Cracks Beneath Gold

The Sutton mansion gleamed with polished marble and towering pillars, beautiful, but cold.

Her mother greeted her politely, a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Mireya," Mrs. Sutton said lightly. "You should have called ahead."

"I wanted to see you," Mireya replied. "Have you heard anything about Arabella?"

"Sit first," her mother gestured toward a chair.

Mireya obeyed, fingers twisting nervously.

Before she could speak again, Mrs. Sutton's phone rang. She answered immediately.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe the progress we've made!" she chirped. "The Sutton brand is thriving since the Ashcroft alliance. Contracts are signing faster than ever. And I think my husband should run for mayor, Mrs. Sutton, wife of the mayor! With the Ashcroft connection, the public will adore us. Practically guaranteed."

Mireya froze. An hour passed while her mother gushed about profits, invitations, and political ambitions.

Finally, she could bear it no longer. She stood abruptly, took the phone gently but firmly, and ended the call.

"Mireya!" her mother snapped.

"I know you don't really care about me," Mireya said quietly, voice trembling. "But this is Arabella. Your daughter."

Mrs. Sutton's expression hardened. "Arabella disgraced this family. She abandoned responsibilities I spent years preparing her for."

"What if something happened to her?" Mireya whispered. "Hurt, scared, alone?"

No answer came.

Mireya's chest tightened. Arabella had been their pride. She had only been... convenient.

Outside, sunlight was harsh. Her driver opened the car door. Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"Hargrove, Metropolitan Investigation Unit," a male voice said professionally. "We're reviewing evidence connected to your sister's disappearance."

"Did you find her?" Mireya asked breathlessly.

"Not yet," he said. "But something unusual was inside the recovered vehicle."

"What?"

"A torn fabric sample caught in the passenger seat hinge. A custom design piece."

Mireya frowned. "Arabella didn't wear custom pieces often."

"That's why we called," he continued. "The stitching matches a designer label registered under your fashion brand."

Her world tilted.

"That... that's impossible," she whispered.

"We need you to come in immediately for questioning."

Ashcroft Conglomerate – Ronan's Office

Ronan stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows when his phone buzzed. He answered without greeting.

"Yes."

His expression darkened as his investigator reported.

"You're certain?" he asked coldly.

A pause.

"Send me the file."

Seconds later, a confidential report appeared on his tablet: security footage timestamped the night Arabella disappeared.

The Sutton driveway. Arabella's car. And a second figure approaching. The footage glitched briefly, distorting the face but not enough.

Ronan's jaw tightened.

Mireya arrived at Ashcroft Holdings, summoned urgently. Her hands trembled as she opened Ronan's office door.

He stood behind his desk, tablet in hand, expression colder than ever.

"You were at your parents' house this morning right?" he said.

"Yes," she replied carefully.

He turned the tablet toward her.

"Then perhaps you'd like to explain why security footage shows someone who looks exactly like you getting into your sister's car the night she disappeared."

Mireya's blood ran cold. "...That isn't me," she whispered.

Ronan's gaze darkened. "Then prove it."