The champagne tasted like victory.
Victoria Crow lifted the crystal flute to her lips and took a slow sip, her emerald eyes scanning the glittering crowd at the Plaza Hotel's grand ballroom. Three years of planning had led to this moment. Three years of surgeries, training, and patience. And now she was finally back where she belonged—watching her husband from across the room while he played happy family with her best friend.
Well, former best friend. Dead women didn't have friends.
The Stone Foundation's annual charity gala was exactly as she remembered—overpriced everything, fake smiles, and enough diamonds to blind someone. The auction podium gleamed under crystal chandeliers while Manhattan's elite bid on vacation homes they'd never use. Same old crowd, same old games. The only difference was that Aria Stone was supposed to be six feet underground, not standing here in a red Valentino dress that cost more than most people's cars.
But Victoria Crow could afford anything she wanted.
She adjusted the neckline of her dress—silk that felt like water against her skin—and let her gaze find him again. Lucas Stone stood near the auction display, looking every inch the billionaire CEO in his custom Tom Ford tuxedo. Still had that habit of running his hand through his dark hair when he was thinking. Still clenched his jaw when something bothered him. And right now, something was definitely bothering him.
The blonde hanging on his arm, for instance.
Sara Hart—soon to be Sara Stone, according to the engagement announcement in the Times—wore a white gown that screamed "look at me." Her laugh was too loud, her smile too bright, her grip on Lucas's arm too tight. She was trying so hard to be perfect that it hurt to watch.
Victoria's finger tapped against her champagne flute. Once, twice, three times. An old habit she couldn't shake, even with a new face.
"Quite the turnout tonight."
Victoria turned to find a gray-haired man in an expensive suit studying her with sharp blue eyes. She recognized him immediately—Richard Stone, Lucas's father and the man who'd built the Stone empire from nothing. He looked older than she remembered, more silver in his hair, more lines around his eyes. But his smile was the same predatory curve she'd learned to fear during her marriage.
"It's a beautiful event," Victoria replied, her voice carrying just a hint of an accent she'd spent months perfecting. "The Foundation does such important work."
"Indeed." Richard's eyes swept over her like he was appraising a painting. "I don't believe we've been introduced. Richard Stone."
"Victoria Crow." She extended her hand, letting him kiss her knuckles like the old-fashioned gentleman he pretended to be. "I'm new to the city. Investment consulting."
"Ah, a businesswoman. How refreshing." His grip lingered a moment too long. "Are you here alone, Ms. Crow?"
Before Victoria could answer, a commotion near the auction podium caught their attention. Sara's laugh had turned shrill, and Lucas was pulling away from her with barely concealed irritation. Their "perfect" romance was showing cracks already.
"Excuse me," Richard murmured, moving toward his son with the practiced ease of a man who'd spent decades managing crises.
Victoria watched him go, then turned back to observe the main event. Sara was clutching Lucas's arm like a lifeline, whispering urgently in his ear. But Lucas wasn't listening. His dark eyes were scanning the crowd, searching for something. Or someone.
When his gaze found Victoria, the world stopped.
She felt the impact like a physical blow—the same electric shock she'd felt the first time they met at Columbia Law School ten years ago. His eyes widened slightly, and his hand froze halfway to his hair. For a moment, he looked like he'd seen a ghost.
Which, technically, he had.
Victoria smiled and raised her champagne glass in a subtle toast. Lucas stared at her for three heartbeats, four, five. Then Sara tugged on his arm, and the spell broke.
"Lucas, who is that woman?" Sara's voice carried across the room, sharp with suspicion. "She keeps staring at you."
"I don't know," Lucas replied, but his eyes drifted back to Victoria even as he spoke. "She looks familiar, though."
Victoria turned away, letting him wonder. Let him stare. Let him remember. She had all night.
The auction resumed with a Monet that some hedge fund manager's wife probably wouldn't even hang properly. Victoria bid on a weekend in the Hamptons she'd never use, driving the price up just to watch the other bidders sweat. Money was a weapon, and she'd learned to wield it well.
"Lot forty-seven," the auctioneer announced. "A week at the Stone family estate in Martha's Vineyard, donated by our generous hosts."
Victoria's blood turned to ice. The Martha's Vineyard house—her house. Where she'd spent her honeymoon, where Emma had taken her first steps, where she'd been happiest before everything went to hell. Now Sara would probably redecorate it with her tacky taste and erase every trace of the life Aria had built there.
Not if Victoria had anything to say about it.
She raised her paddle. "Fifty thousand."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. The bidding had started at ten.
"Sixty thousand," called a woman in emeralds from the front row.
"One hundred thousand." Victoria's voice cut through the room like a knife.
The woman in emeralds lowered her paddle. Smart choice.
"Going once," the auctioneer said, excitement creeping into his voice. "Going twice—"
"Two hundred thousand."
Every head turned toward the voice. Lucas stood at the back of the room, his paddle raised, his eyes locked on Victoria's. The message was clear: You want to play games? Let's play.
Victoria's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Three hundred thousand."
The crowd was buzzing now, sensing drama. Sara was tugging on Lucas's sleeve, whispering frantically, but he ignored her completely. His attention was fixed on the mysterious woman in red who'd just bid an insane amount of money on his family's vacation home.
"Four hundred thousand," Lucas countered, his voice steady despite the chaos around him.
Victoria tapped her finger against her paddle. Once, twice, three times. The same rhythm as her heartbeat, as the memories flooding back. She could end this now, let him win, disappear back into the crowd. The smart play would be to retreat and regroup.
But Victoria Crow had never been accused of being smart. She'd been accused of being dead.
"Five hundred thousand," she said, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent ballroom.
Lucas's hand went to his hair. His tell. He was rattled, which meant she was winning.
"Going once," the auctioneer said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Going twice..."
Lucas opened his mouth to bid again, but Sara's hand clamped down on his arm like a vise.
"Let her have it," Sara hissed, loud enough for Victoria to hear. "Five hundred thousand for a week at some dusty old house? She's obviously crazy."
Lucas looked at Sara like he'd forgotten she existed. Then his eyes found Victoria again, and something passed between them—a recognition, a challenge, a promise.
"Sold," the auctioneer announced, "to the lady in red for five hundred thousand dollars."
Applause erupted around the ballroom, but Victoria barely heard it. She was too busy watching Lucas Stone stare at her like she held the answers to every question he'd ever asked.
Which she did.
As the evening wound down, Victoria made her way toward the exit, accepting congratulations on her "generous" bid. The Vineyard house was hers now—a small victory, but a symbolic one. She was taking back what belonged to her, piece by piece.
"Ms. Crow."
Victoria turned to find Lucas approaching, having finally escaped Sara's clutches. Up close, he looked tired. Older. There were new lines around his eyes, a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. Guilt, maybe. Or grief.
Good.
"Mr. Stone," she replied, extending her hand for a proper introduction. "Congratulations on a successful evening."
His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and familiar despite the years between them. "That was quite a bidding war. I hope you'll enjoy the house."
"I'm sure I will. I've always loved Martha's Vineyard." She let her accent slip slightly, just enough to plant a seed of doubt. "There's something magical about it, don't you think? All those memories hiding in the walls."
Lucas's grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "Have we met before, Ms. Crow? You seem familiar."
"I have one of those faces," Victoria said, gently extracting her hand. "Though I doubt we move in the same circles. I keep a much lower profile than you do."
"Actually, you remind me of—"
"Lucas!" Sara appeared at his elbow like a blonde tornado, her smile stretched so tight it looked painful. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."
She sized up Victoria with the practiced eye of a woman who'd built her life on eliminating threats. What she saw must have worried her, because her grip on Lucas's arm tightened until her knuckles went white.
"I don't believe we've met," Sara continued, her voice honey-sweet and razor-sharp. "I'm Sara Hart, Lucas's fiancée."
"Victoria Crow." Victoria's smile was equally sharp. "Lovely dress. White suits you."
"Thank you." Sara's eyes narrowed. "You know, you look very familiar. Have we met before?"
"I don't think so. I would have remembered."
Sara's head tilted like a predator scenting prey. "It's the strangest thing. You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who died a few years ago."
The words hung in the air like a thrown gauntlet. Victoria felt Lucas go still beside his fiancée, felt the weight of his stare, felt the entire foundation of her carefully constructed plan trembling on the edge of discovery.
She should leave. Should make some excuse and disappear into the night before this went any further. The smart play, the safe play, would be to retreat and live to fight another day.
Instead, Victoria smiled.
"How tragic," she said, her voice soft as silk and twice as dangerous. "They do say everyone has a doppelganger somewhere in the world. Though I suppose your friend won't be needing hers anymore."
Sara's face went white. Lucas made a strangled sound that might have been his wife's name.
And Victoria Crow walked away, leaving chaos in her wake.
End of Chapter 1