Roselyn's brows knitted as she weighed the thought. "I honestly don't know," she admitted after a moment, her voice low. "But this is the only lead we have right now."
With a small, deliberate motion, she tugged down her collar and brushed her fingers against the emerald pendant resting against her skin, suspended from a slender silver chain.
That pendant had been placed in Roselyn's hands by the director of the children's home when she was eight—the day she left the place for good.
Back then, the director had told her the truth without embellishment: the pendant had arrived with Roselyn as an infant, tucked carefully inside her swaddling clothes. Because of its obvious worth, the director had kept it safe on Roselyn's behalf all those years.
Roselyn's fingertips traced the cool surface of the gem, lingering as if trying to draw answers from stone.
Even to an untrained eye, the emerald's clarity and the meticulous carving spoke of undeniable value.
Turning it over, she revealed a single character engraved on the back—small, precise, and unmistakably deliberate. "Morgan."
Three years earlier, an emerald ring with an identical carving style had surfaced at an auction, the same Morgan mark engraved inside the band.
Back then, Roselyn hadn't even managed to scrape together enough money to place a bid before the accident derailed everything. Not long after that, she'd been forced to leave the country, and no matter how relentlessly she searched, the buyer's identity remained out of reach.
From that moment forward, every trail she followed ended in silence. Now, however, the reappearance of the emerald necklace sent a sharp jolt through her—its carved patterns unmistakably familiar. Even the clasp was identical, with the same Morgan engraving tucked neatly at its base.
A quiet suspicion took shape in Roselyn's mind, growing heavier the longer she stared at it. These weren't isolated pieces, but fragments of a complete set—one that seemed inextricably linked to her past.
With a steadying breath, she allowed herself a daring conclusion. They might once have belonged to her biological mother.
Yet despite turning Radena inside out, chasing archives, dealers, and private collectors alike, Roselyn found nothing that could confirm the truth.
"I'll forward you the details of the buyer of the necklace first," Abby remarked, her tone steady. "After that, we'll keep digging. Something's bound to surface sooner or later."
"All right," Roselyn immediately answered.
The Porsche 911 rolled to a smooth stop at the private club's entrance.
Stepping out of the car side by side, Roselyn and Abby drew a glance from the doorman.
With an easy flick of her wrist, Abby passed the keys to the valet, and the two women followed a staff member through the doors.
They had just crossed the threshold and were about to head upstairs when Roselyn's phone began vibrating inside her bag. Reaching for her phone, she glanced at the caller ID and hung up without a second thought.
Abby tilted her head, studying her friend. "Who was that? You didn't even pick up."
Roselyn's fingers tightened around the phone before she answered lightly, "Just a spam call."
Quietly, Roselyn switched the device to silent—but almost instantly, the screen flared to life again. A single message stared back at her. "Turn around."
A sudden stiffness crept into Roselyn's shoulders, a prickle of unease racing up her spine. Without so much as a glance over her shoulder, she slid the phone back into her bag and acted as though the message had never appeared. Hooking her arm firmly through Abby's, she picked up her pace, heels clicking faster as she steered them toward the stairs.
Just around the corner Roselyn had passed moments earlier, Wesley lounged against the wall with careless ease, a cigarette resting between his lips. After tucking his phone away, he breathed out a thin ribbon of smoke.
Behind the drifting haze, his sharp, penetrating gaze stayed locked on the direction Roselyn had fled, his face betraying nothing.
Meanwhile, guided by the staff member, Roselyn and Abby were led toward the private room where Kevin was waiting.
The instant the door swung open, Roselyn took in the scene at a glance—several familiar faces gathered around the table, every last one of them male.
Positioned at the head, Kevin sat with his posture relaxed yet unmistakably authoritative.
Off to his right lounged a man in denim, bright-eyed and effortlessly casual, whose expression lit up the second he spotted Roselyn. "Well, would you look at that," he drawled, lips curling into a grin. "Roselyn's here."
With an answering smile, Roselyn nodded toward him. "Jaycob."
As Kevin's childhood friend, Jaycob Hudson had known Roselyn since her early years; their paths had crossed more times than she could count.
Rising without hesitation, Jaycob stepped forward and wrapped her in a warm, familiar hug. "Three years away, and you just keep getting prettier."
A soft warmth spread through Roselyn's chest. Jaycob had always treated her with easy kindness, and seeing him again after so long felt unexpectedly reassuring.
A few light pleasantries passed between them, easy and unforced.
With an easy gesture, Jaycob vacated the seat beside Kevin, and Roselyn settled in, Abby taking the chair at her side.
Abby, Roselyn's closest companion for years, needed no formal introduction—born into the Elliott family, her presence alone spoke for itself to everyone at the table.
Once the dishes were laid out and drinks were poured, voices overlapped, laughter followed, and the tension in the room gradually melted away.
Abby leaned in, bumping Roselyn gently with her elbow as she lowered her voice. "Roselyn, what's going on with you? You've looked uneasy and distracted all evening."
A brief flicker passed through Roselyn's eyes. She had believed she'd concealed her nerves flawlessly, yet Abby saw straight through her without trying.
"Don't worry about it," Roselyn remarked, forcing a faint smile. "I barely slept last night. I'm just worn out."
What truly gnawed at Roselyn was the fact that Wesley was in the same club. At any moment, he might spot her with Kevin. Wesley never cared about boundaries and never bothered to rein himself in. If they crossed paths here, the situation would spiral fast.
That possibility sat heavy in Roselyn's chest, leaving her restless and on edge.
