THE GIRL WHO TOOK MY LIFE

Amara Vale had grown accustomed to being watched. It happened everywhere. At university, strangers whispered when she passed. At restaurants, people glanced toward her table before pretending they hadn't. At charity events, men twice her age smiled a little too eagerly, while women measured her dress, her jewelry, and the surname attached to her. She had learned, quite young, that wealth made a person visible. Being a Vale made her impossible to ignore. That evening, she stood alone before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the family ballroom, watching rain gather against the glass. Blackwood City stretched beneath the mansion like a field of scattered stars. The roads shone beneath the streetlights, slick and silver, while expensive cars moved slowly through the wet streets. Behind her, the gala continued. Music drifted through the ballroom. Crystal glasses chimed. Laughter rose and fell beneath the enormous chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Amara remained where she was. She had never understood why people enjoyed these gatherings. Every conversation had a purpose. Every smile concealed an intention. The wealthy rarely asked what they could do for you without first wondering what you could do for them. She lifted the glass in her hand but didn't drink. “Your father has been looking for you.” Her mother's voice came from behind her. Amara turned. Elena Vale stood several steps away, elegant in a dark emerald gown, her expression carrying the quiet disapproval of a mother who had already searched three rooms for her daughter. “He always is,” Amara said. Elena smiled faintly. “You've been hiding for almost an hour.” “I've been standing here.” “That's hiding when there are three hundred guests waiting to speak to you.” Amara looked back toward the city. “Then perhaps they can wait.” Her mother approached and stood beside her. For a moment, neither spoke. Amara had inherited her mother's eyes. Her father used to say that was the only thing about her that wasn't entirely his. She had her father's discipline, his sharp instincts and his stubbornness. But the softness in her belonged to Elena. “You know what tonight is about?” her mother asked. “Father hasn't told me.” “He wants to make an announcement.” “About the company?” “Perhaps.” Amara's expression remained unchanged, but something inside her tightened. She already knew what her father wanted. He had been speaking more frequently about her future. The Vale family had built an empire over three generations, but Richard Vale had expanded it beyond anything his predecessors imagined. Hotels, commercial properties, luxury residences and investment firms carried the family name across the country. And there was only one heir. Amara. She was expected to take over eventually. The thought had never frightened her. It simply exhausted her. “I don't understand why he can't leave me alone for five minutes,” she said. “He loves you.” “I know.” “And he is trying to prepare you.” “I know that too.” Her mother studied her. “You don't want the company.” Amara looked down at her glass. “I don't know what I want.” It was the closest thing to an admission she had made in months. Elena touched her arm. “You don't have to decide tonight.” Amara nodded. Then her mother left her alone again. Amara watched her disappear into the crowd. She turned back toward the window. A faint reflection appeared beside hers. Victoria. Her cousin stood several feet behind her, holding a champagne glass between elegant fingers. Amara saw her through the reflection before turning around. “You're quiet tonight.” Victoria smiled. “So are you.” “I'm usually quiet.” “You're not.” Amara raised an eyebrow. Victoria approached the window. “Not when you're comfortable.” There was no accusation in her voice. Nothing unusual. Yet Amara noticed something in her cousin's expression. A stillness. An intensity that hadn't been there before. “You've been staring at me all evening,” Amara said. Victoria's smile remained. “Have I?” “Yes.” “Perhaps I'm admiring your dress.” Amara glanced down at herself. The black silk gown was simple by the standards of the people surrounding them. No extravagant embroidery. No dramatic train. Only a delicate line of diamonds around the neckline. “I've seen you wear better.” Victoria laughed softly. “That's very Amara of you.” “What does that mean?” “You never care how expensive something is.” “That's because I didn't buy it.” Victoria looked at her. For a second, Amara thought she had said something wrong. Then Victoria smiled again. “You've always been lucky.” Amara's gaze sharpened. “Lucky?” “To have everything.” The words were quiet. Almost harmless. But something about them lingered. Amara turned fully toward her cousin. “We grew up together.” “I know.” “You know my life isn't perfect.” “I know.” “Then why do you say things like that?” Victoria looked toward the ballroom. “I didn't mean anything by it.” Amara watched her for another moment. Victoria was beautiful. They had always been told that. Their resemblance was striking enough that strangers occasionally mistook them for sisters. The same dark hair. Similar bone structure. Similar eyes. But where Amara's beauty was effortless, Victoria's seemed carefully controlled. Amara had never thought much about it. She had never imagined that someone could look at her life and feel hatred instead of gratitude. “Come inside,” Amara said. Victoria looked at her. “Why?” “It's cold.” A small smile touched Victoria's lips. “You've always been kind to me.” Amara frowned slightly. “Of course.” Victoria looked away. “Yes.” They returned to the ballroom. Neither noticed the photographer near the far entrance raising his camera. The flash went unnoticed among hundreds of others. But the photograph captured both women perfectly. Amara in the foreground. Victoria behind her. Two faces that looked almost identical. Only one of them was smiling.