My Turn To Find You

Sienna couldn't believe Cora’s sheer audacity, her mind short-circuiting as Cora stepped in to boldly claim the dazzling, thirteen-million-dollar tiara right in front of their mother. For a split second, the grand foyer felt trapped in a vacuum. The sheer gall of the statement paralyzed the space. Did Cora really just step up, demanding the prize like she owned the place?

Valerie was the first to snap out of the collective shock. Her face contorted, twisting into a mask of pure outrage. She lunged forward, her high heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor, and immediately launched into a vicious defense. Her voice cut through the heavy air like shattered glass, echoing off the high ceilings.

"What is wrong with you?" Valerie shrieked, pointing a manicured, trembling finger at Cora. "Have you lost your mind? This is clearly a gift your dad bought for Sienna! Why are you sticking your nose where it doesn't belong? Claiming it's yours? Do you even know your place in this house?"

In the past, Cora would have cowered. She would have shrunk under Valerie’s blistering glare, desperate for a sliver of maternal approval, terrified of causing a scene in front of strangers. The old Cora would have apologized profusely, stepping back into the shadows.

Instead of backing down or cowering as she once would have, Cora offered a slow, sly smirk that infuriated Valerie further. She tilted her head, her posture relaxed, exuding an unnerving calm.

"Oh?" Cora replied, her tone smooth and steady. "And how are you so sure? My birthday is coming up, isn't it? Maybe Dad just wanted to give me an early birthday gift to show his appreciation. A milestone like this deserves a grand gesture, don't you think?"

Valerie’s chest heaved. She looked ready to physically drag Cora away from the deliverymen. "Keep dreaming! Arthur and I picked out your eighteenth birthday gift weeks ago, and trust me, it is not this tiara. Step aside. This is for Sienna."

Her stomach churning with aggressive force at the terrifying thought of losing the exquisite jewelry, Sienna stepped forward aggressively to block Cora's path. Losing this tiara meant losing her physical proof of superiority. She forced her facial features to soften, forcefully masking her steel intent with a syrupy-sweet, condescending tone.

"Mom, don't be so hard on her," Sienna began, her voice dripping with fake pity. She turned her gaze to Cora, offering a sad, patronizing smile. "Cora, I know you love my things. I know you've always wanted what I have. But I'm afraid this time, I simply can't give in. Dad went out of his way to choose this for me, and I wouldn't want him to think I'm ungrateful. Don't worry—Dad will definitely get you something even better next time."

Without waiting for a response, Sienna turned back around. She reached out to forcefully snatch the velvet box right out of the deliveryman's hands, eager to end the dispute and claim her crown.

But she didn't even get close.

The lead deliveryman sharply blocked her hand, his thick arm acting as an unyielding barrier. He pulled his clipboard tightly to his chest, taking a deliberate step back. His eyes darted between the two young women, thoroughly amused by the blatant family drama unfolding before him. He maintained his professional composure, but a hint of judgment flashed in his gaze.

"Excuse me, miss," he stated, his voice ringing with authority. "Miss C. Croft. This tiara is distinctly registered for Miss C. Croft. Are you the Miss C. Croft we're looking for?"

Sienna froze mid-reach. Her outstretched hand hung awkwardly in the empty air. Her internal panic became impossible to hide, flushing her cheeks with a hot, embarrassing red. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

Sienna desperately snatched the receipt from his hand, her eyes scanning the black ink frantically. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the letters blurred and refocused.

"Are you sure there's no mistake here?" Sienna demanded, her voice rising in pitch, her fake sweetness gone. "Isn't this meant for S. Croft? S! Sienna!"

The deliveryman shook his head, his firm, professional denial leaving no room for argument. "We are certain. The item is specifically addressed to C. Croft. There is no mistake."

The confirmation thoroughly shattered her fragile facade. She stood there, the expensive paper trembling in her grasp, her mind reeling. Beside her, Valerie looked as though she had been struck by lightning. Both women were left standing in humiliated, furious shock, unable to process the reality that Arthur had seemingly spent a fortune on the adopted daughter he claimed to despise.

Taking advantage of their paralysis, Cora stepped around Sienna. Taking the paperwork smoothly from Sienna's trembling, white-knuckled hands, Cora accepted the heavy pen from the deliveryman.

She signed her name with a sharp, elegant flourish. She handed the clipboard back, then turned to face Sienna, smiling mockingly.

"Sorry, Sienna, but I'll be keeping this," Cora said, her words a direct, mocking echo of Sienna's earlier jab. "Looks like it's your turn to make do. Don't worry—I'm sure Dad will buy you something even better one day."

Sienna's face drained of all color. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Valerie was equally speechless, her jaw tight with unexpressed rage.

Leaving their murderous, hateful glares behind in the foyer, Cora accepted the incredibly heavy box. She didn't look back. She carefully carried her prize up the grand staircase, the weight of the box pressing satisfyingly against her arms, and walked straight to her room, locking the door firmly behind her.

The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut, the metallic slide of the deadbolt felt like a physical barrier between her and the toxic wasteland of the Croft family. She exhaled a long breath, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of her space.

She carried the ornate box to her desk and set it down gently. The velvet was soft beneath her fingertips, a stark contrast to the hardened shell she had built around her heart. Slowly, she opened the lid.

The tiara rested against black satin, catching the ambient light of her room and fracturing it into a thousand brilliant rainbows. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. But it wasn't the monetary value that caused her breath to hitch.

As her delicate fingers brushed the cold, sparkling diamonds, a rare, genuine warmth filled her previously icy eyes. The hard lines of her face softened.

This extravagant gift proved one massive, undeniable thing in this second chance at life: that man's profound feelings for her remained as steadfast and intense as ever.

Victor.

His name echoed in her mind, unlocking a floodgate of memories she had kept tightly suppressed. In her horrific past life, her perception of him had been brutally warped. He had chased her relentlessly across the city, appearing at every corner, a towering, imposing figure cloaked in authority and wealth. He had loudly claimed she was the long-lost Mercer daughter. He had told her they were bound by a promise, that she was his sworn childhood fiancée.

But Cora had been broken by then. Suspicious, heavily guarded, and brainwashed by the Crofts' insidious manipulations, she had looked at this powerful man and seen only a threat. She had dismissed him as an unhinged, dangerous fraud. She thought he was a predator trying to pull her into another trap, just like the family she was already suffering under.

She remembered this exact day in her previous timeline. She had been left alone in the house. When the deliveryman had arrived with this exact box, carrying a gift from a man she deemed a stalker, her rage had boiled over. She had forcefully thrown both the deliveryman and this exact tiara out the front door. She had screamed at him, her words like poisoned darts, driving him away forever. She had slammed the door shut, locking out the only person who had ever genuinely cared for her.

She hadn't known then that it would be the last time he tried to reach her. She had gotten exactly what she asked for—he had vanished from her life.

It wasn't until the terrifying moments of her death that the agonizing truth was revealed to her.

Cora closed her eyes, a shudder ripping through her spine as the sensory memory of the freezing water rushed back. She remembered the suffocating darkness of the ocean, the agonizing burn in her lungs as she sank deeper into the icy abyss. Her body had been broken, her spirit shattered by the ultimate betrayal of the people she thought were her family.

But as her life slipped away, her consciousness had lingered just long enough to witness the aftermath.

She had seen Victor.

He had arrived at the cliffs like a madman. The always composed, terrifyingly powerful Victor Mercer had been reduced to a frantic, shattered shell. She had witnessed his soul-crushing grief, watching his spirit fully break as he let out a scream that tore through the stormy night. Without a second of hesitation, without a single thought for his own life or his massive empire, he had dove into the freezing, brutal ocean.

She had watched his desperate, thrashing silhouette cutting through the dark depths, frantically searching the freezing water for her lifeless body. He had drowned his own soul trying to save hers.

A choked sob escaped Cora's lips, piercing the quiet of her bedroom. She gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles turning white.

She had been so incredibly blind. She had foolishly, arrogantly thrown away the only person in the entire world who had genuinely never given up on her. The Crofts had used her, Sienna had framed her, and the world had mocked her. But Victor? Victor had loved her enough to follow her into the abyss.

Triumphant defiance over winning the tiara melted into profound realization and deep romantic longing. The cold diamonds beneath her fingertips now felt like a lifeline, a physical manifestation of his unyielding devotion crossing the boundaries of time and death.

Determined not to repeat her tragic, fatal mistakes, Cora wiped the tears from her face. Her gaze hardened with newfound resolve. She would not wait around. She would not play the victim in this lifetime. And she would certainly not push him away again.

She grabbed her phone from her pocket and immediately contacted the luxury brand's VIP hotline. Her fingers flew across the screen, using her authority and the registration details of the purchase to track down the purchaser’s private number.

After a brief, tense exchange with the representative, she secured the contact information.

Cora stared at the digits on her screen. They blurred slightly as her eyes welled up again. She took a deep breath to steady her hammering chest. She dialed the digits, her heart racing wildly against her ribs. She brought the phone to her ear, listening to the hollow ringtone.

The line rang. Once.

Then, a click.

A deep, intensely restrained voice answered on the first ring, sending a shockwave of electricity straight down Cora's spine.

"Hello?"

It was him. The calm, composed tone masked an undercurrent of tension, but she knew that voice. It was the voice that had haunted her final moments, the voice that had screamed her name into the howling wind.

"Victor," she said, her voice trembling slightly with overwhelming emotion.

A sharp, audible intake of breath echoed through the line. The heavy silence that followed spoke volumes. The man on the other end was frozen, stunned into silence just by the sound of her speaking his name.

"I want to meet you," Cora continued, her grip on the phone tightening as she spoke the words she should have said a lifetime ago.

Another pause, followed by the rustle of fabric, as if he had instantly stood up from his chair. When he spoke again, his desperate eagerness was barely concealed beneath his trademark icy composure. The untouchable titan of industry was gone; in his place was a man willing to drop everything.

"I'll come to you right now," Victor said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with unyielding urgency.

Cora’s lips curved into a soft, faint smile. A single tear slipped down her cheek, landing gently on the velvet box of the tiara. It was a tear of grief for the past, but also of hope for the bright future they had been denied. She could picture him already grabbing his coat, striding out of a boardroom, ready to cross the city just because she asked.

"Don't," Cora replied, her tone gentle but resolute.

She closed the tiara box, the soft click echoing in her quiet room. Reversing their past dynamic, taking the reins of her own fate, she made her determined declaration.

"You've always been the one to come to me..." Cora whispered, her voice carrying the weight of a lifetime of regrets and the fierce promise of redemption. "This time, I'm coming to you."