The Heiress They Left for Dead

Everyone came to Seraphina Vale's funeral. Her father stood beneath a black umbrella, his shoulders trembling as photographers captured every moment of his grief. Her fiancé stood beside him. Adrian Laurent looked exactly like a grieving man should. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his head lowered and his expression filled with sorrow. Three steps behind him stood Isabelle. Seraphina's best friend. The woman she had trusted with every secret she had ever carried. Isabelle wore a black dress. It was beautiful. Too beautiful for a funeral. And whenever she thought nobody was watching, a small smile appeared on her lips. Seraphina watched from across the street beneath a black umbrella. Nobody recognized her. That was exactly how she wanted it. Her fingers tightened around the umbrella handle. Three years ago, Seraphina had believed these people were her family. Three years ago, she had believed Adrian loved her. Three years ago, she had believed Isabelle was her closest friend. Today, she knew better. A giant photograph of Seraphina hung above the entrance of St. Raphael Cathedral. The woman in the photograph was smiling. She looked happy. She looked alive. The irony almost made Seraphina laugh. Seraphina Vale. Twenty-three years old. Heiress to the powerful Vale family. Brilliant designer. Beloved daughter. Devoted fiancée. Dead. At least, that was what the world believed. A cold wind swept through the street. Seraphina pulled her black coat tighter around herself. Three days after the yacht explosion, her family had announced her death. A week later, newspapers across the country had published her obituary. A month later, control of several assets that had belonged to her had been transferred. And now, three years later, her former fiancé stood at her funeral with another woman. Seraphina watched Adrian reach for Isabelle's hand. Her stomach twisted. Adrian squeezed Isabelle's fingers. Isabelle leaned closer to him. Seraphina couldn't hear their conversation through the rain. She didn't need to. She knew that look. She had seen it before. On the night she died. Her memories returned in fragments. The yacht. The music. The champagne. Adrian's hand around her waist. Isabelle standing near the railing. The strange smell of gasoline. The explosion. The screaming. And Adrian. Standing several feet away. Watching Seraphina fall into the ocean. Seraphina's breathing slowed. For three years, she had tried to forget the expression on Adrian's face that night. She couldn't forget it anymore. An elderly woman standing nearby sighed. "Such a tragedy," the woman whispered. "She was so young." Another woman nodded. "I heard she was supposed to marry Adrian Laurent." "She was," the first woman replied. "Poor Adrian. Imagine losing his fiancée like that." Seraphina almost smiled. Poor Adrian. If only they knew. Her phone vibrated inside her coat. She pulled it out. One message appeared. UNKNOWN: They're all here. A second message arrived. UNKNOWN: Are you sure you're ready? Once this begins, there is no going back. Seraphina stared at the screen. Then she typed a reply. SERAPHINA: I'm sure. She paused before sending another message. SERAPHINA: Seraphina Vale died three years ago. Her eyes lifted toward the cathedral. SERAPHINA: Today, Sera Quinn comes home. She locked her phone and slipped it back into her coat. The funeral service lasted another forty minutes. When the cathedral doors finally opened, the guests began walking outside. Seraphina's father came first. He looked older than she remembered. For one brief moment, something inside her hurt. This was the man who had taught her how to ride a bicycle. The man who had held her hand when she was sick. The man who had once promised that no matter what happened, she would always be his little girl. Then Seraphina remembered the yacht. She remembered waking beneath the freezing water. She remembered reaching for someone to save her. And she remembered that nobody came. The pain disappeared. Her father stopped beside Adrian. "Thank you for being here," he said quietly. Adrian lowered his head. "I couldn't stay away." His voice sounded sincere. It wasn't. Her father placed a hand on Adrian's shoulder. "You loved her." Adrian's expression tightened. "I still do." Seraphina's fingers curled around the umbrella handle. Still loved her? The words almost made her laugh. Isabelle stepped forward. "Adrian, we should go," she said softly. Her father looked at Isabelle. "Of course." Isabelle slipped her arm through Adrian's. They started walking toward a waiting car. Then Isabelle stopped. She turned and looked at Seraphina's photograph above the cathedral entrance. For one brief second, her sad expression disappeared. A smile appeared. A small, private smile. The kind of smile nobody else noticed. Except Seraphina. Seraphina's hands went cold. It was the same smile Isabelle had worn before the yacht exploded. Three years ago, Seraphina had trusted that woman more than anyone. She had shared her dreams with Isabelle. Her fears. Her relationship with Adrian. Even the details of her inheritance. Isabelle had known everything. And somehow, she had used every piece of information against her. Seraphina took one step forward. Then she stopped. Not yet. Revenge wasn't about anger. It was about timing. Seraphina had learned that lesson the hard way. She would not reveal herself until she could take everything from them. Her phone vibrated again. This time, the message contained only four words. UNKNOWN: He's here. Leave now. Seraphina frowned. Who? Before she could respond, several people nearby began whispering. "Damian Cross." "What's he doing here?" "The Cross family is here." Seraphina turned toward the street. A black Rolls-Royce had stopped near the cathedral. The rear door opened. A man stepped out. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His expression was cold and unreadable. People immediately moved aside. Nobody wanted to stand in his way. Seraphina recognized him instantly. Damian Cross. Thirty years old. Billionaire. CEO. One of the most powerful men in the country. He had built the Cross Consortium into a business empire that rivaled some of the oldest families in the country. People said Damian could destroy a company without raising his voice. They also said he trusted absolutely no one. Seraphina had never met him. At least, she didn't think she had. Damian walked toward the cathedral. Then he stopped. His eyes found Seraphina. Her heart skipped. He wasn't looking at the crowd. He wasn't looking at the photograph. He was looking directly at her. Seraphina lowered her umbrella slightly. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe he was simply looking in her direction. Then Damian started walking toward her. Seraphina's instincts immediately told her to leave. She turned. "Don't." Damian's voice stopped her. Seraphina slowly looked over her shoulder. Damian stood several feet away. His expression was calm. Too calm. "You shouldn't be here," he said. Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" "Everyone inside believes Seraphina Vale is dead." Seraphina forced herself to remain calm. "I don't know who you're talking about." Damian studied her face. "Don't lie to me." "I think you've mistaken me for someone else." "Have I?" His question was quiet. Almost casual. But something about it made Seraphina's stomach tighten. Damian reached inside his coat. Seraphina instinctively stepped backward. He noticed. His hand stopped. Then he slowly pulled out a photograph. He held it toward her. The world seemed to disappear. It was an old photograph. A photograph of Seraphina. Three years younger. Standing beside Adrian. Her face was turned toward the camera. There was no mistaking her. Damian watched her reaction. "You know this woman?" Seraphina looked at the photograph. Then she looked at Damian. "No." The lie came easily. Damian's expression didn't change. "You're very good at that." "At what?" "Lying." Seraphina stared at him. "Why are you showing me this?" "Because I need to know whether you're alive." Her heart slammed against her ribs. "And if I am?" Damian lowered the photograph. "Then you're in danger." A quiet laugh escaped Seraphina. "That's interesting." "Why?" "Because you're standing in front of a woman you supposedly believe is a stranger." "I haven't threatened you." "You followed me to a funeral." "I came to the funeral." "And somehow found me standing across the street?" Damian's jaw tightened. "I was looking for you." Seraphina's expression changed. "Why?" Damian didn't answer immediately. His eyes moved toward the cathedral. Then toward the road where Adrian and Isabelle had disappeared. When he looked back at Seraphina, something had changed in his expression. "This isn't the place to talk." "I don't talk to strangers." "You should make an exception." "Why?" Damian stepped closer. His voice dropped. "Because the people who tried to kill you three years ago know you're alive." Seraphina's blood ran cold. For the first time since returning to the city, she couldn't breathe. "How do you know that?" "I know more than you think." "Who are you?" Damian held her gaze. "Damian Cross." "I know who you are." "Do you?" Something about the way he said it made Seraphina uneasy. She looked at the photograph again. "Where did you get this?" "From someone who is dead." Seraphina's eyes snapped back to his. "What?" Damian slipped the photograph back into his coat. "Three years ago, someone gave me evidence about what happened on that yacht." Seraphina's pulse quickened. "Who?" "I can't tell you." "Then why should I trust you?" "You shouldn't." His answer caught her off guard. Damian took a step backward. "Don't trust me, Sera Quinn." Seraphina froze. He knew her name. Not Seraphina. Sera Quinn. The identity she had spent three years creating. Nobody was supposed to know. Seraphina stared at him. "How do you know that name?" Damian looked at her for several seconds. For the first time, something almost like sympathy appeared in his eyes. "Because I've been looking for you for three years." Then he turned and walked away. Seraphina remained beneath the rain. Her mind raced. Three years. He had been looking for her. Why? And how much did he know? Before she could process the questions, her phone vibrated again. Seraphina pulled it from her coat. A photograph appeared on the screen. Her face went pale. It was Damian. But that wasn't what frightened her. Behind him stood the burning yacht from three years ago. The same yacht where Seraphina had supposedly died. Underneath the photograph was a single sentence. UNKNOWN: You married the wrong man once. Don't make the same mistake twice. Seraphina stared at the message. Then she slowly looked toward Damian's disappearing figure. For three years, she had believed she was the only person who knew the truth. She had been wrong. Someone else knew she was alive. Someone else knew what happened on the yacht. And somehow, Damian Cross was connected to all of it. Seraphina tightened her grip around the phone. Her funeral was supposed to mark the end of Seraphina Vale's story. Instead, it had become the beginning of something far more dangerous. She had returned home for revenge. But now she had another question. Was Damian Cross the man who could help her destroy her enemies? Or was he the man who had been waiting three years to finish what they started? Seraphina looked toward the rain-soaked street. One thing was certain. Her second life had begun. And this time, she would not trust anyone. Not even the man who already knew she was alive.