12.

EMILY

I pulled my little boy closer as we tucked ourselves behind a narrow column near the airport café. My breath hitched each time I heard footsteps. He clung to my shirt like a baby koala.

“Stay still for me, okay?” I whispered into his hair. “Just a minute.”

I didn’t even realize Adrian had stopped right beside us until his voice drifted through the space. He was talking to someone on the phone, sounding relaxed and smug. My stomach twisted.

“Relax. I said I’ll handle it. Nothing is getting out. Have I ever failed you?”

My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my teeth. My son shifted in my arms, confused, and I held him tighter. A few seconds later, Adrian walked off, still muttering into his phone. I stayed put until I couldn’t hear him anymore. Only then did I force myself to breathe properly again.

“Mama… who was that man?” my boy asked, brows pinched.

“Just… somebody I used to know,” I said with a smile that felt glued on.

I took his hand and rushed toward the exit. In my hurry, my foot caught a tile, and down we went. He didn’t cry at first, just looked stunned, but the moment he saw blood on his elbow, the scream tore out.

“It’s okay, baby, let me see”

A shadow fell over us.

“Need a hand?” a deep voice asked.

A man crouched beside us, gently lifting my son before I could react. He had a warm face, the kind that made you relax without meaning to, and a small gap in his teeth when he smiled.

“You’re running like someone set off a fire alarm,” he said lightly. “Let me help.”

Before I could argue, he had a tiny first-aid kit open and was cleaning my son’s scrape like he’d done it a hundred times.

“You’re really prepared,” I murmured.

“My job demands it,” he said. “Kids always manage to find new ways to fall.”

He finished tending to the wound, and my son leaned into him a little, still sniffling.

“Thank you,” I said.

He hesitated before asking, “Can I get your number? Just in case you need help again?”

I pretended I didn’t hear that part and focused on getting my son back on his feet. The nanny my employer arranged for us was waiting outside when we reached home. That night, after I tucked my boy into bed, I called Blake to let him know we’d arrived safely.

The next morning came too quickly. It was my first day at Lockwood Corps, and I could not afford to look scattered.

Lockwood Corps wasn’t just big it practically ruled the tech scene in Norchester . Custom builds, sleek engineering, private robotics for clients who didn’t blink at the bill. I’d been hired to direct their ad campaigns for a new line of home robots.

My assigned assistant, a short, sharp woman named Natalie, met me at the entrance.

“Morning, Miss Sinclair,” she said.

Hearing that surname again felt odd, almost like she was calling someone else.

“Just Emily,” I corrected softly.

She showed me to my office yes, my own office and the tour took an hour. When we returned, she dropped a printed schedule onto my desk.

“You’ve got a meeting in two hours with one of the top execs,” she said. “They’ll probably test you a bit. Good luck.”

I touched the necklace at my throat my mom’s. I hadn’t taken it off once since I left Norchester . It felt like the only piece of her I had left.

Two hours passed faster than I expected. When I walked into the conference room, people were already settling into their seats. A few stared openly.

“I heard she’s the one who did that viral ad campaign abroad,” someone murmured.

“She’s even prettier than the photos,” another whispered.

I ignored all of it. Natalie slipped me a cup of coffee before taking a seat by the door.

The meeting was long and technical. When it finally ended, Mr. Marlon stood up and clapped his hands for attention.

“Everyone, meet Emily Sinclair. She’ll be leading our visuals for the new robotics line.”

A round of polite applause followed. I stood, nodded, thanked them. Easy. Professional.

But as I shook hands with each team member, a thought flicked through my mind: If they’d seen the scars I used to have, would their smiles still look this friendly?

Surgery had erased the evidence, but memory didn’t fade so easily.

Afterward, I returned to my office and barely sat down before Natalie popped back in.

“Lunch,” she said, setting a tray down. “Also, the CEO wants to see you after your break.”

I nearly choked on my water.

The CEO Reed Lockwood was practically a legend. Youngest in Norchester , built the company into a monster in just a few years.

When lunchtime ended, I headed to his floor. But as I approached the entrance, a woman stepped directly in front of me.

Her badge read: Miss Jessa Blake.

She gave me the slow, judging top-to-bottom stare.

“Who are you here for?” she asked.

“Mr. Lockwood asked to see me.”

“You have an appointment card?”

“No. He told my assistant”

“He’s unavailable,” she said, cutting me off.

I took a seat in the waiting area. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Several people walked straight into his office while she pretended not to notice me.

Then her phone rang.

“Yes, sir… She’s here… Of course.”

Her smile brightened like someone turned on a spotlight.

“You can go in now,” she said, sugary sweet.

I walked past her without a word.

The CEO’s office was a statement dark walls, gold accents, everything precise. And behind the desk sat a man with the kind of presence that filled a room without trying.

“Miss Sinclair,” he started, standing. “Glad you”

He froze.

His eyes dropped to my necklace, and something like shock no, recognition flashed across his face.

“Where…” His voice roughened. “Where did you get that necklace?”