I stared at that invitation for a long time.
Victoria Ashford. Daughter of a senator. Graduate of Vassar. Member of the Junior League.
Everything I was not.
Everything Arthur Sterling had wanted for his son from the beginning.
I should have thrown the invitation away.
I should have ignored it, stayed in California, focused on my life.
But I did not.
I called my assistant.
“Book five tickets to New York,” I said. “The Plaza Hotel. And contact my stylist. I need something that will stop traffic.”
“Ms. Vance,” my assistant said carefully, “are you sure about this?”
I looked at the invitation again, at Julian’s name printed in elegant script.
The man who had sat silent while his father paid me to disappear.
The man who never once asked where I went or how I survived.
The man who had no idea he had four children who looked exactly like him.
“I am absolutely sure,” I said.
I spent the next two weeks preparing.
Not just my wardrobe, though I did have a dress custom made, black silk that cost more than a car.
But preparing my children.
“We are going on a trip,” I told them at dinner. “To New York City.”
“Why?” Sophia asked, always direct.