Chapter 4

An Uber Black, not a taxi, dropped me at the end of the long, palm-lined driveway.

It was the same house. The same party.

The same security guard from my nightmare stood at the gate.

This time, he saw the sleek black car. He saw the Hermès bag on the seat beside me. When I stepped out, his eyes widened at the dress, the diamonds.

He practically fell over himself to open the gate for me.

"Welcome, ma'am. Enjoy the party."

I gave him a cool nod and walked towards the music.

The scene was exactly as I remembered. Mark and Ashley, the luminous power couple, surrounded by admirals and their wives.

Ashley was laughing, a sound that was like grinding glass in my ears.

I didn't go to them. I let them enjoy their stolen moment.

My eyes scanned the patio.

And then I saw it.

On the catering tables, gleaming under the party lights, was my grandmother's silverware. A priceless sterling silver set, a family heirloom passed down for generations. My mother had given it to me on my wedding day.

Ashley was letting strangers use it to eat cheap hors d'oeuvres.

A white-hot rage, cold and precise, settled in my heart. I had to physically clench my fists to keep from marching over there and ripping it from their hands.

My gaze swept the party, searching.

Where was she? Where was my Chloe?

Not on the lawn with the other children. Not on the patio.

My blood ran cold.

I slipped through a side door, into the service area of the house.

And there she was.

In the chaotic heat of the kitchen, surrounded by bustling caterers, was my daughter.

She was fifteen, but she looked twelve. So thin her wrists looked like they could snap. Her hair was lank and greasy. She was wearing a faded, oversized t-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees.

She wasn't a guest.

She was a servant.

She was carefully carrying a heavy tray of dirty champagne flutes, her face a mask of fearful concentration.

My beautiful, brilliant Chloe. Treated like trash in her own home.

The sight of her stole the air from my lungs.