Chapter 2

MISHA’S POV

The sole mercy of home was its indifference. No one noticed me, no one cared, and that anonymity let me slip straight into my room to confront the catastrophe I had unleashed in a single day.

How was I supposed to raise the money to pay Miss Modelo? I could only pray the sum was not as monstrous as she had claimed.

Earlier my head had throbbed; now a swarm of unanswered questions forced the pain into the background. My phone buzzed. A message from Miss Modelo’s assistant:

THIS IS MISS MODELO’S ASSISTANT. WITH THE PHOTOS ATTACHED TO THIS EMAIL, YOU CAN TELL THE PRICE OF EACH DAMAGED ITEM. SHE EXPECTS YOU TO BRING THE MONEY TO HER AT THE ADDRESS BELOW IN 72 HOURS.

I was already unraveling before I finished the last word. I dialed Sasha—the nearest thing to a friend I had ever known, the one person who had confided in me and, from the day we met, repeatedly saved me.

“I don’t know the man,” I blurted the moment she answered, “and I have only a few hours to bring him to the boss or I lose my job. What am I supposed to do? And how in God’s name am I meant to pay that woman eighty thousand dollars in seventy-two hours?”

I wished sobbing could fix it. The dread felt exactly like the nightmares that had haunted me as a child after my mother died in front of me.

“My father won’t just call me an embarrassment—he might hand me over to my great-grand-aunt, who hates me more than my stepmother and stepsister combined.” I paced the room like a caged animal.

A long silence stretched on the other end. Then Sasha’s voice came, quiet and deliberate. “I’ll help you. But on one condition.”

I stopped mid-stride. “You will? How? We work in the same place—how could you possibly—”

“I can give you the money. In exchange, you pretend to be me and go on a date in my place.”

“I don’t understand. What date? Why can’t you go yourself? And how do you even have that kind of money? Don’t toy with me, Sasha. You know how serious this is.”

“Because I don’t want to. My father is determined to match me with some man, and this blind date is just another of his schemes. Go, pretend to be me, reject him so thoroughly that my father finally leaves me alone. I’ll give you my credit card to cover the debt. All you have to do is show up, look the part, and walk away.”

“You have money to—”

“I am Sasha Reza. My father owns CRC Constructions. I’ve been running from that life, trying to live in the ordinary world. I’m sorry I never told you. I didn’t want friends who stayed only for the name and the power behind it. You’re a good friend, Misha. That’s why I want to help. I know you’ll insist on paying me back, so letting you take my place is payment enough. Do we have a deal?”

I sank into the armchair, stunned. I had been serving tables beside an heiress and never once recognized her.

“I know you’re shocked—maybe even angry. I promise I’ll explain everything when we meet. And please, tell no one. I don’t want the others to feel uncomfortable working with me.” Her voice sent a chill through me. If only she knew how uncomfortable *I* suddenly felt.

“Misha, are you—”

“How do we start?” I swallowed hard. If she was the Reza princess, why refuse her help when she could save me?

“Thank you. You have no idea how much you’ve just saved me. You’ve made the right choice. I’ll send every detail—what you need to know, where to meet him, how to carry yourself before you destroy any hope he might have.” Words tumbled from her in a rush. I found myself smiling even as my eyes burned.

“No—thank you, Sasha.”

I arrived at Nine Star early, needing time to settle my nerves and rehearse the role I was about to play: Sasha Reza, poised, untouchable, ready to dismiss a man and vanish. A Bluetooth earpiece nestled beneath my hair carried Sasha’s voice into my head for any moment I faltered. I was lost in the performance when a waitress approached.

“Do you need anything while you wait for—”

“No, I’m fine,” I said too quickly. Sasha’s voice cut in, urging me to order red wine to steady myself.

“I gave you a gold card,” she murmured. “Spend. Look like a woman who needs nothing from any man, especially one whose wealth matches your father’s. Red wine will calm you—I can hear how tight you sound.”

I nearly tore the device from my ear. “I get it,” I hissed through clenched teeth, then forced a smile at the still-waiting waitress. “Tequila.”

Her eyes brightened. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

“Tequila? Can you even handle it, Misha?”

“Get off my back,” I muttered as the shot arrived with startling speed. Special treatment, no doubt, thanks to the designer clothes and careful makeup Sasha had arranged.

“If you need anything else, just press the button.” The waitress indicated a sleek remote on the table.

“Understood.”

I raised the glass. A collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by low, urgent whispers. I looked up.

And the world tilted.

The shot slipped from my fingers, shattered against the table, and soaked my dress and the pristine white cloth in sharp, stinging alcohol.

“What is happening?” Sasha demanded in my ear.

If only she could see.

I was staring at Nikolai—Miss Modelo’s date. Every name, every face connected to the disaster that had upended my life, and somehow I had forgotten the most dangerous one of all.

In that frozen second I understood with absolute certainty: nothing would ever be the same again.