Chapter 1 The Arrival

The Vaughn estate hadn't changed.

It still stood tall at the end of the winding drive, all sharp edges and glass walls-sleek, cold, and perfect. Just like Celeste. Just like the life Isabella had run from five years ago.

The car rolled to a stop beneath the grand archway. Isabella hesitated for a breath, her fingers curled around the handle of her clutch. Her reflection stared back at her from the tinted window-flawless makeup, sleek black dress, and red lips that didn't dare tremble. She looked calm. Controlled. But inside, her heart ticked like a time bomb.

She hadn't returned for a reunion. She'd returned for the truth.

"Miss Vaughn," the driver said gently, opening her door.

She stepped out, heels clicking against the white marble driveway. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and old wealth. The same scent from her childhood-only now it made her stomach tighten.

Two staff members rushed to meet her with polite nods and rehearsed greetings. Isabella recognized neither of them.

Of course. Celeste would have cleared the house of anyone who remembered too much.

"Welcome home, Miss Vaughn," one said, bowing slightly. "Your room is ready. Mrs. Vaughn is expecting you inside."

Mrs. Vaughn.

That title didn't sit right. It used to belong to their mother. Now it clung to Celeste like a crown made of frost.

Isabella forced a smile and made her way up the steps-and there she was.

Celeste Vaughn, standing tall in a flowing cream gown that draped over her figure like liquid silk. Her blonde hair was swept back in soft waves, and her arms were folded, exposing the icy diamonds at her wrist. She looked like she'd stepped off a fashion spread. Cold perfection. Effortless elegance.

"Sister," Celeste said. Her voice was honeyed, her smile tight. "You're finally home."

Isabella stopped a few feet away. Close enough to be cordial. Far enough to protect herself.

"Didn't think I'd miss the estate that much," Isabella said coolly. "But you know how the dead have a way of calling you back."

A flicker of something-surprise? Disapproval?-passed through Celeste's eyes, but she masked it quickly.

"You look... different," she said.

"So do you," Isabella replied, lifting her chin. "I guess grief does that."

They stood in a silence so sharp it could cut glass. A breeze rustled the leaves in the garden nearby, and the fountain gurgled quietly behind them. But the air between the sisters was still and tight-five years of absence, five years of silence, and a thousand things neither dared to say aloud.

"You must be tired," Celeste said finally, gesturing toward the doors. "I've arranged a small welcome dinner. Just close friends of the family. Nothing overwhelming."

"Of course," Isabella murmured. "Small and controlled. Just how you like it."

Celeste's smile cracked ever so slightly, then returned full force. "You'll find things... familiar, but improved. I've made some necessary changes. The company needed it."

"I'm sure it did."

Isabella followed her inside, but her gaze swept the estate as she passed through the towering doors. The grand chandelier still sparkled in the foyer. The marble floors gleamed, and the portraits of their ancestors watched silently from the walls. Everything was pristine-eerily so.

But something was different. The warmth she remembered as a girl, before the chaos, before the tragedy, was gone. The estate didn't feel like a home anymore. It felt like a showroom.

Their father's study door caught her eye as they passed it. Still closed. Still locked.

She knew. Without asking, she knew Celeste had sealed it. Just like she'd sealed every uncomfortable truth behind layers of wealth and charm.

A staff member handed Isabella a glass of wine, and she accepted it without a word. She wasn't here to pick a fight-not yet. There were games to be played first. Moves to study. Faces to watch.

As Celeste floated toward the dining room, greeting guests and air-kissing cheeks, Isabella lingered near the edge of the hallway. Her fingers brushed along a familiar wooden column where she and Celeste used to hide as girls-laughing, spying on their parents' parties.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the memory wash over her.

Then opened them, cold and clear.

She could play the part. She could smile and sip and nod like the rest of them. But under the surface, she was counting every breath, every word, every shift in Celeste's eyes.

Because something happened five years ago.

Something that broke their family.

Something that had never made sense.

Her father's death was ruled sudden-natural. A heart attack. But the signs had always whispered otherwise.

And now she was back. Not to mourn. Not to reconnect.

To uncover. To remember.

To finally find out what her sister had buried.