Chapter 2: The Name He Could Not Unhear
Part 2 ⬇️
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Vivian opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"Vincent, this woman has been disrespectful all evening.
I was simply—"
"You were hitting her."
"I was correcting her."
The word landed like something dropped from a great height.
One of the men near the ballroom doors shifted his weight.
That was the only sound.
I reached up to straighten my apron.
My hand brushed the locket at my throat — the small gold one I always wore, the one my father gave me the last night I ever saw him.
Vincent went very still.
Not the stillness of anger.
Something different.
Something older.
His eyes dropped to my necklace and did not move.
"Where did you get that?"
I looked at him.
"It was my father's."
Vivian laughed — a short, sharp sound.
"Vincent, she's a maid.
Whatever she's told you—"
"Be quiet, Vivian."
She stopped.
He took one step toward me.
Then another.
Two hundred people watched him cross that floor.
He stopped close enough that I could see his jaw working, like a man trying to hold a sentence inside his mouth before it escaped.
"What was your father's name?"
My throat tightened.
I told him.
And Vincent Moretti's face went white.
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What Vincent said next made Vivian drop the crop.
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