Chapter 1 The woman behind the Lens

Samantha Pov.

I was halfway through editing an article when the intercom on my desk buzzed.

“Samantha, come to my cabin.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, sir.” I grabbed my notepad and headed toward the editor’s office. After knocking and hearing his permission, I stepped inside.

He didn’t look up immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the file lying open on his desk.

“Samantha, you’re flying to New York tomorrow.” My brows knitted together.

“New York? What assignment?”

“An engagement.” I frowned.

“Since when does a British newspaper cover American engagement parties?” I asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Normally we don’t.” A faint smile tugged at his lips as he adjusted his spectacles.

“Then why this one?” I rested both my hands on the back of the chair.

He finally looked up.

“Because the groom isn’t just any businessman.”He slid a file across the desk.

“ He is Liam Turner the business tycoon.”

The world around me seemed to stop. My fingers tightened around the back of the chair.

“No…” The word escaped before I could stop it.

My editor looked at me, puzzled.

I had spent five years trying to forget him .

I tried every possible excuse, but my editor refused to change the assignment. Twenty-four hours later, I stood outside the grand ballroom in New York, reminding myself why I had built a new life. I wasn’t Sanjana anymore. I am Samantha Blake a journalist and nothing more then that.

The ballroom glittered with chandelier and was articulately decorated. I entered adjusting my press badge.

" Samantha." My colleague Tom came running towards me.

" What happened Tom? You are running as if a fire broke." I asked jokingly in an effort to cover my nervousness.

" Miss Carter, the bride to be wants an exclusive romantic photo shot with his fiancée." He replied.

" Come on lets us move towards the garden .” He yanked me with my arm and we moved inside.

My steps halted when my eyes landed on the groom.

Liam. My Liam.

My heartbeat stumbled. Heat rushed to my face as my pulse raced wildly. My knees suddenly felt weak.

Unaware of my condition, he was surrounded by glittering guests and flutes of sparkling wine, but all I could see was the man who once played the guitar beneath the almond tree, singing with me, as petals floated down around us like confetti. It was music that had brought us together, and now it mocked me through the violins playing in the background.

He still looked the same, with dark, tousled hair that I used run my fingers through . The same tilted smile that once accelerated my heartbeat. Maturity suits him well .

He stood tall in a tailored navy-blue suit, talking to guests with that effortless charm that used to make my knees go weak. But the arm he had around his fiancée’s waist wasn’t meant for someone else. It had once been mine.

Trying to hide my unsettled feeling from the crowd that was present, I lifted the camera slowly. The lens offered the distance I needed, a fragile barrier between my heart and the truth. My hands trembled as I zoomed in. I clicked the shutter too forcefully. The sound made him glance my way.

He looked directly at me—and smiled politely. A tight, impersonal smile. The kind you give to strangers.

Of course he didn’t recognise me. Not with this face—a stranger’s face, reshaped by surgeons after the accident that had stolen everything from me. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes but I blinked them away. I don’t want to waste my tears on someone like him who left me when I needed him most.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “You, okay?” Someone asked. On turning I found Tom standing close by.

"Yeah.” I lied. “ Just light-headed .” I blinked. Tom, handed me a glass of water. “Here take this. You look pale. It will help .” Tom spoke while he handed me a glass of water .

I needed to focus. Do my job. Pretend I wasn’t standing there watching the man I loved celebrate a future that didn’t include me. Pretend I wasn’t alive when the world believed I had died. Pretend this wasn’t killing me.

“ Why does this always happen to me? Why is destiny always against me? First, I lost him after the accident. Then I lost my face, my identity. And now I’m going to watch him do all the things with someone else that I once dreamed of.

“Hey, Miss Photographer, where do you think you’re going? You have to take our pictures. These days, people are so unprofessional.” Rose snapped as I approached.

I froze, her sharp voice sliced though the air like a shattered glass As I stepped forward, I felt a shadow looming over me, footsteps approaching and then someone stood right behind me.

“Rose” Liam said, his voice firmer than I expected. “That was uncalled for.”

“What?” She turned, confused.

“She’s doing her job. There’s no reason to speak to her like that.” He came forward and spoke in a professional voice.

“I just—”

“Apologise,” He said quietly but clearly.

“ Sorry. Long day.” She gave a tight-lipped smile .

I nodded. I didn’t have the strength to respond.

I guided them through the poses. Rose laughed a little too loudly; Liam smiled dutifully. But all I could see were shadows of the man I once loved. The one who’d promised me forever beneath a starlit sky in Kashmir. The one who never came looking for me after the fateful accident.

Then came the final blow. “I want a picture of us kissing,” Rose said, pulling Liam close. “It has to be dramatic.”

I barely managed to steady the camera as their lips met. My chest felt like it would crack open.

Even if I told him who I was—would it matter? Would he believe me? Would he even care?

“I—excuse me,” I mumbled, pretending to need the restroom, and fled.

I locked myself inside and leaned over the sink, gripping the counter. My reflection stared back. The face here is refined, repaired, but not mine, with only the eyes that are familiar. The pain behind them more so.

Tears welled up like a broken dam. What are you doing, Sanjana? Crying over a man who never searched for you? Who left you behind when you needed him most? My inner voice was screaming now. He left scars—not just on your face, but on your soul.

Still, my heart ached for him.

The memories crashed over me, the sirens, the blood, the cold steel of the operating table. That was the day Sanjana died, even though my heart kept beating. Samantha Blake was born from those ashes.

I wiped my face and reapplied my makeup with trembling hands. I had to be strong. I had to finish the job.

As I capped the lipstick and straightened up, the door creaked open.

“Are you okay?” Came a voice that I would recognise anywhere