But she had made one fatal mistake. She thought I was just another accessory to her son’s life. She didn’t know that for the past six months, while she was dictating the floral arrangements and the guest list, I had been fighting a war in the shadows.

“The car is waiting,” she snapped, gathering her train. “Try not to trip, Elena. It would be such a pity to ruin the schedule.”

She swept out of the room, leaving a wake of lily scent behind her.

I stayed seated for a moment longer. The silence of the room felt heavy, charged with the electricity of a coming storm. I looked down at my phone, which was hidden beneath the layers of silk and tulle on my thigh.

It buzzed. A single vibration.

I pulled it out. A text message from Detective Miller, the private investigator I had hired four months ago when things started… not adding up.

The matching sample just arrived from the cold case unit. It’s a 99.9% match. The police are five minutes out. Good luck.