70th Birthday.

Five years was a long time to survive hell.

But Gracelyn had done more than survive. She had conquered.

The timid, broken girl who once scrubbed tables for pennies was gone. In her place stood a woman drawn out of resilience.

Her name, once whispered with ridicule, was now sewn in fine gold thread into the collars and hems of the world’s richest wardrobes.

L’Ace was no longer a dream. It was a brand, exclusive, and celebrated by the elite.

And as she zipped up her suitcase for yet another trip, her son walked in, his curls bouncing, and his innocent face reminding her of someone she wanted to forget.

“Mommy!” he chirped, clutching his toy car. “We’re going on a plane?”

Gracelyn crouched and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. We’re going on a plane. To someone’s birthday party.”

Her assistant, Selene, appeared in the doorway with her tablet in hand. “Everything’s arranged. First-class seats. And your schedule in Milan next week is cleared, so you’ll have time for fittings after this event.”

Gracelyn nodded with a smile. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

What she didn’t know was that fate had its own schedule.

The airport bustled with its usual chaos—rushing footsteps, rolling suitcases, flight announcements crackling over the speakers.

Gracelyn held her son’s hand tightly, her sunglasses shielding her face as she moved toward the gate, while Selene trailed behind.

Manhattan!

She took in a deep breath. She was back to face the past she had buried for years. She could never forget the cruel things they did to her.

Her chest hurt as she recalled how she lost her baby because of them. She had gone into a premature labor, and was sure to have given birth to twins, but according to the doctor, one had been stillborn.

Her parents never looked at her twice, they didn’t even care. All their attention had been on Ellen, who surprisingly, had a premature labor too, on the same day.

A hard shoulder slammed into hers, nearly knocking her off balance, drawing her out of her thought.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured instinctively. Her fingers caressed the locket on her neck like an old ritual. Although it couldn’t replace the one her grandmother had given her, this was the only way she could feel close to her.

When she looked up, he was there.

He was always there!

Tall. Imposing. Neatly dressed in a navy suit that sculpted to his towering frame. The years had only sharpened his features, and made his aura stronger.

The man. The father of her child.

Her pulse quickened.

His brows furrowed, his eyes widening as his gaze swept over her, a flicker of familiarity that hit him. This wasn't just anyone.

His mind reeled back to the last time he saw her, a memory he had consciously buried deep.

It couldn't be.

The fragile girl he remembered was gone, replaced by a woman whose very presence commanded attention.

"Wait," he said, his voice low, almost a question to himself. "Are you... Ellen's sister?" The words tasted flat, even to him, yet he couldn't grasp the right ones.

Gracelyn slipped her locket back around her neck, straightening with poise. “Ah. So that’s how you remember me? The slut’s sister?” Her lips curved into a sarcastic smile. “How flattering.”

Before he could reply, she turned on her back and walked away, her son’s small hand in hers.

His gaze followed her with an uncertainty, and his chest tightened with something he couldn’t name.

Attraction? Recognition? Or guilt?

***

The celebration was held at the grandest estate in the city, its chandeliers blazing like captured stars.

It was the 70th birthday of Mrs. Sinclair Sr.—the formidable matriarch of the Sinclair empire, and the mother of the man Gracelyn had spent five years trying to erase from her memory.

As Gracelyn approached the entrance, whispers erupted from the crowd. She was elegance incarnate in a black velvet gown that clung to her curves, and her son dressed neatly at her side.

But before she could even present her invitation, Ellen stepped into her path, her smile dripping venom.

“Well, well,” Ellen sneered. “If it isn’t my dear sister. I didn’t know they were letting in charity cases tonight.”

Gracelyn tilted her head, unbothered. “Don’t tell me you’re still obsessing over me, Ellen. After all these years?”

Ellen’s eyes flashed in a sudden surprise. “This isn’t your world. You don’t belong here. And dragging that child with you, how shameless can you be?”

Gracelyn’s son stood by her side, wide-eyed. Her heart hardened, twisted in fury.

She could take any insult, but never one directed to her son.

“If you ever mention my son with that tongue again,” she said coldly, “I’ll show you just how much I don’t belong.”

Security shifted nervously as the sisters squared off.

Before Ellen could spew another insult, Gracelyn reached into her clutch and pulled out a sleek black card.

The guard’s eyes widened. He bowed slightly and stepped aside. “VIP access, ma’am. Please, come in.”

Gasps rippled through the onlookers as Gracelyn glided past, with her son’s hand in hers, ignoring the crowd like they were not even there.

Ellen’s jaw nearly hit the floor. A black card? Those were reserved for the most elite.

At the far end of the hall, the man, Rexander Sinclair watched the entire scene unfold.

His eyes narrowed.

How did she have that card? Was she playing games with another man?

The party unfolded with chatters. Strings played softly, champagne flowed swiftly, and guests mingled with one another, pitching businesses.

Ellen clung to Rex’s side like a prized jewel, trying hard to be the center of attention.

When it came time to present gifts to Mrs. Eleanor, Ellen stepped forward proudly, holding a box wrapped in satin.

“For you, Mrs. Sinclair,” she cooed. “Rare diamonds, just as exquisite as you.”

The box opened, and gasps echoed.

Diamonds glittered, yes—but to an untrained eye, only.

To the experienced? They were fake.

Mrs. Sinclair’s sharp eyes narrowed, her lips tightening.

She said nothing, but her distaste was clear. However, she tried to hide it, and said simply, “thank you, Ellen.”

Gracelyn stepped forward, her presence commanding attention.

“Those are fake,” she said calmly.

The room froze.

Ellen’s face drained of color. “What did you just say?”

Gracelyn’s smile was serene. “I said, those diamonds are imitation. Lovely, but worthless. Surely a woman like Mrs. Sinclair deserves better.”

Murmurs echoed through the crowd. Ellen sputtered, “You lying—”

But Gracelyn ignored her. She turned to the matriarch with a respectful bow and unveiled her own gift.

A gown.

Handcrafted, shimmering like starlight, each stitch a masterpiece.

The room gasped as one, like they had rehearsed it.

“How… how does she have that?” someone whispered. “That’s one of L’Ace designs. Custom, limited edition!”

“Impossible,” another said. “Those are made only for the elite, and it’s hard to get it.”

Ellen’s voice rose in shrill panic. “She stole it! She must have! She—”

But Gracelyn turned, her lips curving into a knowing grin.

“I didn’t steal it,” she said clearly, her voice echoing through the hall. “I made it.”

The silence was deafening.

Gasps erupted. Heads turned sharply. All of them focused their attention on her.

“You’re the one? How’s that possible?” someone asked.

Ellen’s face twisted in horror. Rex’s jaw clenched, and his eyes locked on her with new surge of intensity.

And Mrs. Sinclair, the untouchable Mrs. Sinclair, lifted the gown gently, awe flickering in her gaze.

“You,” she murmured. “You are the one behind those designs?”

Gracelyn inclined her head, poised and calm. “Yes. And it is my honor to present this to you, Mrs. Sinclair, for your seventieth birthday.”

The hall erupted in whispers, half in disbelief, and half in admiration.

Ellen’s world went blank. This was supposed to be her stage. Her victory. This was where everyone would know her as the wife of the renowned billionaire, Rexander Sinclair!

And yet here was her sister, her despised, ruined sister, standing tall, celebrated, and applauded.

Rex’s expression changed.

Recognition.

Regret.

Admiration.

And a sudden attraction he could no longer deny.

But before he could step forward, Ellen’s shriek pierced the air.

“She’s lying! She’s a fraud! Don’t believe her!”

Gracelyn’s eyes slid to her, sharp as a blade, as if she had expected her madness.

“You’ve had five years to learn,” she said coldly. “But it seems you never will. Don’t mistake my silence for weakness again.”

She took the microphone, and they all silenced.

“My name is Gracelyn Montclair Valkyrie, the CEO of L’Ace.”