The wedding dress felt like a death sentence. Berlin Thorne stood in the cramped dressing room, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror.
The gown was beautiful. Ivory silk, delicate lace, tiny pearls sewn along the bodice. The kind of dress she had dreamed about wearing someday.
But not like this. Never like this. The door slammed open. Naen Thorne stormed in, her designer heels clicking against the floor like gunshots.
The woman who had raised Berlin for 23 years circled her like a vulture examining prey.
Perfect, Naen said. You almost look like you belong in that dress. Berlin’s hands trembled at her sides.
Please, I’m begging you. Don’t make me do this. Make you? Naen laughed, the sound sharp enough to draw blood.
Sweetheart, I’m not making you do anything. You’re choosing this because you want what I have.
She reached into her designer purse and pulled out a worn velvet pouch. Berlin’s heart stopped.
The keepsake. Inside that pouch was a small golden locket with strange ancient writing carved into its surface.
Berlin had carried it with her when the thorns first took her in as a baby.
It was the only thing she had from before, the only clue to the parents who had given her away.
For 23 years, Nadine had dangled that locket like bait. Be good and maybe we’ll help you translate the writing.
Do your chores and maybe we’ll investigate your origins. Stop crying and maybe we’ll help you find your real family.
Maybe. Always maybe. Promises that never came true. I had a linguistics expert look at this once, Naen said, tracing the velvet pouch with one manicured finger.
He said, “The writing is ancient, rare, could be names, could be locations, could be the key to everything you’ve ever wanted to know.”
Berlin felt tears burning. Then let me have it, please. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.
Not everything. Nadine’s voice turned to ice. There’s still the matter of this marriage. She stepped closer, gripping Berlin’s chin with sharp fingernails.
Ivory refuses to marry Zir Langston. Can’t blame her. The man is paralyzed now. Broken, useless.
What kind of mother will I be to subject my precious daughter into marrying a But the Langston fortune is too valuable to walk away from.
So, you’re going to take her place. The Langston will know I’m not Ivory. They’ve never met Ivory in person.
All negotiations happened through lawyers. Video calls where she kept her camera off. Nadine smiled coldly.
As far as they know, you are Ivory Thornne and you will play this role perfectly.
Berlin’s voice cracked. And if I don’t, Nadine held up the velvet pouch. Then I burn this right in front of you and you’ll spend the rest of your pathetic life wondering who you really are, where you came from, why you were thrown away like garbage.
The words hit like physical blows. Be a good girl, Naen continued sweetly. Make this marriage work.
Keep the Langston money flowing. And when I’m satisfied, when we’ve gotten everything we need, I’ll give you this locket.
I’ll hire the best translators in the world. I’ll help you find your precious parents.
She pressed the pouch back into her purse. Do we have a deal? Berlin looked at her reflection.
At the beautiful dress, at the terrified woman wearing it. She thought about the locket, about the parents she had never known.
About 23 years of hoping, dreaming, believing that somewhere out there, someone was looking for her.
“Deal,” she whispered. Nadine smiled triumphantly. That’s my girl. The Langston mansion rose against the Philadelphia sky like a fortress designed to keep the world out.
Berlin pressed her face to the car window, her stomach churning. The estate was massive.
Sprawling gardens, marble fountains, a driveway longer than the entire block where she grew up.
The kind of place where people like her weren’t welcome. People like her. Orphans, nobodyies.
Charity cases kept around to do the dirty work. Vernon Thorne glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
Remember the rules. You are Ivory Thorne, confident, sophisticated. Born into money. What if I make a mistake?
What if they find out I’m not your real daughter? Vernon snorted. You’ve spent 23 years being invisible.
Nobody’s ever looked at you long enough to remember your face. That’s the whole point.
The words stung. They always did. The car stopped in front of enormous double doors.
A severe woman in a black suit waited on the steps. Helena, the head housekeeper.
“Follow me,” Helena said without preamble. “Mr. Langston is waiting.” Berlin followed on trembling legs.
