The boy trembled. “S-Sorry, ma’am… I was just trying to get dinner—”
Her voice cracked like a whip.
“That suit costs more than everything you’ll ever own!”
People turned. Phones lifted. Murmurs spread.
In a moment of fury, Vivienne shoved him.
The boy fell into a puddle with a splash.
Gasps exploded around them. Cameras clicked like gunfire. The woman known for polished philanthropy and flawless public image had just pushed a homeless child.
But then—Vivienne froze.
On the boy’s wrist was a small birthmark. Crescent-shaped.
Exactly like Aiden’s.
Her breath caught.
Her world tilted.
The boy didn’t cry. He simply looked up at her, shivering.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I only eat what’s left behind. I wasn’t stealing.”
He stood and disappeared into the rain.
That night, Vivienne couldn’t escape the image—the birthmark, the eyes, the hollow sadness that felt too familiar.
What if she hadn’t seen a stranger?
What if she had shoved her own lost son?
At dawn, she contacted her chief aide, Marcus Hale.
“Find that boy,” she ordered. “Quietly.”
Two days later, Marcus returned.