“That necklace belongs to my daughter,” the millionaire shouted when she discovered it on the maid… The truth was shocking.

The ballroom of the Grand Regency Hotel glittered like a jewelry box: crystal chandeliers raining light, white orchids and gold roses everywhere, the soft clink of champagne flutes and the low hum of Atlanta’s elite enjoying their annual charity gala.

At the center of it all moved Victoria Ashford—tall, silver-haired, still breathtaking at sixty-two—wearing a midnight-blue silk gown that made her look more like visiting royalty than a Georgia-born tech heiress turned philanthropist.

She smiled the practiced smile she’d perfected over decades of boardrooms and red carpets, nodding at senators and CEOs, until something small and impossible caught the light.

A star-shaped pendant, hanging from a thin gold chain around the neck of one of the catering staff.

Victoria stopped breathing.

Twenty-five years vanished in a heartbeat.

That pendant had been custom-made in Paris the week her daughter was born. One of a kind. She had fastened it herself around a tiny neck on christening day, whispering, “You’ll always have a star to guide you home.”

Now it rested against the black uniform of a quiet, dark-haired woman refilling water glasses.