Chapter 14: Wine and Whispers

The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the hum of the upstairs air conditioning. Elena gripped the doorframe, her knuckles white. She had been caught, but Julianne didn't look angry. She looked amused.

"You should come downstairs," Julianne said, her voice smooth. "The landscapers are gone. It's time for wine."

She turned and descended the stairs, her heels clicking a steady rhythm. Elena watched her go. She had no choice. She was trapped in the web, and the spider was pouring drinks.

Downstairs, the dining room was bathed in the warm, artificial glow of the chandelier. The table was set for three, though Mia was gone. Mark was already seated, swirling a glass of scotch, looking everywhere but at Elena.

Julianne poured a glass of Pinot Noir and set it at Elena's place. "Sit."

Elena sat. The chair felt hard against her spine.

"We were just reminiscing," Julianne said, taking the seat at the head of the table. The seat Mark usually occupied. "About the old days. Before Mia. Before you."

Mark flinched. "Jules, don't."

"Why not? Elena is family now. She wears the watch. She deserves to know the history she's investing in." Julianne took a sip of wine, her dark eyes locking onto Elena's. "Mark was quite the wild child, you know. Before he became this... domesticated version of himself."

"I was young," Mark muttered into his glass.

"You were reckless," Julianne corrected. "Gambling debts. Failed ventures. And then, the year in Europe."

Elena’s heart skipped a beat. *The year in Europe.* The timeline on the passport. *Baby Girl Vane. Entry 2003.*

"You told me he went to Europe to study architecture," Elena said.

"He did," Julianne smiled. "He studied the architecture of casinos in Monte Carlo. And I went to rescue him."

She swirled her wine, the red liquid catching the light.

"We were inseparable that year. 2002. Paris, Rome, Prague. Trying to outrun his mistakes. It was us against the world. Two orphans spending our inheritance on hotels and high-speed trains."

She looked at Mark with a fondness that made Elena’s skin crawl. It wasn't sisterly. It was possessive.

"People used to stare," Julianne said softly. "We look so much alike. But in France, they didn't see siblings. They saw two Americans, young and beautiful and desperate."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"We were so inseparable that year," Julianne smiled. "People thought we were a couple."