Cynthia’s POV
The laughter in our small circle drifts around me like meaningless noise as I sip my champagne. I nod politely, feigning interest, but my mind is elsewhere, unraveling threads I can’t quite pull together.
Across the room, a flash of movement catches my attention. My gaze locks on Claire and my father, deep in conversation near the far corner of the hall.
It’s strange. My father rarely accepts invitations, especially for events like this. He’s always preferred to keep his distance from society’s endless charades. Yet the moment he heard the name Claire Montgomery, he insisted on attending.
I push the thought aside, trying to rationalize it. He’s probably just as curious as everyone else, wondering how someone could look so much like Isabel. But deep down, there’s a nagging
