Chapter 4

"That locket," I said, trying to keep my voice calm amidst the chaos. "It's not an antique."

Brenda, still fussing over Billy Ray, scoffed. "Oh, here we go. More lies."

"It's a custom piece," I continued, looking directly at Billy Ray, whose "asthma attack" seemed to be momentarily forgotten as he glared at me. "My *new* wife had it made for me. By a jeweler in New York. It's a one-of-a-kind design."

A wave of derisive laughter went through Brenda's group.

"His new wife?" one of them snorted. "Is she imaginary, like his dignity?"

"Delusional," another added. "He's completely lost it."

Brenda shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "Michael, please. Stop embarrassing yourself. Just tell the girl to give it back, and we can try to forget this whole sordid affair."

"I'm telling you the truth," I insisted. Sofia was still crying softly beside Mr. Robertson, who put a comforting arm around her.

"Enough!" Brenda snapped. "I'm calling Sheriff Miller. We'll let him sort out this thievery and your ridiculous fantasies."

She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over the call button.

Just then, a different sound cut through the tension.

The low rumble of powerful engines, growing closer.

Heads turned.

A fleet of black SUVs, even more discreet and imposing than Billy Ray's, pulled up silently outside the community center.

The doors opened, and men in dark suits stepped out, their presence instantly changing the atmosphere.

Then, Victoria emerged from the lead vehicle.

She wore a simple linen dress, her hair pulled back, but she radiated an aura of quiet, undeniable authority.

The air in the community center seemed to still.

Brenda's socialite friends, who moments ago were sneering, suddenly looked uneasy. One or two of them exchanged nervous glances. They recognized power when they saw it, real power, not the flashy imitation Billy Ray projected.

One of them whispered, "Isn't that... Victoria Sterling?"

The name rippled through their group like a shockwave.

Before Victoria could even speak, one of our sons, five-year-old Leo, peeked out from behind her legs. He'd come along with his nanny, who was now standing respectfully by the car.

Leo spotted the locket still clutched in Billy Ray's hand, as Billy Ray had "recovered" enough to hold it up as evidence.

"Hey!" Leo exclaimed, his voice clear and innocent in the sudden silence. "That man has a necklace just like Daddy's! The one Mommy gave him for our anniversary!"

All eyes snapped to Billy Ray.

His face, which had been contorted in feigned illness and then smug accusation, turned a sickly pale.