath its leg.
Beck bent.
Genevieve watched him pick it up.
The object was smaller than a quarter.
Gold.
Curved.
One edge was jagged where it had snapped from something larger.
Genevieve forgot the crowd.
Forgot Evelyn.
Forgot the humiliation.
She knew watch components.
She had spent half her childhood sitting on a stool beside her father’s repair bench while he worked beneath a magnifying lens.
This wasn’t an ordinary part.
It was a section of an engraved hunter-case cover.
Old.
Very old.
And there was a symbol etched into the gold.
A tiny crown above the letter V.
Genevieve stopped breathing.
She had seen it before.
Beck noticed.
“What?”
She didn’t answer.
His eyes narrowed.
“You recognize this.”
“No.”
Too fast.
He knew it.
So did she.
Evelyn stepped closer.
“That’s impossible.”
Beck turned toward her.
The color had drained from his aunt’s face.
“You know it too,” he said.
“I know the family crest.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Evelyn glanced toward the guests.
“We shouldn’t discuss this here.”
Genevieve looked again at the broken gold fragment.
A memory surfaced.
Her father’s workshop.
Rain tapping the windows.
Daniel Hart leaning over his bench while Genevieve, seventeen at the time, searched for a screwdriver.
She had opened the wrong drawer.
Inside had been a black velvet pouch.
Her father had snatched it away so quickly she had laughed.
“What’s in there?”
“Something that doesn’t belong to us.”
She remembered catching one glimpse.
Gold.
A crown.
A letter V.
Genevieve’s heart hammered.
Beck was still staring at the fragment.
His face had gone hard.
“This came from a watch.”
Genevieve swallowed.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Late nineteenth century. Maybe early twentieth. Custom casing.”
Evelyn interrupted.
“Security should search her immediately.”
Beck looked at his aunt.
“No.”
“She could have the rest of it.”
“This piece was under the chair before she fell.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Evelyn stiffened.
Beck lifted his eyes toward the ceiling.
Genevieve followed his gaze.
A security camera sat above the ballroom entrance.
Beck said, “We’ll check the footage.”
For the first time, Evelyn seemed nervous.
Then someone pushed through the crowd.
A bridesmaid.
Young. Pale.
Barefoot.
“Mr. Vale?”
Beck turned.
Something in the woman’s expression instantly changed the room.
“What happened?” he asked.
“It’s Victoria.”
Beck’s jaw tightened.
“What about her?”
“We can’t find her.”
A few guests laughed nervously, apparently assuming this was some strange wedding mishap.
The bridesmaid didn’t laugh.
“She went upstairs twenty minutes ago. She said she needed a minute alone.”
Beck glanced at the clock.
“And?”
“I went to check on her.”
The woman’s lips trembled.
“The bridal suite is empty.”
Evelyn stepped forward.
“She probably went downstairs.”
“No.”
The bridesmaid looked at Beck.
“There’s blood.”
The ballroom erupted.
Questions.
Whispers.
Someone screamed.
Beck moved instantly.
“Lock the exterior doors.”
Evelyn grabbed his arm.
“Beckett, don’t be absurd.”
He pulled away.
“To security,” he ordered one of the guards. “Nobody leaves until we know where Victoria is.”
The guard nodded and disappeared.
Genevieve stood frozen.
Thirty seconds earlier, she had been the biggest scandal in the room.
Now nobody was looking at her.
Almost nobody.
Beck was.
His gaze dropped to the broken watch fragment in his palm.
“Come with me.”
Genevieve blinked.
“Why?”
“Because you recognized this.”
“I said I didn’t.”
“You lied.”
“I’ve just been shoved onto the floor and accused of theft. Forgive me for not feeling conversational.”
He leaned closer.
“What do you know about this watch?”
Genevieve’s pulse pounded against her throat.
“Nothing.”
“That piece belongs to a watch my grandfather owned.”
She said nothing.
Beck continued.
“A watch that disappeared eighteen years ago.”
Her stomach turned.
Eighteen years.
She was eleven then.
Her father had still been alive.
Beck studied her face.
“That number means something to you.”
“No.”
Another lie.
This one worse.
Eighteen years ago was when her father had suddenly closed his repair shop for six weeks.
Genevieve remembered because her mother had still been alive then.
They had argued every night.
Quietly at first.
Then loudly.
One argument had ended with her mother shouting:
“You cannot keep protecting them, Daniel.”
Genevieve had never known who them meant.
Until now.
Maybe.
Beck started toward the elevators.
Genevieve remained where she was.
He stopped.
“You coming?”
“I’m not part of your family disaster.”
He looked at her scraped palm.
“Five minutes ago, my aunt accused you of stealing an object connected to that disaster.”
That shut her up.
They took a private elevator upstairs with two security officers.
Nobody spoke.
The bridal floor was nearly silent.
Thick carpet swallowed their footsteps.
Victoria’s suite stood at the end of the hall.
The door was open.
A security officer blocked the entrance.
“Sir.”
Beck stepped inside.
Genevieve followed.
The room looked as if someone had left in a hurry.
An open champagne bottle.
Wedding photographs scattered across a table.
Shoes near the bed.
A white silk dressing robe on the floor.
Then Genevieve saw the blood.
Three drops beside the vanity.
Another streak near the bathroom door.
Not much.
But enough.
Beck went completely still.
“Victoria?”
No answer.
The bathroom was empty.
So was the adjoining dressing room.
One window stood open.
Eight stories above the city.
Genevieve moved toward the vanity.
Something felt wrong.
Not just the blood.
The arrangement.
A chair had been knocked over.
But the perfume bottles were untouched.
A fight violent enough to overturn furniture should have disturbed more.
Unless the chair had been overturned deliberately.
She crouched.
“Don’t touch anything,” Beck said.
“I’m not.”
She leaned closer.
A tiny scratch marked the floor.
Fresh.
Metal against marble.
Her eyes moved beneath the vanity.
Something was there.
She reached instinctively, then stopped before touching it.
“Beck.”
He came over.
Beneath the vanity lay a small brass key.
Old-fashioned.
A paper tag was tied to it by faded string.
One handwritten number appeared on the tag.
Genevieve’s blood went cold.
Beck noticed.
“What is it?”
She couldn’t answer.
Because she had seen that number somewhere before.
Not recently.
Not consciously.
But she knew it.
Then she remembered.
Her father’s watch.
The one object of his she had never been able to repair.
The hands had stopped years ago.
Frozen permanently.
At 4:17.
Beck crouched beside her.
“What does 417 mean?”
Genevieve stared at the key.
“I don’t know.”
Beck looked unconvinced.
A security officer entered behind them.
“Mr. Vale.”
“What?”
“We checked the camera network.”
Beck stood.
“And?”
The officer hesitated.
Every camera on the bridal floor had gone offline twenty-three minutes earlier.
Beck’s expression hardened.
“System failure?”
“No, sir.”
The officer swallowed.
“Someone shut them down manually.”
A cold silence settled over the suite.
Genevieve looked at the blood.
Then the key.
Then the gold fragment still clenched in Beck’s fist.
Eighteen years.
4:17.
Her father.
They weren’t separate things anymore.
And suddenly Genevieve understood something that frightened her far more than being accused of theft.
May you like
She hadn’t accidentally walked into Beckett Vale’s family secret.
Her father had left a trail leading her straight to it.
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