Vivian's hands shook as she pushed open the café door. The smell of coffee hit her nose, warm and rich. Her eyes searched the room until they landed on him. Julian Cross. He sat in the corner table, his curly dark hair longer than she remembered. As soon as he spotted her, his face lit up with a smile that made her heart ache. It had been so long since anyone had looked happy to see her. "Viv!" Julian jumped up, almost knocking over his cup.
"You came." She hadn't planned to. After seeing Isabella alive at the galawith Damien of all peopleVivian had wanted to run back to Boston. But Julian's text message had stopped her. I heard she's back. We need to talk. I never believed what they said about you.
Those last words kept her in New York. Julian pulled her into a hug. She tensed, not used to being touched anymore, then slowly relaxed against him. He smelled like mint and booksjust like when they were kids studying together in the DeWitt library.
"You look good," he said, pulling back to check her face. Vivian knew that was a lie. Her mirror that morning had shown dark circles under her gray eyes.
She'd barely slept since the party. "You don't have to pretend," she said, sliding into the booth. "I know I look awful." "No," Julian shook his head. "You look like you. That's all I meant." A server came by and Vivian ordered black coffee. Her stomach was too twisted for food.
"So," Julian said when they were alone again. "You saw her." Vivian's throat tightened. "Yes." "With Damien." "Yes." The word came out harder this time. Julian leaned forward. "I'm sorry. I wanted to warn you, but I didn't know how." "You knew?" Vivian felt her face grow hot. "You knew she was alive all this time?"
"No!" Julian's eyes widened. "God, no, Viv. I only found out last week when they announced her 'return' to the family. I tried calling but your number changed." Vivian stared at her coffee, watching the steam rise. She'd changed her number three times in ten years, trying to hide from reporters and from her own past.
"What do you think happened?" she finally asked. "That night at the lake?" Julian looked around, then lowered his voice. "I never believed you pushed her. Never." Something inside Vivian cracked open. For ten years, no one had said those words to her. Even Celia, her therapist, had only helped her "accept responsibility" for the accident. "Julian," her voice caught.
"Everyone else did. My father" "Alexander is a powerful man who needed someone to blame," Julian cut in. "And you were always easier to hurt than Isabella." The truth of those words stung. "I'm a lawyer now," Julian continued, showing her his business card. The engraved letters read: Julian Cross, Criminal Defense Attorney.
"I've handled cases with false accusations, covered proof. I know how these things work." He reached across the table, not quite touching her hand. "Let me help you figure out what really happened, Viv."
"Why would you do that?" Suspicion crept into her voice. Ten years of isolation had taught her that kindness usually came with secret costs. Julian's hazel eyes relaxed.
"Because we made a promise when we were twelve, remember? After Billy Jenkins pushed you off the swings and I helped you up?"
The memory flickered in her thoughts. Julian, skinny and serious even back then, held out his pinky finger. "Friends forever," she whispered. "No matter what." Julian nodded.
"I broke that promise once. When you needed me most, I let them push you away. I won't make that mistake again." Vivian wanted to believe him. But trust felt like a luxury she couldn't afford. "What if we find out I did do something terrible?" she asked.
"What if I really am responsible?" "Then we face it together," Julian said strongly. "But Viv, I've been digging around since I heard Isabella was back. Things don't add up." Her heart sped up.
"What do you mean?" Julian pulled out his phone and showed her a news story dated nine years ago. The title read: Unidentified Woman's Body Found in Hudson River. "This was nine months after Isabella supposedly drowned," Julian explained.
"The body was never identified, but look at the description."
Vivian read quickly: Female, early twenties, approximately 5'6", blonde hair... "It could be anyone," she said, but her mouth had gone dry.
"Maybe. But the timing is strange. And there's more." Julian swiped to another screen showing a bank statement. "I have a friend who works at First Manhattan Bank. H
e owed me a favor." Vivian leaned closer. The statement showed a move of five million dollars from the DeWitt Foundation to an offshore account the day after Isabella's "drowning."
"My father said it was a donation to a grief counseling center," she murmured. "There is no grief center at this account number," Julian said. "I checked." Vivian's mind raced.
Could her father have paid to cover something up? Or was it something else entirely? "Julian, this is dangerous," she whispered. "My father"
"Is not as untouchable as he thinks," Julian ended. "And neither is Isabella." A chill ran through Vivian. "You think she was involved? In her own disappearance?" Julian hesitated. "I don't know.
But I remember how she was that summer, Viv. Secretive. Always on her phone. Meeting people she wouldn't talk about." The café door opened with a loud jingle, and Vivian automatically ducked her head. She'd developed a habit of hiding in public places.
"There's something else," Julian said, his voice dropping even lower. "I saw Isabella with a man last week. Not Damien." Vivian's head snapped up. "Who?" "I couldn't see clearly. Tall, dark hair, lots of tattoos. They were fighting outside a club downtown." The description sounded familiar, but Vivian couldn't place it. "And there's a little girl," Julian added. "Isabella calls her her adopted daughter." "A child?" This was news to Vivian. "How old?"
"Around nine, I think." Julian watched her face carefully. "Do the math, Viv." Nine years. Nine years since Isabella had left. Vivian felt her chest tighten. "You think the child is hers? From before she vanished?" Julian nodded slowly. "And there's something about her eyes..." A text alert pinged on Julian's phone. He glanced down and frowned. "What is it?" Vivian asked.
"Someone's been accessing my client files," he said. "Records I pulled about your family." "Could it be Isabella?" Vivian asked, her pulse quickening. "Or your father. Or someone else entirely." Julian looked up with worry in his eyes. "We need to be careful. If someone sees we're digging..." Vivian knew the unspoken warning.
Her father had strong friends. "We should meet somewhere more private next time," Julian said, writing an address on a napkin. "My room. Friday night at eight." As Vivian took the napkin, their fingers touched. The brief contact sent warmth through her cold hands. "Julian..." she began, not sure what she wanted to say. "I know," he smiled gently. "It's a lot.
But you're not alone anymore, Viv." Those words nearly broke her. Ten years of loneliness had hollowed her out. They walked to the door together, and just before going outside, Julian grabbed her arm. "Wait," he said, peering through the window.
"That black car across the street. It was there when I arrived too." Vivian followed his gaze to a sleek car with tinted windows. "Could be nothing," Julian muttered, but he didn't sound sure. As they watched, the car's engine started. "Let's split up," Julian said quickly. "Take the back path through the kitchen. I'll make sure they follow me instead." Vivian grabbed his sleeve. "Be careful."
"Always am." He squeezed her hand, then pushed the door open and stepped onto the sidewalk, walking quickly away. Vivian rushed toward the back exit, her mind racing. After all these years, someone finally believed her. She wasn't crazy. She wasn't a killer.
As she pushed open the emergency exit, a text message buzzed on her phone. Unknown number. She opened it, hand shaking.
Stop digging, Vivian. Some graves should stay untouched.
You don't want to lose someone else, do you? Attached was a picture taken minutes ago: Julian walking down the street, the black car noticeable in the background. Vivian's blood turned to ice.
Someone was watching them both. And they knew exactly what she feared mostlosing someone else she cared about.