Chapter 1

Sarah Miller adjusted the simple, unbranded linen dress she wore, a quiet uniform for her carefully constructed life.

For seven years, she' d been Sarah Miller, supportive wife to David Carter, a man whose tech startup always seemed on the verge of something big.

No one in their sunny California circle knew she was Sarah Hamilton, sole heiress to the Hamilton Group, a name that whispered billions on the East Coast.

Her father, Charles Hamilton, a man carved from old money and shrewd deals, had insisted on this charade, a test for any man who entered her life, a shield against fortune hunters.

David had to prove himself, blissfully unaware of the safety net, or rather, the silent empire, beneath him.

The Fourth of July weekend stretched before them, promising a Napa getaway, a rare pause in David's relentless schedule.

"Honey, I'm so sorry," David said, his brow furrowed with practiced concern, "This investor, he's the one. Flew in unexpectedly, can only meet this weekend in Silicon Valley."

His ambition was a familiar hum in their marriage, usually a sound Sarah encouraged.

"Of course, David, I understand," she replied, masking her disappointment, "We'll do Napa another time."

He kissed her, a quick, distracted peck, and was gone, suitcase rolling behind him.

The house felt too quiet after he left. Sarah poured herself a glass of iced tea, the silence amplifying the small ache of their missed trip. She idly opened Instagram, a habit more than an interest. A flash of neon color caught her eye. Brittany Evans, the 22-year-old daughter of their housekeeper, Linda. Brittany' s story was a burst of sound and sun-drenched bodies. A lavish pool party.

The caption pulsed under a video of flashing lights and laughing faces: "Best 22nd birthday ever! My man knows how to spoil me! #Blessed #PowerCouple."

Sarah' s finger froze.

The pool, the cabana, the distinctively landscaped yard – it was her house.

And the "man" with his arm slung possessively around Brittany, grinning into the camera from the shade of her cabana, was David.

His "urgent business trip" was a few miles away, in their own backyard.

Then, another photo. Brittany, preening, held up a champagne flute. On her wrist, winking in the sunlight, was a diamond bracelet. Not just any bracelet. It was an antique, a Hamilton family heirloom, her deceased grandmother's favorite piece. Sarah felt a cold dread wash over her, sharp and sickening. The betrayal was absolute, a theft of trust, and now, a theft of something irreplaceable.