Chapter 2 THE NAME SHE WAS TOLD TO FORGET

Vespera didn't sleep. While the rest of the city slipped into silence, she just sat there at the dining table, that photograph of her mother still spread out in front of her. Next to it, the black card with the Valerion crest-she kept glancing at it, but it didn't suddenly reveal its meaning. It sat there, a warning she couldn't quite decipher.

She'd spent most of her life believing she'd never find answers about Isolde Laurent. Every attempt to figure out the truth just led her in circles; and anytime she pressed the people who'd known her mother, the conversation went cold fast. As the years went by, she told herself there was nothing left to discover-that her mother had simply disappeared into a world Vespera couldn't access. But the photograph ruined that fragile lie in one night.

By sunrise, she'd made up her mind. She wanted to know everything about the Valerion family.

She dove in the only way she knew-research. She scrolled through financial publications, dug up old newspaper archives, poked around corporate registries, sifted through charity reports and endless society photos. The Valerion family loomed everywhere, a shadow over generations of the country's wealthiest circles. The more she read, the more the story twisted into something unsettling. The Valerions weren't just rich; they'd built an empire-a spiderweb of private banking, luxury real estate, technology deals, shipping, energy, and international finance. Their power reached well beyond their own companies. Yet for all that reach, the family kept out of the spotlight, always carefully staging what little the press got to see.

At the center was Leontine Valerion.

The articles called her the architect of the family's modern power-she'd turned old money into a global empire. But her early story was always just out of reach. Then her son, Octavian, stepped in to run things. And now his son, Caspian, was their golden child-the heir everyone expected to carry on the dynasty.

Vespera stopped cold when Caspian's photo loaded on her screen.

She almost dropped the laptop.

That was the man from the gallery.

Realization hit, sending a cold jolt through her. She'd thought they were just two strangers passing each other by chance, but now it was obvious. Caspian Valerion wasn't just anyone. He was next in line for everything.

She stared at his picture for a long moment, then forced herself to keep going. But something nagged at her. She typed "Isolde Laurent" and "Valerion" into every search box she could find.

Nothing.

Not in the archives, not in the financial reports, not even buried in the society news columns. She tried different spellings, years, any combination she could imagine-her eyes stinging from tiredness. But there was nothing. Leontine's face popped up everywhere-galas, dinners, charity auctions. Isolde Laurent was invisible.

It was like her mother had never existed.

Vespera sank back in her chair, glaring at the screen. That was impossible. The photograph was right there on the table. Proof. Her mother and Leontine were together, even if the public record told a different story.

She shut her laptop and grabbed her phone. Maybe there was one person left to ask.

Margot Delacroix had worked with Isolde years before; Vespera barely remembered her, just an occasional visitor from childhood. She hadn't talked to Margot in ages, but she still had her number buried in an old contact list.

It took a few rings before Margot answered.

"Vespera?" She sounded more surprised than anything.

"I'm sorry for calling so early. I just...I have to ask you something about my mother."

A pause hung heavy between them.

"What about her?" Margot finally said.

"Did she ever work for the Valerion family?"

There was silence. Not long, but enough for Vespera to catch it.

"Margot?"

"I don't think you should ask about that," Margot said quietly.

"Why not?"

"Because you should leave the past alone, Vespera."

"I've left it alone for nineteen years." She made her voice steady, though her hands were shaking. "I found a photograph. Of my mother. With Leontine Valerion."

Now the silence felt suffocating.

Margot's voice dropped, barely a whisper. "Where did you get that?"

"Someone sent it. I don't know who."

Margot's breathing hitched. Vespera could hear muffled movement, like Margot had started pacing. "Listen carefully," Margot said. "If they know you're asking questions-stop."

"Who?" Vespera pressed, nerves sparking in her chest.

"You know who."

"The Valerions?" Vespera's voice was more defiant than she intended.

Margot didn't answer.

Vespera pressed a palm to the window, feeling the cool glass, staring down at the empty early-morning street.

"Margot, what happened to my mother?"

"I can't talk about this over the phone."

"Then where?" Vespera's heart pounded. "Tell me where we can meet."

A long pause-then Margot named a café near Saint Aurelia Square. "One hour."

When Margot hung up, Vespera sat frozen, the phone in her hand. For the first time since getting the photo, it felt like maybe the past was finally cracking open.

An hour later, she slipped into a worn chair in the corner of the nearly empty café. Margot was already there, older than Vespera remembered, glancing out the window over and over, lips pressed tight.

"I don't know how much I should tell you," Margot said, her voice gritty with worry.

"Just tell me whatever you can."

Margot clenched her cup. "Your mother worked for a financial division tied to the Valerion empire."

The words made Vespera's pulse hammer in her ears.

"What kind of work, exactly?"

"She wasn't just an employee. Isolde was brought in because she was brilliant-with structures, with hidden accounts. She got tangled in something complicated. There were companies hidden behind companies."

"What was she looking for?" Vespera asked.

"I don't know." But Margot's eyes slipped sideways. Vespera knew that look; Margot was holding something back.

"You're lying."

Margot pressed her lips together, not denying it.

Time stretched. Margot shook her head, gave in. "Your mother saw something. Something she shouldn't have. I never knew what it was, only that she was terrified afterward. She started keeping her own records. Names, transfers, meetings, dates-everything. She told me if anything happened to her, I should never give those records to anyone tied to the Valerions."

Vespera's throat prickled. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because I was scared." Margot's eyes darted back to the window. "Of them."

Before Vespera could ask more, Margot's phone rang. She glanced at the screen. The color drained from her face.

"Who is it?" Vespera asked, dread creeping in.

Margot jumped out of her chair. "I have to go."

"You promised to tell me everything," Vespera pleaded.

Margot shook her head, already gathering her things. "I shouldn't have told you this much."

"Margot-" But Margot was halfway out the door.

Suddenly, Margot turned back, her face shadowed with something close to pity. "Vespera, whatever you find-don't trust anyone who says they want to protect you."

And she was gone.

Vespera couldn't move. She sat, letting everything sink in. Her mother had worked for the Valerions. She'd found something, kept records, and scared at least one person bad enough that, twenty-five years later, Margot still feared the consequences.

Finally, needing air, Vespera walked to the window. That's when she spotted it.

A black sedan, big and gleaming, waited across the street under the trees. The windows were tinted-she wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't been looking hard. But it was there. Engine on, not moving. She stared. After a moment, the rear window rolled down just an inch.

Someone was sitting inside, watching her.

Her heart banged against her ribs. She backed up.

The car didn't move.

It was waiting.

And Margot's last warning rang in her head, clear as day: If they know you're asking questions, stop.