Serena’s POV
"Mrs. Lancaster, you’re absolutely right," she said, her voice calm yet sohow familiar. "I didn’t co for the Storm’s Eye collection, though it truly is magnificent work."
My shoulders tensed. Another one of them. Another person claiming to know , to have so piece of my past locked away in their mories while mine remained stubbornly blank.
"Let guess," I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "You’re here to tell I’m not Serena Lancaster, that I’m actually soone else with a whole other life waiting for ?"
A flicker of sothing—pain, recognition—crossed her face before she composed herself.
"I’m here because I believe we’re sisters," she said simply.
Sisters. The word hit like a physical blow.
"I don’t have a sister," I replied automatically, the rehearsed line I’d told myself for years. But even as I said it, doubt crept in, cold and insidious.
Zoe didn’t flinch at my rejection. Instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out a small velvet pouch.
"Before you ask to leave, would you look at this? Please."
Against my better judgnt, I took the pouch, feeling sothing small and tallic inside. When I emptied it into my palm, a delicate gold bracelet tumbled out—a thin chain with a small pendant shaped like half a heart.
My breath caught. Sothing about it... the weight of it in my hand felt right sohow.
"Turn it over," Zoe said softly.
I did. There, engraved in flowing script: "S & Z."
"Serena and Zoe," she whispered. "I have the other half."
She pulled back her sleeve to reveal an identical bracelet on her wrist, but with the other half of the heart.
"We got them on your sixteenth birthday. You designed them yourself—your first real jewelry design. You said it was cheesy, but you made them anyway."
My fingers trembled as I traced the engraving. A mory—or was it just my imagination?—flickered at the edges of my mind: laughter, candlelight, the sll of chocolate cake.
"This doesn’t prove anything," I said, but my voice lacked conviction. "You could have had this made after seeing in the news."
Zoe leaned forward, her eyes—my eyes?—searching my face. "Ask anything. About our childhood ho. The scar on your left knee from when you fell climbing the apple tree in our grandmother’s garden. How you used to sneak into my room during thunderstorms because you were afraid but too proud to admit it."
My heart hamred against my ribs. The scar on my knee—I’d always told myself it was from a childhood fall. A generic explanation for sothing I couldn’t rember.
"Our parents’ nas," I challenged, desperate to catch her in a lie.
"Liam and Hazel Quinn," she answered without hesitation.
A wave of dizziness washed over . I sank into the chair across from her, the bracelet clutched in my fist so tightly the edges cut into my palm.
"If what you’re saying is true," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, "then who am I? Really?"
"You’re Serena Quinn," she said gently. "Third daughter of the Quinn family. Sister. Designer. And yes, for a ti, you were Serena Blackwood, Ryan Blackwood’s wife."
Ryan’s wife. The words echoed in my head, bringing with them a flood of confusion and pain.
"No," I shook my head, fighting against the implications. "I’m married to Cedric. I have a daughter with him."
Zoe’s expression softened with sothing like pity. "Serena, three years ago you disappeared after a car accident. We searched for you everywhere. Everyone thought you were dead."
"Stop," I whispered, pressing my fingers to my temples where a headache was blooming. "Just stop."
"The family misses you," Zoe continued, her voice cracking slightly. "Maya’s been beside herself since she saw you at the fashion show. She’s pregnant, by the way—you’re going to be an aunt."
Maya. The woman who’d wept over like I was a ghost made flesh.
"I can’t—" My voice failed . "This is too much."
"I know," Zoe said, reaching across to touch my hand. I flinched but didn’t pull away. "I’m not asking you to co ho right now. I’m not asking you to leave your life. I just want you to consider the possibility that there’s more to your story than you know."
The bracelet in my hand seed to grow heavier by the second. If I was Serena Quinn, then who was the woman I’d been for the past three years? A fiction? A lie?
And if I was Ryan’s wife...
The thought sent another jolt of pain through my chest.
"Cedric will be back soon," I said, suddenly desperate for her to leave before my world crumbled completely. "you need to leave."
Sothing hardened in Zoe’s eyes at the ntion of Cedric’s na. "Has he told you how he found you? After the accident?"
"And you don’t find it convenient that the man who ’rescued’ you just happened to be soone who’d wanted to marry you years before?"
The implication in her words made my blood run cold. No, Cedric wouldn’t... He wouldn’t have...
But hadn’t I just been questioning everything? The gaps in my story, the inconsistencies that I’d brushed aside?
"Take this," Zoe said, pressing a card into my hand. "My number. When you’re ready to talk more—or if you ever need anything—call . Day or night."
I took the card chanically, my mind racing.
"And Serena?" she added, rising to her feet. "Be careful who you trust. Not everyone who claims to love you has your best interests at heart."
As I watched her walk toward the door, panic seized . "Wait!"
She turned, hope flashing across her face.
"The bracelet," I said, holding it out. "You should take it back."
Zoe smiled, sad but determined. "Keep it. It’s yours. It’s always been yours."
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