Rosa's POV
"Absolutely not."
I stare at the wedding dress hanging in my mother's closet and my stomach turns. It's beautiful—delicate lace, tiny pearls, the kind of dress every girl dreams about.
But it's Julie's dress. The one she never got to wear.
"You'll wear it and you'll be grateful," my mother says coldly. We're in the safe house, but she showed up an hour ago with the dress like nothing happened. Like someone didn't die yesterday. Like my life isn't in danger.
"Mom, I can't wear Julie's dress. That's... that's insane."
The slap comes so fast I don't see it coming. My cheek explodes with pain and I stumble backward.
"Don't you dare refuse me," Margaret hisses. Her perfectly made-up face is twisted with rage. "After everything your father and I have done for you. After all the money we've spent. After we found you a husband when no one else would want you. And you're going to complain about a dress?"
Tears burn my eyes but I won't let them fall. Not in front of her.
"Someone tried to kill us yesterday," I say, my voice shaking. "Doesn't that matter to you at all?"
"Your father is handling it." She dismisses it with a wave of her hand. "Some business rival trying to cause trouble. It has nothing to do with you."
"The woman who died said—"
"I don't care what some random woman said!" Margaret's voice rises. "You have a wedding in two weeks. That's all that matters. Now put on the dress so the seamstress can alter it."
I look at her—really look at her—and I don't see my mother anymore. I see a stranger. A cold, cruel stranger who cares more about appearances than her own daughter's life.
"Why do you hate me so much?" The question comes out small and broken.
Something flickers in her eyes. Pain? Regret? Then it's gone. "I don't hate you, Rosaline. I just wish you were more like your sister."
There it is. The truth I've always known but she's never said out loud.
She wishes I was Julie. She wishes I was the one who died.
"Fine." I walk to the dress, my hands trembling. "I'll wear the dead girl's dress. I'll marry the man who loved her. I'll be the perfect substitute. That's what you want, right?"
My mother's face hardens. "Stop being dramatic. Julie would want you to wear it."
Julie would have laughed at me in this dress. She would have made some cruel joke about how I could never fill it out properly. But I don't say that.
I just start undressing while the seamstress—a nervous old woman who won't meet my eyes—prepares her measuring tape.
The dress slips over my head and I feel like I'm being buried alive. It smells faintly of the perfume Julie used to wear. The lace scratches my skin. The pearls feel like tiny weights pulling me down.
"It's too big," the seamstress murmurs. "Miss Julie was taller. More... developed."
"Then fix it," my mother snaps.
I stand there while the woman pins and measures, marking where the dress needs to be taken in. I'm smaller than Julie in every way. Even her dress doesn't fit me.
The seamstress works in silence for ten minutes. Then her hand brushes something in the dress lining and she freezes.
"What is it?" I ask.
"There's... there's something sewn into the lining." She looks at my mother nervously. "Should I remove it?"
"What kind of something?" My mother's voice is sharp.
"Feels like paper. Or maybe—"
"Cut it out," I say quickly. Something in my gut tells me this is important.
"Rosaline, don't touch anything in that dress—" my mother starts.
But the seamstress is already carefully cutting the stitches. She pulls out a small, folded piece of paper, sealed in plastic.
I grab it before my mother can.
"Give that to me," Margaret demands, her face pale.
"No." I step back, clutching the paper. "This was sewn into Julie's dress. She hid it there. I'm reading it."
"Rosaline Rivera, you give me that right now or—"
"Or what? You'll slap me again? Scream at me? Tell me I'm worthless?" My voice is loud now, angry. "I'm wearing a dead girl's dress to marry a man who doesn't want me so I can save a company that treats me like garbage. I think I've earned the right to read my sister's secret note."
My mother's face goes from pale to gray. "You don't understand what you're doing."
"Then explain it to me!" I shout. "Explain why someone shot a woman in front of me yesterday! Explain why that woman said our fathers are lying! Explain why Julie hid something in her wedding dress!"
The seamstress quietly backs out of the room. Smart woman.
My mother and I stare at each other. For the first time in my life, I see fear in her eyes.
"If you read that," she says slowly, "there's no going back. Your life will never be the same."
"My life is already not the same. Someone wants me dead, Mom. Maybe this will tell me why."
I unfold the paper with shaking hands.
It's Julie's handwriting. I'd know it anywhere—big, looping, confident letters.
If you're reading this, I'm probably dead.
My blood turns to ice.
Rosa, if it's you reading this, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. All the years I was cruel to you, I thought I was protecting you by keeping you invisible. I was wrong.
Our parents aren't who you think they are. Twenty years ago, Dad and James Whitmore made a deal with some very dangerous people. They borrowed money—millions—to save their companies. But it wasn't from a bank. It was from a crime organization called the Crimson Syndicate.
They've been paying it back ever since. But the Syndicate doesn't just want money. They want control. They want to use Rivera Fashion and Whitmore Luxury to launder money, move stolen goods, hide their crimes behind respectable businesses.
Dad and James agreed. They had no choice. The Syndicate kills people who refuse.
But James had a wife—Vanessa. She found out about the deal and threatened to go to the police. So they killed her. Made it look like she died in childbirth. Gerald doesn't know his mother was murdered.
I found proof of all this. Bank records, contracts, names. I was going to expose them. But I think Dad knows. I think he's going to kill me before I can talk.
The proof is hidden in three places. One piece is here in this dress. The second is in Gerald's father's grave—inside the coffin, in his suit pocket. The third is in our family's safe deposit box at Manhattan National Bank. Box 2447. The key is taped under the desk in my old bedroom.
Get all three pieces. Take them to the FBI. Destroy the Syndicate before they destroy you.
I love you, little sister. I'm sorry I never told you that when I was alive.
—Julie
The paper falls from my numb fingers.
Julie knew she was going to die. She knew our father was going to kill her. And she hid evidence that could bring down a criminal organization.
I look up at my mother. She's crying now, mascara running down her face.
"You knew," I whisper. "You knew what Dad did to Julie."
"I tried to stop him," she sobs. "I begged him not to. But the Syndicate gave orders. Julie knew too much. She was going to destroy everything. We had no choice—"
"YOU HAD A CHOICE!" I scream. "She was your daughter! YOUR DAUGHTER! And you let them kill her!"
"They would have killed all of us!" my mother shrieks back. "You, me, your father, Gerald—everyone! The Syndicate doesn't show mercy! Victor made a deal. Sacrifice Julie to save the rest of the family. What else could we do?"
I can't breathe. Can't think. My own parents murdered my sister.
And now they're trying to marry me to Gerald to keep the arrangement going. To keep laundering money for criminals. To keep the lie alive.
"Does Gerald know?" I manage to ask.
"No. He thinks his father died of a heart attack. He thinks this merger is legitimate." My mother wipes her eyes, smearing makeup. "And he can never find out, Rosa. If he learns the truth, the Syndicate will kill him. And you. And everyone connected to this."
"Then why are you still going through with the wedding?"
"Because the Syndicate ordered it!" she cries. "They want you and Gerald married and under control. They want both companies fully merged so they can expand their operations. If we refuse, they kill us all anyway. At least this way, some of us survive."
I stare at her, horrified. "You're still working for them. After what they made you do to Julie, you're still—"
"We don't have a choice!" She grabs my arms desperately. "Rosa, please. Burn that letter. Forget what you read. Marry Gerald, play along, and maybe—maybe—we all get to live."
I pull away from her. "No."
"Rosa—"
"I said no." I pick up Julie's letter with shaking hands. "I'm going to find the other two pieces of evidence. I'm going to the FBI. And I'm going to make sure everyone involved in Julie's murder goes to prison. Including Dad. Including you."
My mother's face crumples. "They'll kill you. The Syndicate has people everywhere. Police, FBI, government. You can't fight them."
"Watch me."
I turn to walk out of the room, still wearing Julie's dress, holding her final letter.
"Rosa, wait!"
I stop but don't turn around.
"Gerald's father left him something," my mother says quietly. "A package. Instructions to open it only if something happened to him. Gerald never opened it because he believed the heart attack story. But if you're going to the grave anyway... you should tell him. That package might have the proof you need."
"Why are you helping me now?"
Silence. Then: "Because Julie was right. I should have protected both my daughters. I failed her. Maybe I can save you."
I don't answer. I just walk out.
In the hallway, I pull out my phone and call Gerald.
He answers on the first ring. "Rosa? Are you okay?"
"I found it," I say, my voice shaking. "I found Julie's evidence. And Gerald, we need to talk. About your father.