Several people gasped.
"Delia!"
Vivian shouted.
But the scissors were already moving.
SNIP.
The first cut went through the outer layer of Wren's dress.
Wren froze.
"Stop!"
SNIP.
Another section fell to the floor.
The ballroom became silent.
Delia smiled coldly.
"If you want to attend our gala, you should learn the difference between an invitation and belonging."
Wren grabbed the remaining fabric.
Tears filled her eyes.
"You don't have the right."
Delia lifted the scissors again.
Then something strange happened.
The blue stone around Wren's neck flashed.
Not reflected light.
A genuine pulse of blue illumination.
Everyone saw it.
Delia stopped.
The chandelier lights flickered.
A low sound came from somewhere near Wren.
At first, nobody understood what it was.
Then the necklace spoke.
"Wren."
The entire ballroom froze.
Wren stared downward.
The voice had not come from a person.
It had come from the stone.
"Wren," it repeated.
Delia dropped the scissors.
Someone screamed.
Vivian stumbled backward.
And for the first time that night, the woman who controlled the Hawthorne family looked genuinely terrified.
The necklace spoke again.
"Do not let them bury the truth again."
The room erupted.
People shouted.
Phones appeared.
Someone called for security.
But Wren could hear only one thing.
Vivian whispering to herself.
"That is impossible."
Wren looked at her.
"What is impossible?"
Vivian's face had gone pale.
"The necklace."
She swallowed.
"That necklace disappeared twenty-three years ago."
Wren slowly touched the blue stone.
"Then how did my grandmother get it?"
Vivian didn't answer.
Because across the ballroom, an elderly man had just entered through the main doors.
Preston Hawthorne.
Charles Hawthorne's younger brother.
And when Preston saw the necklace around Wren's neck, he stopped walking.
His face collapsed with recognition.
"My God," he whispered.
Then he said something that changed everything.
"She's Elena's daughter."
Wren didn't know who Elena was.
She didn't know why the name had made the ballroom silent.
And she certainly didn't understand why Vivian looked as if someone had opened a grave in the middle of the room.
Security officers arrived within seconds.
One approached Wren.
"Miss, please come with us."
Wren shook her head.
"I haven't done anything."
"I know."
The officer glanced at the crowd.
"But this situation is getting out of control."
Delia suddenly spoke.
"She needs to leave."
Wren looked at her.
"You cut my dress."
Delia's face tightened.
"It was an accident."
"It wasn't."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
The officer looked between them.
Before he could respond, Preston Hawthorne stepped forward.
"Nobody touches that girl."
The authority in his voice silenced everyone.
Preston was seventy-one years old, thin and silver-haired. He had spent decades behind the scenes of the Hawthorne empire, rarely appearing in newspapers.
He looked directly at Wren.
"Come with me."
Wren didn't move.
"Why?"
"Because you deserve answers."
Vivian stepped forward.
"Preston, don't."
He turned toward her.
"You have hidden this long enough."
Vivian's face hardened.
"Be careful."
"No," Preston replied. "You be careful."
He pointed toward the necklace.
"That belonged to Elena."
Wren's heart began pounding.
"Who was Elena?"
Preston looked at her.
"Your mother."
Wren stopped breathing.
"My mother?"
He nodded.
"Elena Vale."
The name sounded unfamiliar.
Wren had spent her entire childhood asking about her mother.
Marisol had always said Elena was a complicated woman who had made difficult choices.
Nothing more.
No photographs.
No stories.
No explanation.
Now, standing beneath the chandeliers of the Hawthorne Grand, Wren learned that her mother had apparently been connected to one of the wealthiest families in the country.
She looked at Vivian.
"Did you know her?"
Vivian's voice was barely audible.
"Yes."
"What happened to her?"
Vivian said nothing.
Preston answered.
"She died."
Wren stared at him.
"How?"
Again, silence.
Then the necklace became warm.
A whisper moved through Wren's mind.
"Not everything you were told is true."
Wren grabbed the stone.
"What does that mean?"
Everyone stared.
Delia stepped backward.
"The necklace is talking again."
Preston's expression became grim.
"It only speaks when someone wearing it is close to the truth."