No one here knew my real name. Not the agency, not the staff supervisor. My badge said Claire—a lie I accepted because lies are armor.
But this child shouldn’t know Mara.
Celeste straightened. “Excuse me?” she snapped, louder now. “Why is my fiancé’s son calling you that?”
“He’s confused,” I managed.
Julian took a step forward, then stopped. His eyes warned me—don’t speak. Not here.
Because the truth wouldn’t just ruin an engagement party. It would rip open a secret Julian had spent two years burying.
The toddler whimpered and dug into his pocket, pulling out a small blue plastic bracelet with tiny moons. He pushed it toward me.
My chest constricted. I knew that bracelet.
I had cut it from a newborn wrist in a hospital room two years ago—the night they told me my baby hadn’t survived.
Celeste’s voice cracked like a whip. “Explain. Now.”
Julian finally spoke, thin and shaking. “Everyone, please—step back.”
Too late. Someone had already filmed the moment the “maid” became a mother in front of witnesses. Security moved in, but the room had already tasted scandal.
Celeste rounded on Julian. “Who is she?” she demanded. “Why does your son know her?”
“Not here,” Julian pleaded.