The plane touched down with a bump that matched the jump in Vivian's stomach. She was back in New York. The place she once called home. "Welcome to JFK International Airport," the pilot's voice crackled over the speakers. Vivian gripped her armrests. Welcome wasn't the right word. Nothing about this felt friendly.
Outside the airport, she got a taxi. "The Parkview Hotel, please," she told the driver, deliberately picking a small hotel far from her old neighborhood. She wasn't ready to face those streets yet. As the taxi drove through the city, Vivian pressed her face against the cool window.
New York hadn't changed much in ten years. Tall buildings reached for the sky. People rushed along walkways. Yellow cabs honked their horns. But Vivian had changed.
The scared youth who ran away was now a grown woman coming back for answers. "First time in New York?" the driver asked, catching her big eyes in the mirror. "No," Vivian said quietly.
"Coming home." The words felt strange in her mouth. This wasn't home anymore. Home was her quiet apartment in Boston with its tiny kitchen and creaky floors. Home was safe. New York was full of ghosts.
The cab turned onto a busy street, and suddenly there it wasthe DeWitt Building, standing tall and proud with her family name glowing in gold letters at the top. Vivian's breath caught in her throat.
"Can you take a different route?" she asked quickly. The driver shrugged and turned left at the next light. Vivian sank back into her seat, heart beating. She wasn't prepared for how strong the feelings would be. Anger. Fear. Sadness.
They whirled inside her like a storm. The Parkview Hotel was nothing specialjust a plain building with clean rooms at a fair price.
Perfect for someone who didn't want to be recognized. Vivian checked in and took the elevator to the fifth floor. Her room was small but neat. A bed, a desk, a bathroom. A window with a view of another building. Vivian dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm really here," she whispered. She pulled out her phone. No new messages since that scary text telling her to stay away. Vivian wondered again who had sent it.
Who knew she was coming back? And why did they want to keep her away? After a quick shower, Vivian unpacked her few things. From a side pocket in her suitcase, she took out the picture of her and Isabella.
They were about six and four in the shot, holding hands in front of a Christmas tree. "I'm going to find out what happened to you," she promised the happy face of her little sister. Vivian had always felt responsible for Isabella.
Not just because she was the older sister, but because Isabella needed more protection than most people knew. Behind her perfect smile and golden beauty, Isabella had been weak. She had wild mood swings and sometimes did dangerous things without thinking.
That's why Vivian had been watching her at the lake that night. Their father had told her, "Don't let her out of your sight." And Vivian had failed. A knock at the door made her jump. Vivian froze.
Nobody knew she was here. She set down the picture and moved quietly to the door. "Who is it?" she called.
"Room service," a man answered. "I didn't order anything."
"Complimentary for new guests. Wine and chocolate." Vivian paused, then opened the door just a crack, keeping the chain on.
A hotel worker stood there with a tray. "I can just leave it," he said.
Vivian nodded and closed the door. She waited until his footsteps disappeared down the hall before removing the chain and quickly pulling the tray inside. There was a small bottle of wine, some candies, and a card that said "Welcome to the Parkview Hotel." Vivian relaxed a little.
She was being anxious. But after that threatening text, maybe a little fear was smart. Vivian spent the rest of the day in her room, trying to work up the courage to go out.
The gala wasn't until tomorrow night, but she needed to see the city again. Face her fears in small doses. By evening, she had changed clothes three times and was still standing at the door, hand on the knob, unable to turn it. "This is ridiculous," she told herself.
"You're not that scared little girl anymore." Finally, she forced herself to leave the room. Outside, the city was alive with lights and noise.
Vivian walked with her head down, hands in her pockets. She had no real goal in mind, just walking to feel the rhythm of New York again. Without thinking to, her feet took her toward familiar streets. She turned a corner and stopped dead.
There it was the DeWitt house. An enormous stone house with tall iron gates and grounds that seemed to go on forever. Light glowed from a few windows, but most of the house was dark.
Vivian stood across the street, watching. Once, she had thought she would live there forever.
Once, this had been home. A car slowed down nearby, and Vivian ducked into a doorway. She wasn't ready to be seen yet.
When the car passed, she stepped back out and took one last look at the house. Something moved behind one of the lit windowsa shadow going by. Was it her father? Or someone else? Vivian turned and walked quickly away.
Tomorrow at the gala, she would see him face to face. Tonight, she needed to prepare herself. Back at the hotel, Vivian ordered room service and spread the information she had gathered on the bed. Articles about Isabella's drowning, the invitation to the gala, the strange note saying it wasn't her fault.
There wasn't much to go on. But one feature caught her eye the gala was celebrating "Ten Years of Hope." Ten years since Isabella's death. Was that a coincidence? Or was there something important about this anniversary? Vivian's phone buzzed. Another text from the unknown number: I see you didn't listen. Fine. Come to the dinner.
Watch everything fall apart. Again. A chill ran down Vivian's spine. This wasn't just someone trying to scare her away.
This was someone who knew what had happened ten years ago. Someone who might know the truth. Instead of scaring her, the message made Vivian more determined. She was definitely going to that dinner now.
She took out the blue dress she had brought and hung it in the bathroom to steam out the wrinkles. It wasn't as fancy as what people would wear to a DeWitt event, but it was the best she had. As she got ready for bed, Vivian found herself thinking about the people she might see tomorrow. Her father, clearly.
But what about others? Old friends? The staff who had practically raised her after her mother died? And Damien Holt.
The thought of him made Vivian's heart beat faster. He had been just a few years older than her, the son of her father's business partner.
They had been close once. Very close. Until Isabella died and Vivian was thrown out. She never heard from Damien again. Vivian wondered if he would be at the gala. If he would even recognize her now. If he would care.
She fell asleep thinking about the past, and dreamed of the lake again. This time, she saw Isabella standing on the dock, her long blonde hair blowing in the wind.
"You're finally coming back," dream-Isabella said. "Now we can tell the truth." Vivian reached for her sister, but Isabella backed away, toward the edge of the dock. "Do you remember what really happened that night, Vivi?" she asked, using Vivian's childhood nickname. "No," Vivian said. "Tell me." Isabella smiled sadly.
"You have to remember on your own." Then she stepped backward off the dock and disappeared into the dark water. Vivian woke up with a gasp, sweat dampening her face. Sunlight streamed through the thin hotel curtains. It was morning. The day of the party. She got up and opened the curtains wide, letting light fill the room. No more hiding in shadows. Today she would face her past. Vivian showered and dressed in pants and a simple top.
The gala wasn't until evening. She had the whole day to prepare herself. On a whim, she chose to visit another place from her pastCentral Park.
She and Isabella had spent many happy days there as children, feeding ducks and playing on the grass. The park was busy with runners and tourists. Vivian walked slowly, taking it all in. Near the lake (not THE lake, she told herself), she stopped to watch some children throwing bread to ducks.
"They look like they're having fun," a voice said beside her. Vivian turned to see an older woman sitting on a bench. Something about her seemed familiar. "Yes," Vivian answered politely. "Kids love feeding ducks." The woman studied her face. "You're Vivian DeWitt," she said. Not a question. Vivian stiffened. "I haven't used that name in a long time."
"I know." The woman patted the bench beside her. "Sit with me a moment, dear." Against her better sense, Vivian sat. There was something about this woman that pulled at her memory.
"You don't remember me," the woman said with a small smile. "I'm Margot Vale. I was your family's attorney." The name clicked into place. Margot Valea sharp-dressed woman with red lips who was always talking to her father about business.
"What do you want?" Vivian asked, suddenly suspicious. Margot's eyes darted around the park. "To warn you. Coming back was a mistake. The gala tonightit's not what you think."
"What is it, then?" Margot looked like she wanted to say more, but instead she stood up. "Be careful who you trust, Vivian. Even people who seem to want to help you might have their own reasons." She gave Vivian a business card.
"If things get bad, call me." Before Vivian could ask anything else, Margot walked away, vanishing into the crowd. Vivian looked at the card in her hand. Another vague warning. Another person who seemed to know more than they were saying.
What was waiting for her at that gala tonight? Back at the hotel, Vivian spent hours getting ready, more to keep busy than because she needed the time. She curled her dark red hair and put on light makeup.
She wanted to look like herself, but stronger. Braver. As she zipped up her blue dress, Vivian looked at herself in the mirror. The scared girl was gone. In her place stood a woman ready to face whatever came next. She picked up the picture of Isabella one last time.
"Tonight," she whispered to her sister's happy face, "I start finding out the truth." Vivian tucked the picture into her small purse, along with her room key and Margot Vale's business card. Then she headed out to catch a cab to The Plaza Hotel.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, Vivian didn't notice the black car that started following them.
She was too busy looking ahead, toward the solutions she had waited ten years to find.