PART 2: MY BOYFRIEND GAVE ME HIS BROTHER’S NECKLACE—BUT WHEN I DISCOVERED WHAT WAS HIDDEN INSIDE, I REALIZED I HAD BEEN CHOSEN FOR A TERRIFYING REASON
The necklace wasn't a gift.
It was a message.
And the man I had trusted with my heart for six months had deliberately placed it around my neck to deliver a warning to his own brother.
I realized that at 2:17 in the morning, sitting alone at my kitchen table, staring at two tiny engraved letters.
V.D.
Victor Duca.
The initials were so small that I had to tilt the pendant beneath the kitchen light to see them clearly.
They were carved into the silver near the clasp, almost invisible beneath years of wear.
Adrien had told me the necklace belonged to his grandmother.
Technically, that wasn't a lie.
But he had neglected to mention that she had left it to Victor.
And something about the way Victor had reacted when he saw it around my throat told me this wasn't an ordinary family disagreement over jewelry.
His expression hadn't been angry.
He had looked frightened.
I turned the pendant over between my fingers.
The silver vines curled around a tiny oval centerpiece.
At first glance, it appeared decorative, but when I pressed my thumbnail against the edge, something shifted.
A faint click broke the silence.
I froze.
The oval opened.
Inside was a photograph.
It was no larger than my fingernail, faded with age, but the faces were unmistakable.
A beautiful dark-haired woman stood beside a young boy.
The boy had Victor's eyes.
And the woman—
My breath caught.
She looked exactly like my mother.
Not vaguely similar.
Not the kind of resemblance that could be dismissed after a second glance.
The same dark eyebrows.
The same high cheekbones.
The same slightly crooked smile.
My mother, Elena Moretti, had died when I was seventeen.
At least, that was what I had always believed.
I stared at the photograph until my vision blurred.
Then I reached for my phone.
I didn't call Adrien.
I called the one person who might understand why my dead mother's face was hidden inside Victor Duca's necklace.
My aunt Catherine.
She answered on the fifth ring.
"Lena?"
Her voice was thick with sleep.
"Honey, what's wrong?"
I swallowed.
"Aunt Catherine, I need to ask you something."
"Of course."
"Did Mom ever know a family named Duca?"
Silence.
Not the confused silence of someone searching her memory.
The terrible, deliberate silence of someone deciding whether to tell the truth.
Finally, she whispered, "Where did you hear that name?"
My fingers tightened around the necklace.
"Answer me."
"Lena, listen carefully.
Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Is there a man with you?"
My blood turned cold.
"What man?"
Another pause.
Then she asked a question that made the room seem to tilt beneath me.
"Has Victor Duca found you?"
I couldn't speak.
"Lena?"
"How do you know Victor?"
Aunt Catherine began crying.
I had heard her cry only twice in my life.
Once at my mother's funeral.
And once when my father disappeared three years later.
"Sweetheart," she whispered, "I hoped this day would never come."
Before I could ask what she meant, a sharp sound came through the phone.
A door opening.
Catherine gasped.
Then a man's voice spoke somewhere behind her.
"Put the phone down."
The call ended.
I immediately called back.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
By the third attempt, my hands were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped the phone.
Then a text appeared.
Unknown number.
DO NOT CALL HER AGAIN.
IF YOU WANT YOUR AUNT TO STAY ALIVE, TAKE OFF THE NECKLACE AND WAIT.
I stared at the message.
A second arrived.
AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T TRUST ADRIEN.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Then someone knocked on my apartment door.
Three slow knocks.
I stopped breathing.
"Lena."
A man's voice.
Low.
Controlled.
Familiar.
Victor.
I approached the door without making a sound.
"How did you find my apartment?"
I demanded.
"Your boyfriend brought you home."
"That doesn't explain why you're here."
"No," he answered.
"It doesn't."
I looked through the peephole.
Victor stood in the hallway wearing a black wool coat.
Rain darkened his shoulders, and a thin cut crossed one of his knuckles.
He looked exhausted.
More importantly, he looked alone.
"Go away."
"Lena, your aunt is in danger."
My stomach dropped.
"How do you know about Catherine?"
"Because someone has been watching her since you entered my family's house."
I pressed my palm against the door.
"Did you send those messages?"
"What messages?"
I hesitated.
His voice changed.
"Lena.
Tell me."
I read them aloud.
The silence afterward frightened me more than his reaction.
Then Victor said, very quietly, "Open the door."
"No."
"Good."
I blinked.
"What?"
"Good.
Don't open doors because a man tells you to.
Especially not at two in the morning."
Despite everything, the answer startled me.
Victor continued, "Look through the peephole again."
I did.
He stepped backward, raised both hands, and placed his phone on the hallway floor.
"I'm not asking you to trust me," he said.
"I'm asking you to look at something."
He slid a photograph beneath the door.
I picked it up.
It showed a woman standing outside my yoga studio.
She wore a beige coat and dark sunglasses.
I recognized her immediately.
She had attended three of my classes the previous month.
Her name was Nicole.
Or at least, that was the name she had given me.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
DUCA FAMILY SECURITY — SUBJECT SURVEILLANCE, WEEK 19.
My mouth went dry.
"What is this?"
"Proof that your meeting with Adrien wasn't an accident."
I felt something inside me collapse.
"No."
"Lena—"
"He came to my studio because he hurt his back."
Victor said nothing.
"He needed help."
Still nothing.
I remembered Adrien arriving that first morning.
His charming embarrassment.
The way he had apologized for not knowing how yoga worked.
The coffee he brought me the following week.
The dates that felt so effortless.
The patience.
The gentleness.
Every beautiful memory suddenly looked different.
"You're lying," I whispered.
"I wish I were."
"Then why should I believe you?"
Victor exhaled.
"Because I know what's inside the necklace."
I stared at the tiny open pendant in my hand.
"The photograph?"
His breathing changed.
"You opened it?"
"Yes."
"Who did you see?"
"A woman who looks like my mother."
A long silence followed.
Then Victor spoke a name I had not heard in years.
"Elena."
My knees weakened.
"How do you know her name?"
When he answered, his voice sounded almost broken.
"Because your mother saved my life."
I opened the door.
Not because I trusted him.
Because I needed answers badly enough to risk hearing them.
Victor didn't step inside until I moved aside.
His eyes immediately went to the necklace in my hand.
For a moment, his expression changed into something painfully human.
Grief.
Recognition.
Regret.
"Where is she?"
I asked.
"Your aunt?"
I nodded.
"I'm trying to find out."
"Then call the police."
"I already contacted someone who can reach the detective handling the threats."
"Why didn't you tell me that?"
"Because I didn't know whether you would open the door."
I studied him.
"Are you involved in something illegal?"
Victor's jaw tightened.
"My family owns shipping companies, warehouses, and logistics contracts.
Some of our former partners weren't honest men."
"That's not an answer."
"No," he admitted.
"It isn't."
I stepped away from him.
"Then start telling the truth."
He looked toward the window.
"Twenty-three years ago, my father entered a business arrangement with a man named Carlo Bellini.
Bellini used legitimate shipping contracts to hide money moving through overseas accounts."
I folded my arms.
"And?"
"My father discovered what was happening.
He wanted out.
Bellini threatened our family."
Victor paused.
"Your mother was working as an accountant for one of the companies involved."
My heartbeat quickened.
"Mom was a bookkeeper."
"She was much more than that."
He looked directly at me.
"She found evidence of Bellini's crimes.
Records, account numbers, payments to people who should never have received them."
I thought of my mother sitting at our kitchen table, working late into the night with stacks of paper.
She had always told me she was balancing invoices.
"She was going to expose him?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Victor looked down at his scarred hands.
"Bellini found out."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"One night, someone tried to kill me.
I was twelve.
Your mother got me out of the building before the fire spread."
I stared at him.
"The scar on your hand?"
He nodded.
"She burned herself getting me through a window.
I was too young to understand why anyone would risk their life for someone else's child."
His voice became rough.
"Before she left, she gave me that necklace.
She told me to keep it safe until the right person came."
I looked at the pendant.
"Why did she put a photograph inside?"
"Because she wanted me to remember who had saved me."
I swallowed.
"And the boy?"
"Me."
"Then why does it have your initials?"
"My grandmother had them engraved years later.
She kept the necklace for me while I was away.
When she died, she left it back to me."
A terrible thought occurred to me.
"Where was my mother after the fire?"
Victor hesitated.
"She disappeared."
"She died in a car accident six years later."
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't understand.
"That's what you were told?"
The words struck like a physical blow.
I stepped backward.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I never saw a death certificate."
"My aunt identified her body."
Victor's eyes narrowed.
"Did she?"
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
Because suddenly I realized something.
I had never seen my mother's body.
At seventeen, I had been told the accident was too severe.
Aunt Catherine had handled everything.
The funeral had been closed-casket.
And my father had refused to discuss the details.
I had accepted it because grief had made questioning impossible.
"Stop," I whispered.
Victor fell silent.
I pressed my hands against my face.
For years, I had carried the memory of my mother's funeral like a stone inside my chest.
Now a stranger was suggesting the stone might have been placed there deliberately.
I lowered my hands.
"Why did Adrien give me your necklace?"
Victor's expression hardened.
"Because he wanted me to recognize you."
"Why?"
"Because he knew I would."
I shook my head.
"That makes no sense."
Victor moved toward the table but kept his distance.
"Adrien has spent years believing our father values me more than him.
He thinks everything I have was given to me.
He doesn't understand what it cost."
"And what does that have to do with me?"
"Six months ago, Adrien discovered your name in an old family file."
I felt sick.
"He knew who I was before he met me?"
"Yes."
"Then why date me?"
Victor's silence told me the answer before he spoke.
"Because he believed you could lead him to something your mother hid."
I laughed.
It was an ugly, disbelieving sound.
"No.
Adrien isn't like that."
Victor watched me without interrupting.
"He makes me breakfast.
He remembers my favorite flowers.
He sat with me all night when my dog died."
"I know."
"He held my hand when I had panic attacks."
"I know."
"He loves me."
Victor looked away.
And somehow that hurt more than anything else.
"Maybe he does," he said.
I stared at him.
"Maybe?"
"People can feel something real and still do terrible things."
I wanted to hate him for saying it.
Instead, I remembered Adrien's hand against my apartment door.
The flash of anger when I mentioned Victor.
The way his patience had vanished the moment I questioned him.
I sank into a chair.
"What's he looking for?"
Victor hesitated.
"A ledger."
"What kind?"
"Your mother copied evidence before she disappeared.
We believe she hid the original records somewhere Bellini's people couldn't find them."
"Where?"
"Nobody knows."
I looked at the necklace.
"You think it's inside this?"
"No.
I've examined it."
"Then why give it to me?"
Victor's expression darkened.
"Because Adrien wanted me to approach you."
The realization came slowly.
Adrien had not simply used the necklace to provoke his brother.
He had used me.
He had placed something deeply personal around my neck, brought me into Victor's home, and waited for the reaction.
"He knew you'd come looking for me," I whispered.
Victor nodded.
"Then he'd watch where you went.
Who you contacted.
What you learned."
My phone vibrated.
Adrien.
His name appeared beside a photograph of us taken beside Lake Michigan.
We were smiling.
I looked happy.
So terribly happy.
Victor glanced at the screen.
"Don't answer yet."
I stared at him.
"Don't tell me what to do."
"You're right."
He stepped back.
"The choice is yours."
That surprised me.
After everything Adrien had done to guide, protect, and sometimes quietly control my decisions, Victor's willingness to let me choose felt unfamiliar.
I answered.
"Hi," Adrien said softly.
His voice almost broke me.
"Are you okay?
I've been worried."
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?
You sounded upset earlier."
I looked at Victor.
He stood motionless beside the window.
"Adrien, can I ask you something?"
"Anything, sweetheart."
"Why did you really come to my yoga studio?"
Silence.
Then a small laugh.
"What?"
"Your back injury.
Was it real?"
"Of course."
"Then why did Victor look surprised when I mentioned it?"
Adrien sighed.
"Lena, please don't let my brother ruin this."
"Just answer."
"I already did."
"Did you know who my mother was before we met?"
The silence that followed was so complete that I could hear rain tapping against the glass.
Finally, Adrien said, "Where are you?"
"At home."
"Are you alone?"
I didn't answer.
His voice changed.
"Lena."
I closed my eyes.
"Are you alone?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Because if Victor is there, you need to get away from him."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
Adrien spoke very slowly.
"Because Victor Duca is the reason your mother disappeared."
The call ended.
I turned toward Victor.
He had heard enough to understand.
"What did he tell you?" he asked.
I repeated the accusation.
Something dark crossed his face.
Not surprise.
Pain.
"He's twisting what happened."
"Then explain it."
Victor looked as though he had aged ten years.
"Your mother trusted me when I was a child.
Years later, I tried to find her.
I thought I was helping."
"What happened?"
"I told someone I shouldn't have trusted that I believed she was alive."
"Who?"
"My father."
I stared at him.
"Antonio?"
Victor nodded.
"He promised to protect her.
But within forty-eight hours, the trail went cold."
"You think your father betrayed her?"
"I don't know."
"Then why are you protecting him?"
Victor looked at me.
"Because accusations without evidence have already destroyed enough people."
Before I could respond, his phone rang.
He answered immediately.
"Marco."
A man's urgent voice spilled through the speaker.
I couldn't understand every word, but I caught three.
Catherine.
Hospital.
Alive.
Victor's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Send me the address."
He ended the call.
"Your aunt was found near her house.
She's injured, but she's conscious."
I grabbed my coat.
"Take me to her."
Victor didn't argue.
The hospital smelled of disinfectant and stale coffee.
By the time we arrived, dawn was beginning to turn the Chicago sky a pale, exhausted gray.
A uniformed officer stood outside Catherine's room.
Victor spoke briefly with him while I waited, my stomach twisting.
Then the officer allowed me inside.
Aunt Catherine lay beneath a white blanket with a bandage near her temple.
The moment she saw me, she began crying.
"Oh, Lena."
I hurried to her bedside.
"What happened?"
She gripped my hand.
"A man came to the house."
"Who?"
"I didn't see his face."
"Did he hurt you?"
"He pushed past me.
He was looking for something."
"What?"
She looked toward the door.
Then she noticed Victor standing outside.
Her expression changed completely.
"Get him away from here."
I froze.
"Aunt Catherine—"
"Please."
Victor heard her.
He stepped away without protest.
I closed the door.
Catherine's fingers tightened around mine.
"Lena, you have to understand.
Your mother made me promise something."
"What?"
"That I would keep you away from the Duca family."
My chest tightened.
"Why?"
"Because she knew what they were capable of."
I thought of Maria's warm embrace.
Antonio's watchful eyes.
Rosa's teasing smile.
Adrien's tenderness.
Victor's warnings.
Every member of that family seemed to be holding a different piece of the same terrible secret.
"Was Mom really killed in a car accident?"
Catherine began trembling.
I waited.
Finally, she whispered, "No."
The word shattered something inside me.
I stared at her.
"No?"
"Your mother didn't die that night."
For a moment, the world disappeared.
There was only Catherine's face.
Her tears.
And the terrible possibility opening between us.
"Then where is she?"
Catherine shook her head.
"I don't know anymore."
"What do you mean, anymore?"
She covered her mouth.
I leaned closer.
"Tell me."
"She left because she believed someone would kill you if she stayed."
My throat closed.
"She abandoned me?"
"No, sweetheart.
She was trying to protect you."
"By letting me believe she was dead?"
Catherine sobbed.
"I hated the lie.
Every single day."
I pulled my hand away.
Seventeen-year-old me had stood beside a coffin, believing the most important person in my world was gone.
I had spent birthdays, graduations, Christmas mornings, and lonely nights wishing I could hear my mother's voice one more time.
And all those years, Catherine had known.
"How could you?"
She reached toward me.
"Lena—"
"How could you watch me grieve?"
"I was afraid."
"Of whom?"
Catherine looked at the door.
Then she whispered something I never expected.
"Not Victor."
I stopped breathing.
"Then who?"
Before she could answer, the door opened.
Adrien stood there.
He looked exactly as he always did.
Dark blond hair slightly disheveled.
Soft blue eyes.
A gray sweater beneath his coat.
The face I had kissed goodnight hundreds of times.
But something was different.
He wasn't smiling.
"Lena," he said.
I moved away from the bed.
"How did you know I was here?"
"Your aunt's neighbor called me."
Catherine's face drained of color.
"No," she whispered.
Adrien glanced at her.
"Hello, Catherine."
The familiarity in his voice made my skin crawl.
"You know each other?"
I asked.
Adrien sighed.
"Lena, I need you to come with me."
"No."
"Please."
"Tell me how you know my aunt."
He rubbed his forehead.
"This is complicated."
"Then make it simple."
His eyes moved toward the hallway.
"Is Victor here?"
I said nothing.
Adrien laughed bitterly.
"Of course he is."
He stepped closer.
I stepped back.
He noticed.
Pain flickered across his face.
"Lena, don't look at me like that."
"Did you fake your back injury?"
He stopped.
"Yes."
The admission was so sudden that I nearly lost my balance.
"Did you know who I was before we met?"
"Yes."
"Did you date me because of my mother?"
His eyes filled.
"At first."
Two words.
That was all it took to destroy six months.
At first.
I stared at the man I loved.
Every tender moment seemed to crumble around me.
He reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
"Don't."
"Lena, what happened between us became real."
"Was any of it real?"
"All the important parts."
I laughed through tears.
"You don't get to decide which lies matter."
His expression hardened.
"Victor isn't innocent."
"Neither are you."
He looked wounded.
For the first time, I didn't rush to comfort him.
Behind me, Catherine struggled to sit up.
"Adrien," she whispered, "leave her alone."
His eyes flicked toward her.
Something passed between them.
Recognition.
Resentment.
Fear.
Then Adrien said, "You promised me she would never find out."
I turned slowly.
"What?"
Catherine closed her eyes.
Adrien looked as though he regretted speaking.
I stared at my aunt.
"What did you promise him?"
She began crying again.
"Lena, I thought he could protect you."
My voice came out barely audible.
"You knew Adrien was watching me?"
She nodded.
I felt the floor disappear beneath my feet.
My aunt.
The woman who had raised me after my mother's supposed death.
The person I trusted more than anyone.
She had known.
"How long?"
Catherine couldn't answer.
Adrien did.
"Since before our first date."
I left the room before either of them could stop me.
Victor stood near the elevators, speaking quietly into his phone.
When he saw my face, he ended the call.
"What happened?"
I tried to answer.
Instead, I began shaking.
He took one step toward me, then stopped.
"Lena?"
I looked at him.
"Everyone knew."
His expression softened.
"Not everyone."
"Don't."
He fell silent.
I wiped my face.
"My aunt knew Adrien was watching me.
She helped him."
Victor's jaw tightened.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Victor removed his coat and held it out.
I stared at it.
"I'm not cold."
"You're trembling."
"I'm angry."
"I know."
Something about his calmness made me want to scream.
"Why aren't you surprised?"
He looked toward Catherine's room.
"Because I've been wondering how Adrien found you so easily."
I took a breath.
"Then tell me something true."
He met my eyes.
"Ask."
"Why did you whisper 'wrong brother'?"
For the first time, Victor looked uncomfortable.
He glanced away.
Then back at me.
"Because Adrien used something precious to me to get your attention."
"That isn't what you meant."
"No."
"Then what?"
Victor's expression changed.
The cold, controlled man from dinner vanished.
In his place stood someone who looked almost afraid of his own answer.
"Years ago, your mother asked me to make her a promise."
"What promise?"
"That if anything happened to her, I would find you."
I swallowed.
"And?"
"That I would make sure you were loved by someone who never needed to lie to keep you."
My eyes filled again.
Victor's voice lowered.
"When I saw you sitting beside Adrien, wearing that necklace, I knew he had broken something that should have remained sacred."
He looked directly at me.
"So I said the wrong brother had found you."
My pulse stumbled.
I wanted to ask what he meant.
But before I could, my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph.
I opened it.
And stopped breathing.
The picture showed a woman sitting beside a window in what appeared to be a small lakeside house.
She had dark hair streaked with silver.
A familiar smile.
And the same eyes I saw every morning in my bathroom mirror.
My mother.
Older.
Alive.
The message beneath the photograph read:
LENA, IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR MOTHER AGAIN, COME TO THE PLACE WHERE YOUR FATHER DISAPPEARED.
COME ALONE.
I looked up at Victor.
"She's alive."
His face went pale.
I showed him the photograph.
For several seconds, he stared without speaking.
Then he whispered, "Elena."
I barely heard him.
Because a second message had appeared.
DO NOT TELL VICTOR.
HE HAS BEEN LOOKING FOR HER FOR TWENTY-THREE YEARS, AND THERE IS A REASON SHE HAS NEVER LET HIM FIND HER.
My hands turned icy.
I slowly lowered the phone.
Victor watched me.
"What does it say?"
I couldn't answer.
Then his own phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His entire expression changed.
"Excuse me," he said quietly.
He walked several feet away and answered.
I wasn't trying to listen.
But the hallway was almost empty, and his voice carried through the silence.
"Yes?"
A pause.
Then Victor said something that made my blood run cold.
"I told you not to contact her until I knew she was ready."
My heart stopped.
He listened.
Then spoke again.
"No.
Adrien doesn't know."
Another pause.
Victor closed his eyes.
And whispered a name.
"Elena."
My mother's name.
I stepped backward.
The man who had just told me he hadn't been able to find my mother was speaking to someone named Elena.
Someone who had apparently been waiting for me.
Someone he had instructed not to contact me.
I turned toward the elevators.
But before I could move, a hand caught my wrist.
Adrien.
He had followed me out of Catherine's room.
His face was pale, his eyes fixed on Victor.
"You heard him, didn't you?" he whispered.
I pulled my arm free.
"Let go."
He immediately released me.
"Lena, listen.
There's something you need to know."
"I don't want another lie."
"Then I'll tell you the truth."
His voice trembled.
"Victor didn't spend twenty-three years searching for your mother."
I stared at him.
"He spent twenty-three years making sure nobody else could find her."
My stomach twisted.
"What are you saying?"
Adrien looked toward his brother.
Then back at me.
"Lena, your mother didn't disappear because she was running from our family."
He swallowed.
"She disappeared because she was running from Victor."
Before I could respond, Victor turned around.
He saw Adrien standing beside me.
And for the first time since I had met him, genuine fear crossed his face.
"Adrien," he said sharply.
"Get away from her."
Adrien gave a bitter smile.
"Tell her."
Victor went still.
"Not here."
"Tell her what happened the night her father disappeared."
I looked between them.
"My father?"
Neither answered.
Adrien's smile vanished.
"Go ahead, Victor.
Tell her why her father's car was found abandoned beside Lake Michigan."
Victor's face became unreadable.
Then Adrien delivered the words that changed everything.
"Tell Lena why the police found your blood inside her father's car."
The hallway fell silent.
Victor stared at his younger brother.
And then, slowly, he looked at me.
"Lena," he said, his voice breaking for the first time, "your father isn't dead either."
I couldn't move.
Victor took a breath.
"And the reason your mother has been hiding all these years is that she knows what he really is."
My phone vibrated one final time.
Another photograph appeared.
This one showed my mother standing beside a man in a dark suit.
A man with silver hair and a familiar smile.
A man I had mourned for twenty years.
My father.
But it wasn't his face that terrified me.
It was the little girl standing between them.
She looked about eight years old.
She had my mother's eyes.
My father's smile.
And she was wearing an identical silver necklace.
Beneath the photograph were six words.
LENA, IT'S TIME TO MEET YOUR SISTER.
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MY BOYFRIEND USED ME TO BETRAY HIS BROTHER— T218
Source: Stories of Destiny · Thanh Thanh
