Chapter 1

Faking your own death may seem straightforward, but the reality is far more complex.

I was twenty-one when I had to begin to live under Mireya Costa’s identity.

This façade has allowed me to create a new life for myself and my son, away from the baggage of my past, including the man who fathered him.

My biggest challenge was working multiple jobs to make ends meet and provide a stable life for my son without his father present. He deserves a good life, filled with opportunities, but my finances only stretch to cover the essentials.

“Mommy, can I go to dance class?” Orson’s question broke into my thoughts, reminding me of the reality I was navigating.

I paused to check my wristwatch and realized how late I was getting for my morning shift at the restaurant.

“Which of your friends goes to dance class?” I asked.

My heart tugged when I noticed a hint of disappointment on his face, a look that closely resembled his father's.

“Riley goes to a dance class. He wants to be a ballerina when he grows up.”

I racked my brain to recall who Riley was but came up blank.

“Do you want to be a ballerina too?” I inquired softly.

Orson fell silent. He rarely talked about his dreams or aspirations. It wasn’t the right moment for that kind of conversation. Still, my son meant the world to me.

“Mommy, I want to go to dance school to see Riley,” he admitted in his small, adorable voice.

My instinct was to respond with practicality. “Do you have any idea how much that costs?”

“But mommy—”

“I can’t afford it. Sorry Ozzy. “ I said, to which he quietly replied, “It’s okay mommy.”

As we approached GraceVille Academy, I noticed how the teachers’ faces lit up at the sight of my son. Their affection for him didn’t bother me. Rather, it eased my worries about his well-being. Unlike me, Orson was naturally sociable, effortlessly making friends, and he often drew positive attention.

He was my good luck charm, though I sometimes felt he was the result of my biggest mistakes.

“Ozzy, come here,” called Miss Daisy, his homeroom teacher. She was shorter and older than I was, and like me, she was single. Our weekend encounters at the supermarket often gave me insights into his school life.

With a wave, Orson hurried to her side.

“I have to go now. I prefer to pick him up myself. I will never send anyone else,” I stated firmly.

“Miss Daniel, you say this every day. We all understand by now,” Miss Daisy assured me.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“We’re just doing our jobs, Miss Costa. Now off you go to yours,” one teacher encouraged.

I nodded with an appreciative smile and hailed a taxi to Jameson restaurant where I worked.

Upon arrival, I faced the kitchen manager’s harsh rebuke.

I was unsure of what incited her anger this morning.

She gets angry at me almost every day.

It seemed she had a perpetual grievance against me.

“Some things come easily to those with a pretty face,” she remarked, her tone dripping with disdain.

I remained quiet. Speaking up would only escalate my troubles.

“You won’t provide a reason for your tardiness?”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” I replied, hoping to defuse the tension.

“That’s not what I asked,” she retorted, raising her hand as if to strike.

Reflexively, I caught her wrist.

“Let’s keep it respectful,” I said firmly. “I’m here to work, not to be mistreated.”

James, the owner of Jameson Restaurant entered the kitchen.

“What’s happening here?”

His voice boomed through the chaos, and we quickly disentangled ourselves.

He turned his gaze from the manager to me, his expression shifting as he noticed my clenched fist.

“I apologize for being late. It won’t happen again.” I mumbled before he could say another word. I swallowed hard, forcing back the tears that threatened to surface. “If it does, I’ll resign.”

James stepped closer, sensing my tension.

“It’s okay to be late, Mireya,” he said, offering a reassuring pat. “Just call me next time to let me know. Can you do that?”

I took a steady breath before meeting his gaze.

“Of course,” I replied firmly.

“Good.” He turned his attention back to the kitchen manager. “Mireya is under my protection. She will not be mistreated in my restaurant. Is that understood?”

“Understood,” she said, albeit reluctantly.

“Now, back to work,” he commanded, before focusing on me once more. “We have orders to fill.” He handed me a note listing the three most expensive drinks on our menu.

“The customers are upstairs. Ensure they are satisfied.” James’s small, apologetic smile didn't diminish the urgency in his demeanor as he turned to leave.

I opened my mouth to protest but the words caught in my throat.

After everything that had just transpired, I couldn’t voice my frustration.

I pushed aside my irritation and set about preparing the drinks.

When I got upstairs, two customers seated at the table immediately began to bother me.

I ignored their comments and focused on the order in my hands. I had dealt with people like them before. The best thing I could do was finish my work and leave.

I placed the drinks down carefully.

“Is that all?” one of them asked, his eyes lingering on me.

I didn’t answer.

I turned to leave, but before I could take another step, a hand suddenly grabbed my waist.

My body froze.

I couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Anger rushed through me faster than fear.

I immediately pulled away from him.

“Let go of me.” My voice was sharper than I expected.

The man looked amused, as if my anger entertained him.

I clenched my fists, ready to walk away before the situation became worse.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

“Nadia.”

Everything inside me stopped.

My anger disappeared.

The noise of the restaurant faded into the background, and all I could hear was my own heartbeat.

Nobody called me that anymore.

Nobody was supposed to know that name.

Slowly, I turned around… wishing against hope it was someone else, but life was devastatingly unfair.

The one person I never wanted to see again.

The one person I had spent years trying to escape.

My first instinct was to run.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

I took a small step back, my fingers tightening around the tray as panic slowly replaced my confusion.

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

How did he find me?

How was he here?

I had changed everything. I had left the past behind. I had built a new life where he couldn’t reach me.

But the way he looked at me told me I was wrong.

He remembered.

He knew exactly who I was.

I wanted to turn around and disappear.

I wanted to run before he could come any closer.

But my feet refused to move.

Alex took his time to stand. He looked calm as he came closer as if he already knew I had nowhere to go.

Every step he took toward me made my chest tighten.