Hailey's POV
The hotel suite was too quiet.
Manhattan sprawled outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, all glittering arrogance and indifferent light, but inside the room everything felt muted, heavy, as if sound itself had decided not to intrude. The city didn't care that my life was unraveling several stories above it.
The necklace sat on the glass coffee table.
Perfectly still.
Gold against glass, catching the light in a way that made it impossible to ignore. It wasn't dramatic, it wasn't ornate. It didn't need to be. Its power came from recognition—from the way my chest tightened every time my eyes landed on it.
My mother's.
Not a replica, it was not something similar.
The exact one.
I stood on one side of the room, arms folded tightly across my chest, nails
