Chapter 1
Cassandro wanted Vivienne and Damian kept exactly where they were.
Audrey needed him more.
He wrapped his daughter in two dry towels and carried her inside while the estate physician was called.
Audrey clung to his neck so tightly that her waterproof bracelet pressed into his skin.
Behind them, bodyguards separated Vivienne and Damian.
Neither was allowed to leave.
The physician found no serious injury, but Audrey had swallowed water and was badly frightened.
Cassandro sat beside her.
He did not ask what she remembered.
He had already watched Vivienne nearly drown a three-year-old over that question.
Whatever Audrey knew could wait until she felt safe enough to say it.
But children rarely followed adult timelines.
While the doctor listened to her breathing, Audrey whispered:
“Mommy said you didn't send it.”
Cassandro looked at her.
“Send what?”
Audrey immediately covered her mouth.
The doctor glanced toward him.
Cassandro stopped.
“It's okay.”
Audrey stared at him.
“You're not mad?”
“No.”
“Aunt Vivienne said you get mad when I talk about Mommy.”
Vivienne was not Audrey’s aunt.
She was Cassandro’s wife.
But Audrey had known her before the marriage and had never stopped using the old name when she was scared.
Cassandro had always assumed it was grief.
Now he wondered whether it was resistance.
Audrey was taken upstairs with the physician and a caregiver.
Cassandro returned to the terrace.
Vivienne had changed into a dry robe.
Damian sat beside the overturned equipment cart with ice against his jaw.
Cassandro stood across from them.
“What didn't I send?”
Vivienne frowned.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Cassandro looked at Damian.
He said nothing.
Audrey’s mother, Elena Moretti, had disappeared fourteen months earlier.
Her car was found near Santa Barbara.
Her phone stopped transmitting that same evening.
There had been no body.
No ransom.
No confirmed sighting.
Only a message sent from Elena’s phone telling Cassandro she was leaving and that he should not look for her.
Three days later, Damian found a second message in one of Elena’s email accounts.
It said she needed freedom from the Moretti family.
Cassandro had spent six months looking anyway.
Eventually even his investigators ran out of places to search.
Vivienne had been the person who helped him survive it.
Eight months later, he married her.
Now his daughter was telling him Elena had once said something Cassandro sent was not really from him.
Cassandro looked at his wife.
“Start at the beginning.”
Vivienne folded her arms.
“There is no beginning.”
May you like
Cassandro glanced toward the pool.
“Then explain why you were trying to make my daughter forget it.”
