Grandma's birthday was approaching. I went to the mall to buy her a gift.
But as I passed a vintage consignment shop, something on display caught my eye.
It was one of my mother's old brooches.
When I asked the clerk about it, she said a young man about my age had brought it in to sell.
My heart sank.
That brooch had always been locked inside the safe in my father's study.
And my mother was the sole heiress to Haleworth Holdings. Who would dare take her personal belongings and sell them off?
Later, I had someone trace the seller's address.
Outside the villa, parked by the gate, was my father's rarely used black Mercedes G-Wagon.
I took a deep breath, raised my hand, and rang the doorbell.
A teen boy in a hoodie answered, headphones slung around his neck, halfway through a game on his phone.
He was a dead ringer for Dad's old college photos—looked at least 70% identical.
Around his neck hung a custom engraved pendant.
It was exactly like mine, etched with the Haleworth family crest.
My chest tightened so bad I could barely breathe. I stepped inside slowly, my eyes glued to the pendant at his throat.
"That's... a pretty unique piece," I said, my voice rough and gravelly.
He tucked it back under his hoodie on instinct, but before he could answer, his mom walked out from the kitchen.
The second her eyes locked with mine, all the blood drained from her face.
Her hands trembled a little, like she was fighting not to spiral into full-on panic.
She knew exactly who I was.
"Eddie, go to your room and finish your homework," she said, way too quickly. "I need to talk to this young lady for a minute."
The boy glanced at me once, then trundled down the hall in his slippers. The bedroom door clicked shut behind him.
The woman let out a shaky breath, eyeing me warily.
"You...?"
"I saw the brooch at the consignment shop," I cut straight to the point. "The clerk said your son brought it in to sell.
"But that piece belongs to the sole heiress to Haleworth Holdings, and it's been locked in my father's safe for years.
"I want to know—what exactly is your relationship with Sebastian Haleworth?"
Her hands clenched tight at her sides. She glanced frantically toward the hallway, then yanked the front door shut and forced a thin, strained smile.
"Young lady, you must be mistaken. That brooch is probably a knockoff my son picked up somewhere. Kids these days—they don't think before they sell things.
"A man as important as your father? We're just ordinary people. We could never reach someone like him."
As she talked, she tugged her knit shawl tighter, and the collar of her blouse fell open just enough to show a thin chain.
Hanging from it was a flawless ruby pendant.
That was the debutante gift Grandma had given Mom. The one she'd worn to every formal event for years.
Rage flared in my chest. I stared at the faint, smug glint in her eyes and smirked,
"That's a stunning ruby. Looks awfully familiar—almost exactly like the one my mother owns."
Ava Carlisle froze. Her face went pale.
She yanked her collar closed so hard her knuckles stretched, stammering so bad she could barely get the words out.
"N-no... it's just cheap costume jewelry from a street market. Nothing special."
She edged toward the door, already herding me out.
"We're busy. Now that the misunderstanding's cleared up, I think you should leave."
She paused with her hand on the doorknob, and threw one last line over her shoulder, like a warning.
"And don't tell anyone about this. You don't want to cause unnecessary trouble for your father, do you?"
She slammed the door shut behind her. The heavy thud split the quiet of the porch like a c***k of thunder.
'Fool.'
The word popped into my head, cold and sharp as shards of ice.
I stood there for a long minute, staring at the closed door.
Anger settled deep in my chest, thick and unyielding. It burned slow, and it tasted like betrayal.
Finally, I turned on my heel and walked back to the car.
"Go home," I told the chauffeur, my voice so low and tight I barely recognized it myself.
The chauffeur blinked, confused. "Miss? But you were going to pick out a birthday present for your grandmother—"
I pulled out my phone and called Grandpa's personal assistant.
I told him to pull every single record—travel logs, bank statements, asset transfers, every meeting, every hidden account—from the day Dad married my mom.
Leave nothing out. Not a single transaction.
"Not anymore," I said, sliding into the backseat. "Take me home first. There's something way more important I need to deal with."
Aksara