Chapter 2
Sandra stared at the cracked wall as the numbers added up in her head: rent, coal, doctor, fabrics…
She agreed, not even giving caution a chance to intervene.
Finding a nanny on such short notice proved impossible. Sandra bathed the girls herself, carefully combed their light, almost platinum hair, and dressed them in the most exquisite dresses she had ever created—identical, soft pink tulle gowns with tiny bodices embroidered with pearls and sheer layers of fabric that shimmered softly with every movement. Then she again placed the silver leaf-shaped pendants around their necks—the very same ones that had been hidden under their collars for so many years.
Not out of faith in fate.
But because somewhere deep inside she felt: if it all started with these decorations, one day they would be seen again.
The ballroom at the Ashford Winter Benefit seemed like a world from another reality.
Crystal chandeliers bathed the space in cool white light, reflecting off the polished marble. Snow fell softly beyond the glass walls. The air was thick with the scent of roses, champagne, and old money—money that had long since forgotten the taste of poverty. Women in flowing silks glided effortlessly through the room. Men in formal dark suits engaged in hushed conversations that weighed on the fates and financial markets.
Sandra felt out of place in her simple black dress and discreet shoes. But as soon as Aria and Layla appeared next to her, heads held high and skirts swaying gently, the voices around them immediately fell silent.
“They’re like little princesses,” one of the women said quietly.
Sandra couldn't help but smile.
She worked hastily in the side salon, hemming hems, adjusting seams, and reassuring her bewildered assistants. The girls remained nearby, near the marble column, where she could see them: they conversed in low voices and twirled, enjoying their outfits.
It was at this moment that Eli Ashford noticed them.
He stood at the far end of the room, surrounded by people who looked at him as if he were the center of their universe. At thirty-eight, the head of Ashford Biolabs had the perfect look for the covers of business magazines: dark hair, a strong mouth, a confident, commanding gaze. But today, there was a detachment in his expression—as if part of him had been trapped in some cold, inaccessible place.
Four years ago, the entire country was discussing his tragedy: a fire at the family estate. His wife, Isla, and newborn twin daughters were presumed dead. The bodies were never found. Empty coffins were buried under the winter sky. Newspapers called him either damned or a hero, broken or ruthless—depending on the public mood.
Sandra read these headlines once and never looked back at them again, as if they had nothing to do with her life.
Now this world was looking straight at her children.
Eli's face changed instantly—as if the blood had suddenly drained from him. The glass fell from his hand and shattered on the marble floor with a dull clink.
Silence reigned in the hall.
He didn't even seem to notice.
His gaze was fixed on the girls.
To their pink dresses.
To their hair.
To the way Lila throws her head back with a laugh, and how Aria almost instinctively reaches for her sister's hand.
And then he saw the pendants.
Silver leaves.
He froze—and this silence was more terrible than any outburst of emotion.
“This can’t be…” he said barely audibly.
Sandra felt these words like a cold touch on her throat.
People turned around. Conversations died down completely. Eli took a step forward, then another, as if each step was an effort.
The girls noticed him at the same time.
Layla, fearless by nature, waved at him.
Aria, on the other hand, moved closer to Sandra, not quite understanding why.
Eli stopped right next to her. His eyes weren't just dark—they were filled with pain.
“Where did they get these pendants?” he asked.
Sandra straightened, placing her hands on the girls' shoulders protectively.
"They've always belonged to them."
— Where did they get them?
The voice was quiet, but there was tension hidden in it.
— They were on them when I found them.
The hall seemed to freeze.
Eli's gaze suddenly rose to her.
"Found it?"
— In Rose Hill. Four years ago. In a basket. During a storm.
For a moment, he seemed to lose his balance. And then anger flashed across his face—sharp and uncontrollable.
"Who are you?" he asked sharply.
— Sandra Whitlow.
— Did someone send you?
- No.
— Were you asked to dress them exactly like this?
"They always wore pink when they were kids," Sandra replied, her voice shaking. "I made these dresses myself."
His jaw tensed.
“You really think this is just a coincidence?”
