The next morning, Mia found an invitation on her breakfast plate.
It wasn’t from Lucas.
The envelope was thick, ivory, sealed with a gold emblem she didn’t recognize. Inside was a handwritten card.
Mrs. Mia Kane,
You’re cordially invited to a private luncheon hosted by the Silver Circle Women’s Society.
Your presence is expected. Discretion preferred.
— S.W.
Mia stared at it, then flipped it over.
No RSVP. No address. Just a location: “11:00 a.m. — Aurelia House, Valmont Avenue.”
She turned to Ingrid. “Do you know what this is?”
Ingrid glanced once. “It’s not optional.”
“Should I tell Lucas?”
Ingrid’s lips barely moved. “Mr. Kane already knows.”
An hour later, Mia stood outside Aurelia House, a limestone mansion that looked like it had been lifted from a Jane Austen novel and
