Part 16
Mason turned.
Anne Rowan stood at the top of the stairs.
Her pale blue dress was visible in the dim light from the hallway. Her face was wet with tears.
“I know who the woman is,” she said.
Celeste stared at her.
“What?”
Anne held the staircase rail tightly.
“I think I know.”
Mason’s body went rigid.
“Who?”
Anne looked at Wren.
Then at Celeste.
Then at Mason.
“Her name is Vivian Cross,” she said. “She worked for your father.”
Mason frowned.
“My father’s office manager?”
Anne nodded.
“She was at the estate today.”
Celeste’s face changed.
“She was invited?”
“No,” Anne said. “I saw her near the guest entrance. I thought she was one of the event staff.”
Mason remembered Vivian. A woman in her fifties with a precise voice and silver-streaked hair. She had worked for Harold for nearly two decades. After Harold died, she disappeared from the company without explanation.
“Why would she do this?” Mason asked.
Anne’s mouth trembled.
“Because she knew everything.”
Celeste looked at the old records.
“Did she help my father?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
Anne came down two steps.
“I knew more than I said.”
Celeste’s face went blank.
Mason felt Wren tense against Celeste.
Anne looked at the child.
“I knew Charles met with Nora.”
“What else?” Celeste asked.
Anne wiped at her face.
“I knew Charles sent money.”
“What else?”
“I knew your father thought he was protecting you.”
“What else?”
Anne looked at Mason.
“Vivian came to me after Charles died. She said Nora had asked for help. She said Harold Harrow had been threatening her.”
Mason’s throat tightened.
“What did you do?”
Anne closed her eyes.
“I told Vivian to keep the families out of it.”
Celeste stared at her.
“You told her what?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of scandal. Of lawyers. Of the press. Of everything your father had spent years building.”
Celeste laughed once, but the sound was broken.
“You were afraid of headlines?”
“I was afraid of losing the only life I knew.”
“And Nora?”
Anne looked at Wren.
“I failed her.”
The admission did not sound dramatic.
It sounded old.
Like something Anne had been saying to herself in private for years.
Mason looked at the staircase.
“Where is Vivian now?”
Anne shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Was she wearing white?”
“I saw a pale wrap. I didn’t see clearly.”
Celeste’s face tightened.
“She used my account,” she said.
Anne looked down.
“She had access to old passwords.”
“Why?”
“Because she handled estate files when your father was alive.”
Celeste stood very still.
“So she made it look like I brought Wren here.”
“I don’t know that.”
“Mom.”
Anne looked at her daughter.
For a moment, all the elegance left her face. She looked exhausted. Smaller.
“I don’t know what Vivian wants,” she said. “But she hated your father by the end. She said he ruined people and called it protection.”
Mason looked at Wren.
The child had fallen asleep again, her small hand twisted in the fabric of Celeste’s satin dress.
He had no proof Vivian had locked her in the room.
No proof Nora had sent her willingly that day.
No proof Nora was safe.
Only a chain of papers, calls, payments, and silences stretching across seven years.
Celeste turned toward the staircase.
“We need to find her.”
Anne’s face changed.
“Celeste—”
“No. Not because I want revenge. Because a child was left alone in a locked room.”
Mason stepped beside her.
“I’m coming.”
Celeste looked at him.
For a second, the old wedding promise hovered between them. Not spoken. Not broken. Just suspended.
Then she nodded.
They went upstairs.
The estate had become quieter. Most guests had left the dining hall. Some had gone home. Others waited in small uncomfortable groups near the front terrace. The wedding planner had removed the floral arrangements from the aisle but left the arch standing, perhaps because no one knew what to do with it.
The night air had cooled.
Mason carried Wren again. She woke as they passed beneath the string lights, then pressed her face into his shoulder.
Celeste walked beside him in silence.
Anne followed several steps behind.
At the edge of the courtyard, Mrs. Vann approached.
“Mr. Harrow,” she said. “There is something you need to see.”
She held out a phone.
On the screen was a still image from the service entrance camera.
The picture was grainy, but clear enough.
A woman in a pale wrap stood beside a small girl in a dusty-rose dress. Her face was turned away. Her hand rested on Wren’s shoulder.
The woman was wearing dark gloves.
Mason stared at the screen.
Celeste leaned close.
“That isn’t Vivian,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“Vivian is taller. And her hair is lighter.”
Anne looked at the image.
Her face went white.
“What?” Celeste asked.
Anne did not answer.
“Mom.”
Anne’s eyes stayed on the screen.
“That coat,” she whispered.
Mason looked at her.
“What coat?”
Anne swallowed.
“It belonged to Nora.”
The courtyard went silent.
Celeste looked at her mother.
“How do you know that?”
Anne’s mouth trembled.
“Because Nora came here once wearing it.”
Mason stared at the image.
The woman’s face was hidden.
The coat was pale, almost ivory beneath the service entrance light.
Wren lifted her head.
“That’s Mommy’s coat,” she whispered.
Mason looked down at her.
“Are you sure?”
The girl nodded.
“She wore it when it rained.”
Celeste’s eyes moved to the image.
“Then Nora brought her here.”
“Or someone wore her coat,” Mason said.
Wren gripped his shirt.
“Mommy was scared.”
Mason held her closer.
“Did you see your mom today?”
The child nodded.
“What did she say?”
Wren’s face tightened.
“She said she loved me.”
“Then what?”
“She said I had to be brave.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No.”
“Did she give you to the woman in the coat?”
Wren shook her head.
“She gave me to a lady with flowers.”
Celeste looked toward the floral arch.
Mason felt the blood drain from his face.
“What flowers?” he asked.
Wren looked at Celeste.
“White ones.”
The child’s eyes filled.
“She said she was going to take me to Daddy.”
Mason stood beneath the lights, holding the girl who might be his daughter while the bride he had been about to marry stood beside him in the same ivory satin the child had been taught to fear.
Celeste’s lips parted.
“I didn’t.”
“I know,” Mason said.
But Wren’s small fingers curled tighter into his shirt.
“The lady said you would be angry,” she whispered.
Mason lowered his face close to hers.
“I’m not angry at you.”
“She said you would be angry at the lady in white.”
Celeste went still.
Mason looked at her.
The courtyard lights flickered in the wind. Behind them, the floral arch stood empty against the dark vineyard. Guests watched from the villa doors, uncertain whether they were witnessing a family emergency, a crime, or the end of a wedding.
Mason held Wren closer.
“Wren,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “look at me. Did the lady ever tell you her name?”
The child’s eyes lifted toward Celeste.
May you like
Her mouth opened.
And then she stopped.
