THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE WALLET

Ivy returned to the kitchen shaken.

Ellen was arranging desserts on porcelain plates.

“Where have you been?”

“I got lost.”

“I told you not to wander.”

“I saw Mrs. Whitmore’s uncle.”

Ellen stopped moving.

“Sebastian Whitmore?”

“You know him?”

“Everyone in Bellhaven knows him.”

Ellen glanced around to make sure no one was listening.

“He controls half the construction projects in the county. People say the mayor asks his permission before changing a street sign.”

“He said something strange to the housekeeper.”

“Ivy, stay away from that family.”

“But my necklace—”

“Not now.”

Ellen pressed a tray into her hands.

“Take these glasses into the hall. Then come straight back.”

Ivy obeyed, but her mind remained fixed on Sebastian’s words.

The second girl.

What second girl?

The guests had begun moving from the gardens into the mansion hall. A string quartet played beside the staircase. Photographers took pictures of Celeste as she spoke with donors.

Ivy watched her from behind a marble column.

Celeste’s pendant caught the daylight.

Half a sun.

Ivy touched her own necklace again.

The two pieces were not merely similar. They appeared to have been made as a pair.

As Celeste walked toward the stage, a waiter collided with one of the guests. Champagne spilled. Several people stepped aside.

A dark leather wallet fell from Celeste’s handbag and landed near the bottom stair.

No one noticed.

Ivy set down her tray and picked it up.

“Mrs. Whitmore?”

Celeste had already crossed the hall.

Ivy started after her, but two security guards blocked the path to the stage.

“Staff stay behind the ropes,” one said.

“I found her wallet.”

“Give it to me.”

Ivy hesitated.

Ellen’s warning returned to her.

People here can accuse someone like us of anything.

“I should give it to her myself.”

The guard reached for it.

Before he could take it, a guest called him away to deal with a broken glass.

Ivy stood holding the wallet.

It was slightly open.

Inside the front pocket, she saw the corner of an old photograph.

A wooden carousel horse.

Two little girls.

Ivy forgot the room around her.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled the picture free.

She knew the younger child’s face.

For six years, she had seen it in her dreams.

The same round cheeks.

The same uneven fringe.

The same tiny scar above the eyebrow.

The same necklace Ivy now wore.

Words were written on the back in faded ink.

Clara and Rose.

Together beneath the summer sun.

Ivy’s legal name had been assigned after she entered foster care.

But when she was first found at the station, she had repeatedly told police her name was Rose.

No one had been able to confirm it.

According to the case records, it was likely an imaginary name.

Ivy had stopped using it within months.

Now she stared at the photograph until tears blurred her vision.

The younger child was her.

That meant the older girl was Clara.

Her missing sister.

A shadow fell over her.

Sebastian Whitmore stood on the other side of the staircase.

He saw the photograph.

His face went cold.

Ivy shoved it back into the wallet.

“Give me that,” he said.

“It belongs to Mrs. Whitmore.”

“I will return it.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Ivy, you have entered a private residence and taken something valuable. Do you understand what can happen to children who steal from powerful families?”

“I didn’t steal it.”

“Then hand it over.”

Margaret appeared behind him.

“Mr. Whitmore, your sister is asking for you in the conservatory.”

Sebastian did not turn.

“She can wait.”

“It sounded urgent.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Sebastian leaned toward Ivy.

“Do not open that wallet again.”

He walked away.

Margaret waited until he was beyond hearing distance.