Chapter 4

(***Go to Sierra Point of View***)

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Knock. Knock.

“Sierra…”

The sudden sound at my bedroom door startled me enough that I quickly pushed the IPad I had been reading beneath the pillow beside me before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opened slowly, revealing the familiar figure of the man who had raised me for the past seven years.

My uncle… Or rather, the man I had come to call my father.

Michael Smith stepped into the room with the composed confidence that seemed to follow him everywhere. His presence carried the quiet authority of someone accustomed to controlling every situation around him.

“Your modeling schedule for Milan is approaching,” he said warmly as he walked farther inside. “You are doing excellent work, Sierra.”

He reached out and gently tapped the top of my head, a gesture that was meant to feel affectionate.

I smiled politely in response, although the action always felt slightly childish to me, as though I were still the fifteen-year-old girl he had taken in all those years ago.

Michael’s attention shifted toward the laptop resting on my desk.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I shrugged casually, trying to appear relaxed. “Just looking at places I might visit while I am in Italy next week.”

His expression softened into a pleased smile.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” he replied. “Just inform Bethany about anything you decide, and she will arrange everything for you.”

He paused briefly before adding, “And remember, one of my friends would like to have dinner with you while you are there. His name is Carlo Nostra, the son of a very important businessman in Italy.”

I nodded quietly.

Bethany was technically my uncle’s secretary, although over time she had gradually become my personal assistant as well.

For every schedule I had, every flight, every hotel and even every interview was organized all by Bethany or him.

Michael gave me another approving nod before glancing around the room, as if silently confirming that everything remained exactly the way he expected it to be.

Michael Smith was my father’s cousin. Seven years ago, when my parents died in a car accident, he had taken me into his home without hesitation.

At least that was the story everyone knew.

I had been only fifteen years old at the time. Alone, terrified and suddenly the sole heir to the entire Smith fortune. Michael had stepped in to protect me when no one else could and because of that, the world often described him as a generous and compassionate guardian.

And to be fair, he had always been kind to me because he provided everything I could possibly want. A beautiful house, private tutors, travel and luxury. Yet his kindness came with certain rules. Michael believed that I should never struggle. According to him, I was a princess, it was his exact words, but to me, it sometimes felt like a cage…. A golden cage.

“You are different from other women,” he had told me more than once. “You were born into privilege, Sierra. You do not need to work the way ordinary people do.”

It was the reason he never allowed me to attend college.

So, whenever I mentioned the idea, he would gently dismiss it with the same explanation.

“You will inherit more wealth than most people see in their entire lives,” he would say with a patient smile. “Why exhaust yourself when the world will already belong to you?”

At first, I had accepted his reasoning but as I grew older, something about it began to feel strange.

Instead of college, Michael had suggested something else.

Modeling.

He insisted that I had the appearance and elegance for it, and within months he had arranged professional photoshoots, agency connections, and interviews that quickly placed me into the fashion world.

Every opportunity appeared almost effortlessly as if someone had already planned the entire path ahead of me.

Michael also managed every schedule personally. So, he always knew exactly where I was, exactly where I was going and when I would return.

He said it was necessary.

“After what happened five years ago,” he often reminded me gently.

The kidnapping…

Even now the memory felt incomplete, like a dream that dissolved the moment I tried to focus on it.

Five years ago, someone tried to kidnap me.

At least that was what everyone told me.

According to Michael, a dangerous gangster had taken me from the street in Detroit and the event had nearly killed me.

But I can’t remember anything about it. The accident that followed caused severe trauma, and the doctors said the shock forced my mind to erase the memory entirely. So, I had lost that part of my past.

But whenever I asked for more details, Michael simply showed me the news footage. The headlines, the security videos, images of police cars and flashing lights.

Strangely, I remembered something else as well.

The way Michael had cried that day… I had never seen him cry before so the memory of it always made my chest tighten. Why did he cry like that?

And since then he had become even more protective.

He insisted that security follow me everywhere, so he arranged my travel and made sure someone always knew where I was.

“It is for your safety,” he would say gently.

And yet lately something about his behavior had begun to feel… different.

And lately he sounded almost like a matchmaker. Why?

Michael was already forty-three years old and had never married. People often said it was because he had devoted his life to raising me.

But I knew the truth was not quite that simple.

Women often visited his other house, the apartment he kept in the city. Sometimes the same woman stayed there for weeks. Yet he had never introduced any of them to me. Why?

Michael turned his attention back to me.

“You should get some rest,” he said calmly. “You have a fitting tomorrow morning, and the designers will expect you to look perfect.”

“Okay,” I replied softly.

He gave me one last approving look before walking toward the door. “Remember to inform Bethany about your plans in Italy.”

“I will.”

He paused briefly in the doorway, studying me with an expression that almost seemed thoughtful before he nodded and left the room.

When the door closed quietly behind him, silence returned.

For several moments I remained seated on the bed without moving then I reached beneath the pillow and pulled out what I had hidden earlier.

It was not actually a book, it was my iPad.

Inside were dozens of pages filled with notes. Questions about the kidnapping, about the accident and about the memories that refused to return.

What I didn’t tell anyone, sometimes I woke in the middle of the night with the strange feeling that something was missing.

It felt like a story that had lost an important chapter.

From the outside, my life looked perfect. I had money, fame and the opportunities most people could only dream about but deep inside, a quiet voice kept whispering that something about my past did not make sense.

I stared down at the empty page in front of me.

Then slowly I typed a single sentence. ‘What really happened five years ago?’

For reasons I could not explain, every time I asked that question I felt the faintest echo of something unfamiliar.

It was a shadow of memory… A cold night, rain is falling heavily and a pair of intense eyes watching me.

Eyes that did not look at me with fear but with something else entirely. Something dangerous and unforgettable.

Even though I could not remember his face, I had the strangest feeling that somewhere in this world there was a man who knew the truth.

And someday… somehow…I hoped our paths would cross again.

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