“I have it,” he said quickly. “The necklace. She’s here.”
A chill crept up my spine.
“Who are you calling?” I demanded.
He covered the receiver, eyes wide.
“Miss… the master has been searching for you for 20 years!”
Before I could react, a lock clicked behind the showroom. The back door swung open.
And when I saw who stepped through, I gasped.
“Desiree?!”
She looked older now—silver in her hair, softened edges—but carried herself the same way I remembered: straight-backed, composed, effortlessly elegant.
She was my grandmother’s best friend.
Desiree used to visit, bringing pastries and stories I was too young to understand. I hadn’t seen her in years.
The moment her eyes landed on me, something inside her broke, like she’d been holding herself together for too long.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said softly, pulling me into a hug.
Warm. Familiar. Unexpected.
I stood stiff at first, then slowly leaned into it.
“What’s going on?” I asked when she pulled back.
“You look so much like her,” she murmured.
“Nana?”
She nodded, then turned to the man. “It’s all right, Samuel. I’ll take it from here.”
He nodded quickly, relieved.
I frowned. “Why did he call you ‘the master’?”
Desiree exhaled. “Because I own this place—and three others across the city. He says I carry myself like a master instead of a boss.”
That surprised me, but not as much as what came next.
Her gaze dropped to the necklace.
“That,” she said quietly, “is why I’ve been searching for you.”
“Why?” I asked.
