After everyone finished eating, someone suggested they head over to the mall for a bit of shopping. The women, naturally drawn to retail therapy, perked up at the idea. The men, on the other hand, looked bored at the prospect and decided they''d rather hit up a bar to keep the drinks flowing. So the group split-whoever wanted to shop went to the mall, and the rest drifted off toward the nightlife.


    Gwh hadn''t really intended to go shopping, but now that she was here, it felt awkward to just bow out halfway through the evening.


    She trailed along with the others, wandering from store to store as the group meandered through the mall. When they reached the jewelry gallery, people started to linger, eyes lighting up at the dazzling disys.


    Everyone working at The Everhart Group made a solid sry, and with their sizable year-end bonuses, splurging on jewelry that ranged from a few thousand to tens of thousands wasn''t out of the question.


    Gwh quickly realized these colleagues were regrs here. Some sales associates even greeted them by name, chatting warmly as if they were old friends.


    "Mrs. Everhart, you have excellent taste. This emerald has been our showpiece for ages-nobody''s dared to buy it, but if you want it, it''s yours," one of the staff gushed.


    The words "Mrs. Everhart" caught everyone''s attention. Curious nces shot toward the woman examining the emerald.


    Just as this was happening, Gwh''s phone rang. She stepped outside to take the call, passing Patti Yale, who was already finished shopping.


    When Gwh returned, she found everyone whispering excitedly. "Wasn''t that Mrs. Everhart just now?"


    "Yeah, I heard she''s spent millions here over the years. Mr. Everhart really spoils her."


    Gwh blinked in surprise. Mrs. Everhart was here? In her mind, Mrs. Everhart was Leonie Everhart''s mother, so she nced around, searching for any sign of her.


    "Mrs. Everhart is stunning, no wonder Mr. Everhart stayed single for so many years-now he''s finally getting married."


    "Is it just me, or does she look familiar? Like the girl who was the star of our college back in the day?"


    Gwh rejoined the group, handing out ice cream cones she''d picked up for everyone on her way back.


    "Which Mrs. Everhart are you talking about?" she asked, puzzled. The age didn''t seem to match the college beauty they''d mentioned.


    "Mr. Everhart''s wife, of course!" one answered, lowering her voice. "I asked one of the shop girls I know she signed the receipt with Mr. Everhart''s name: Hawthorne."


    Gwh''s hand trembled. The ice cream cone slipped from her fingers andnded on the floor with a soft thud.


    "Gwyn, are you alright?" someone asked, concern flickering across their face


    when they saw the confusion and shock in her eyes.


    "I''m fine. Really," she replied quickly.


    Her mind spun. Her coworkers must be mistaken, she told herself. They were always gossiping-one day iming she was some rich man''s mistress, the next saying she''d secretly married. None of it was ever reliable.


    Almost unconsciously, Gwh reached into her purse. She walked up to the counter, pointing at an elegant diamond ne in the disy case. "I''ll take this one."


    The saleswoman hesitated, ncing at her with a flicker of doubt. She''d never seen Gwh before.


    "Are you sure, miss? This ne is


    $38,000, but ites with a


    Gwh''s gaze didn''t waver from the price tag. Thirty-eight thousand dors— nothing she couldn''t handle. She pulled a ck card from her wallet and handed it


    over.


    "I''ll take it. Please use this card."


    The sales associate, as well as several of Gwh''s colleagues, stared in disbelief. That kind of card was only given to the ultra-wealthy-people whose assets ran into the billions.


    Gwh had, of course, used Hawthorne''s card. Victoria had one too, and the credit limit was nearly identical.


    After the transaction, the associate respectfully returned the card, quietly informing Gwh of the remaining bnce.


    A wave of relief washed over her. The card''s limit matched what Hawthorne had


    told her when he gave it to her, which meant nobody else had used it since. No mysterious purchases, no duplicate cards.


    She nced down at the ne in her hand, and regret crept in. The only reason she''d bought it was because, rattled by her coworkers gossip, she felt a sudden, irrational need to know if the "Mrs. Everhart" they mentioned was using the same ck card as hers. If Hawthorne really had another "Mrs. Everhart," there would have to be two of these cards.


    But there was only one.