Chapter 1 - The Woman in the Red Dress
Chloe Davenport raised her hand toward Beatrice’s face.
“Everyone knows nobody wants you.”
Dominic Russo caught her wrist beside a bloodstained white handkerchief.
Three letters were embroidered in one corner.
E.H.R.
Dominic looked at Beatrice.
This was no longer about Chloe.
Five hundred people had gone silent.
Beatrice Hayes Davenport had spent most of her life learning how to survive silence.
She knew the silence that followed an insult when everyone had heard it but nobody intended to defend her. She knew the silence at family dinners after Chloe made a joke about her weight. She knew the silence Arthur Davenport used whenever defending his adopted daughter might inconvenience his biological one.
But this silence was different.
Dominic Russo had created it.
His fingers remained around Chloe’s wrist for one second longer.
“Do not touch her.”
He did not raise his voice.
He did not need to.
Chloe stared at him as if she had forgotten who he was.
“Dominic, she sabotaged us.”
“You sabotaged us.”
“It was edited.”
“I watched you kiss Liam.”
Liam Russo stood twenty feet away, suddenly fascinated by the champagne in his glass.
Chloe pulled her wrist free.
Her cheeks burned.
“You’re taking her side?”
Dominic looked toward Beatrice.
Red wine had soaked the front of her gray dress. Chloe had selected it personally because, in Chloe’s words, gray was “less distracting on someone your size.”
Beatrice crossed an arm over her stomach.
Dominic noticed.
“Don’t.”
She looked up.
“What?”
“Make yourself smaller.”
The words landed somewhere deeper than she wanted them to.
For twenty years, that was exactly what Beatrice had done.
Smaller voice.
Smaller ambitions.
Smaller place at the table.
She had learned to angle herself away from cameras when Arthur campaigned. She had learned which dresses Chloe considered sufficiently “forgiving.” She had learned to smile when society photographers asked her to move two feet sideways so Chloe could stand beside her father.
Beatrice slowly lowered her arm.
Dominic held out his hand.
She stared at it.
There was blood beneath his cuff from the tumbler he had shattered when Chloe’s recorded confession played.
“Why?”
“Because you shouldn’t be sitting while they stand over you.”
Something tightened in Beatrice’s throat.
She placed her hand in his.
Dominic helped her rise.
Whispers spread across the ballroom.
Arthur Davenport finally moved.
“Dominic.”
Dominic ignored him.
“What is your full legal name?”
“Beatrice Evelyn Hayes Davenport.”
His expression changed.
It was almost invisible.
But Beatrice saw it.
“Hayes?”
“My mother’s name.”
“Your father?”
“I never knew him.”
Arthur approached.
“That has nothing to do with tonight.”
Dominic turned toward him.
“You adopted her?”
Arthur stopped.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After her mother died.”
“What year?”
Beatrice frowned.
“Dominic, why are you asking this?”
He looked back at her.
“When did your mother die?”
“I was twelve.”
“What was her name?”
“Evelyn.”
The embroidered initials on Dominic’s handkerchief suddenly caught Beatrice’s attention.
E.H.R.
She pointed.
“Why does your handkerchief have my mother’s initials?”
Dominic glanced down.
For the first time, he looked genuinely surprised.
“They aren’t your mother’s initials.”
“Evelyn Hayes.”
“The R belongs to someone else.”
Arthur’s champagne glass slipped from his hand.
It shattered.
Everyone turned.
Arthur stared at the handkerchief.
Dominic saw his reaction.
And whatever uncertainty had existed in his face disappeared.
Chloe laughed nervously.
“This is insane. Can we please stop pretending Beatrice suddenly matters because she has the same initials as somebody?”
Dominic’s eyes hardened.
“You should be very careful with the next sentence you say.”
“Why?”
“Because the engagement is over.”
A wave of whispers moved through the ballroom.
Chloe went white.
“Dominic—”
“You wanted my name while your father wanted my companies and Liam wanted my position. Congratulations. The video saved all of us considerable paperwork.”
Arthur lowered his voice.
“This can be discussed privately.”
“It should have been.”
“Then come upstairs.”
“No.”
Dominic took Beatrice’s hand again.
Cameras flashed.
Beatrice instinctively tried to withdraw.
Dominic loosened his grip immediately.
“You can let go whenever you want.”
That mattered.
More than it should have.
Across the ballroom, Chloe saw the cameras.
Then she saw Dominic holding Beatrice’s hand.
Humiliation turned into fury.
“What exactly are you doing?”
Dominic looked at Chloe.
Then at Arthur.
Then at every guest who had laughed when wine struck Beatrice.
His answer was deliberate.
“Correcting a mistake.”
Beatrice’s pulse jumped.
Dominic lifted their joined hands.
“Since everyone seems desperate for an engagement story tonight, they can have one.”
Beatrice turned sharply.
“What?”
Dominic met her eyes.
“Trust me for sixty seconds.”
She should have refused.
She barely knew him.
But Arthur looked terrified.
Not angry.
Terrified.
And Beatrice had never seen Arthur afraid of anything.
She gave the smallest nod.
Dominic faced the room.
“Miss Davenport will be leaving with me.”
Chloe’s mouth opened.
Dominic continued.
“And until the situation surrounding tonight is resolved, anyone approaching my fiancée without her permission approaches her through me.”
The ballroom erupted.
“My fiancée?”
Beatrice whispered it through clenched teeth.
Dominic leaned closer without smiling.
“Fifty-eight seconds.”
“You’re insane.”
“Possibly.”
“You could have warned me.”
“You would have said no.”
“I still might.”
“That is entirely your right.”
The unexpected answer silenced her.
He wasn't ordering her.
He was giving her an exit.
Arthur pushed through the guests.
“Beatrice, you are not leaving.”
There it was.
Not please.
Not daughter.
An order.
Beatrice looked at the man who had raised her.
“Why?”
“Because this family has suffered enough embarrassment tonight.”
Something inside her became remarkably calm.
“Chloe betrayed her fiancé.”
Arthur's jaw tightened.
“Not here.”
“She accused me of doing it.”
“Beatrice.”
“She threw wine at me.”
“Enough.”
Dominic said nothing.
He simply watched Beatrice.
For once, nobody was answering for her.
Beatrice took a breath.
“No.”
Arthur stared.
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
Two ordinary letters.
They felt revolutionary.
“I’m leaving.”
Arthur stepped closer.
“You have no idea what you're involving yourself in.”
“Then tell me.”
His gaze moved toward Dominic’s handkerchief.
That tiny movement was enough.
Dominic noticed.
So did Beatrice.
“Who was my mother?” she asked.
Arthur froze.
“You know who she was.”
“No. I know what you told me.”
“Beatrice—”
“Why are you afraid of her initials?”
Chloe looked between them.
“Dad?”
Arthur recovered quickly.
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
Dominic took the bloodstained handkerchief from his palm.
“Then perhaps you can explain this.”
He unfolded it.
Inside the fabric was a tiny stitched date.
10–17–98.
Beatrice stopped breathing.
Her mother had written that date inside every book she considered important.
October 17, 1998.
Beatrice had never known why.
“Where did you get that?”
Dominic’s voice softened.
“My father gave it to me the night he died.”
Arthur took one involuntary step backward.
Dominic continued.
“He told me that if a woman named Evelyn Hayes ever appeared in my life, I was to protect her.”
Beatrice’s knees nearly weakened.
“My mother died seventeen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would your father—”
A waiter approached.
Not one Beatrice recognized.
He carried no tray.
“Miss Davenport?”
Dominic immediately shifted between them.
The waiter held out a cream envelope.
“This was left for her.”
“By whom?” Dominic asked.
“I don't know.”
Dominic took it.
There was one word written across the front.
BEATRICE.
She recognized the handwriting.
Her mother’s.
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“That’s impossible.”
Dominic handed it to her.
Her fingers shook as she opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Evelyn Hayes stood beside a much younger Arthur Davenport.
Beside them was Dominic’s father.
And in Evelyn’s arms was a newborn baby.
Beatrice turned the photograph over.
Four words were written across the back.
ARTHUR KNOWS WHO SHE IS.
Beatrice slowly raised her eyes.
Arthur was gone.
So was Chloe.
Dominic looked toward the ballroom doors.
They were closing.
Then Beatrice’s phone vibrated.
A message appeared from Arthur’s number.
COME TO MY OFFICE ALONE. IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO YOUR FATHER REALLY WAS, DO NOT SHOW DOMINIC THAT PHOTOGRAPH.
A second message arrived before she could breathe.
May you like
It contained only a photograph of her mother standing beside a man whose face had been cut away.
And beneath it was a name Beatrice had never seen before...
