Chapter 2 - The Face in the Glass
The photograph inside the left side of the locket was not the old, faded black-and-white picture of Clara’s mother, Evelyn Vance, from thirty years ago. It was a digital photograph—sharp, colorful, and clearly recent.
In the picture, Evelyn Vance was sitting on a rustic bench in front of a diner. She looked older, her once-dark hair streaked with silver, but there was no mistaking the high cheekbones, the faint mole near her left cheek, and the piercing hazel eyes. Next to her in the photo sat Lily, wearing the exact same pink jacket she had worn to the wedding rehearsal yesterday. On the back of the small printed picture, written in fresh black ink, was a date: Three days ago.
"Julian..." Clara’s voice was a frail gasp. She handed him the locket with fingers that felt numb.
Julian looked at the image, then looked at Lily. "This... this is impossible. Evelyn Vance died in 2014. The police identified the vehicle at the bottom of the ravine."
"I saw her at the park near the bakery on Thursday," Lily said, her voice growing steady now that the initial shock had passed. "I was playing near the fountain while my aunt was ordering coffee. She came up to me. She called me by name, but she told me not to be scared."
"What did she say?" Clara dropped to her knees, completely uncaring that her thousands-of-dollars designer dress was crumpling against the floor. She grabbed Lily’s tiny hands, her voice desperate. "Lily, please. Tell me everything she said."
"She said... she said she couldn't come inside the church today because bad men were watching," Lily murmured, looking straight into Clara’s eyes. "She said she gave this locket to me to give to you. She told me to make sure you were alone when you opened it. But... but you saw it on my dress before I could give it to you."
Julian ran a hand over his face, his mind racing. "If Evelyn is alive... whose body was in that car twelve years ago? And who would be watching this wedding?"
Before Clara could process the thought, a heavy knock rattled the wooden door of the suite.
"Clara? Julian? Is everything alright in there?"
The voice belonged to Richard Vance—Clara’s stepfather. Richard was a powerful real estate mogul who had taken over Evelyn’s vast family inheritance after her tragic "death" a decade ago. He was the man who had raised Clara, managed her wealth, and financed this extravagant wedding.
Clara froze. She looked at Julian, her eyes filled with a sudden, instinctual panic.
"Don't open it," Clara whispered to Julian.
"Clara, we're five minutes behind schedule! The guests are getting restless!" Richard’s voice came from the other side of the heavy oak door, accompanied by the metallic rattle of the door handle starting to turn.
Quickly, Julian closed the locket, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and grabbed the door handle from the inside, pulling it open just an inch to block Richard’s view.
"We need ten more minutes, Richard," Julian said smoothly, forced calmness in his tone. "Lily had a minor tear in her flower dress. The maid of honor is fixing it."
Richard stood in the hallway, dressed in a sharp tuxedo, a wide silver watch glistening on his wrist. His smile didn't reach his sharp, cold blue eyes. "Fixing a dress? On the wedding day? Let the planner handle it, Julian. We have press outside. Let's keep moving."
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As Richard spoke, his eyes flicked past Julian’s shoulder, scanning the room. His gaze landed on Lily, then shifted to Clara’s pale face. Something changed in his expression—a subtle tightening around his jaw.
"Is everything alright, Clara?" Richard asked softly, his tone dripping with fake paternal concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
