THE MEMORY OF A GHOST

The Christmas season in the city was a tapestry of twinkling lights and cold, biting winds, but for Isabella, it felt like the first time she could finally breathe. The air in her small apartment no longer felt heavy with the scent of desperation.

Her mother was home.

The heart surgery had been a success, a miracle bought with the price of Isabella’s dignity and a stack of bills left on a mahogany nightstand. Between the generous "tip" from the mysterious man in the Rolls Royce, her earnings from Mama G, and her meager paycheck from the Sterling firm, Isabella had cleared the debt. Watching her mother rest in their own living room—pale but breathing steadily—was a balm to Isabella’s fractured soul.

The Sterling firm had officially closed most departments for the holidays, and Isabella was on a much-needed leave. She spent her days hovering over her mother like a guardian angel, brewing tea and fluffing pillows. In those quiet moments, the red silk dress and the dark hotel rooms felt like a dream—or a nightmare—from a different lifetime.

She had convinced herself that the man she had been with wasn't Alexander Sterling. The timing of his London trip was her proof. It was a relief, she told herself. She didn't want the man who saved her from Jessica to be the same man who had seen her at her most vulnerable. It was better this way. Two different men. Two different worlds.

The Lion in the Parlor

While Isabella was finding peace, Alexander Sterling was findng only frustration. He had returned from London four days early, cutting a multi-billion dollar deal short because he couldn't focus. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a flash of red silk and heard a soft, rhythmic moan that haunted his sleep.

He was a man who prided himself on logic, but he was currently acting on pure, unadulterated obsession. He knew the risks. If word got out that the CEO of Sterling Global was hunting down a high-end escort, the board of directors would have his head. He couldn't use his private investigators or his PA. He had to do this himself.

He drove his own car—a discreet SUV rather than the Rolls—to the nondescript hotel that served as Mama G’s base of operations.

Mama G was sitting in her velvet-lined office, counting receipts, when the door opened. She looked up, her sharp eyes widening as she recognized the man standing in her doorway. She had dealt with powerful men for decades, but Alexander Sterling carried a different kind of gravity.

"Mr. Sterling," she said, her voice smooth but cautious. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a return visit so soon? I assume you were satisfied with your last booking?"

Alexander didn't sit. He stood in the center of the room, looking like a lion in a birdcage. "The girl," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The one from the penthouse. I want her name. And I want to know where she stays."

Mama G froze. She had a soft spot for Isabella. The girl reminded her of herself thirty years ago—beautiful, desperate, and possessed of a heart that was too big for this industry. She saw the look in Alexander’s eyes. It wasn't the look of a man wanting a repeat transaction; it was the look of a man who wanted to possess something.

Protecting her girls was Mama G's only code of honor. If a man like Sterling was this obsessed, it usually meant trouble for the girl.

"I’m afraid I have bad news, Mr. Sterling," Mama G lied, her face a mask of professional regret. "That girl... she was a temporary. Shortly after your meeting, her mother passed away. She was heartbroken. she packed her things and moved back to her hometown to start over."

Alexander felt a physical blow to his chest. "Where?" he demanded. "What town?"

Mama G sighed dramatically. "She didn't say, and frankly, I didn't ask. In this business, when they leave, they disappear. I’m sorry, Alexander. She’s gone."

Alexander walked out of the office without another word. The cold city air hit his face, but it didn't cool the fire in his blood. He felt a profound sense of loss for a woman whose name he didn't even know. He took the half-heart necklace out of his pocket, staring at the letters "SO".

"You aren't gone," he whispered to the empty street. "I don't believe it."

An Unexpected Invitation

Back in the small apartment, Isabella was startled by the chime of her phone. It was an official email from the Sterling Global HR department.

Subject: Sterling Global Year-End Gala & Celebration

All employees, from executive staff to maintenance, are cordially invited to the Sterling Estate tomorrow evening to celebrate our most successful year yet. Please RSVP to your supervisor.

Isabella stared at the screen. A gala? At the Sterling Estate? The thought of being in the same room as the high-society elite—and potentially Alexander—made her stomach do a nervous flip.

"I'm not going," she told her mother as she scrubbed a dish in the sink. "It's for the big shots, Mom. I’d just be the help in a different outfit."

Her mother looked up from her chair, her eyes bright with a spark of her old self. "Isabella, look at me. You have spent every waking hour of the last year working or caring for me. You are young. You are beautiful. You deserve to wear a pretty dress and stand in a room with music and lights. Go. For me."

"But Mom, your recovery—"

"I am fine for one night," her mother insisted. "If you don't go, I’ll feel like I'm the one keeping you in this dark apartment. Go and be a girl, not a cleaner, for just one night."

Isabella sighed, her resolve weakening. She picked up her phone and messaged Shante. Shante was a fellow cleaner at the firm, a girl with a laugh that could be heard three floors away and a heart of gold.

Isabella: Are you going to the party tomorrow?

The reply came back instantly.

Shante: GIRL! Is the sky blue?? I already have my shoes ready! I’m coming over tomorrow morning. We are going shopping. No excuses! Wear your walking shoes because we are hitting the sales!

The Whirlwind Named Shante

The next morning, the peace of the apartment was shattered by a thunderous pounding on the door. Before Isabella could even reach the handle, the door swung open and Shante burst in like a tropical storm.

"HAPPY HOLIDAYS!" Shante screamed, her arms full of shopping bags and a box of expensive pastries.

She ran straight to Isabella’s mother, giving her a gentle hug and setting the treats on her lap. "Mrs. Soso! You look wonderful! I’m taking your daughter away for a few hours to turn her into a queen, okay?"

Isabella’s mom laughed, the sound warming the room. "Take her, Shante. She needs it."

Shante dragged Isabella out of the door before she could even grab a coat. They spent the afternoon navigating the crowded holiday markets and department stores. Shante was on a mission. She poked through racks of sequins and velvet, tossing aside anything she deemed "too boring" for Isabella.

"We aren't just going as cleaners, Bella," Shante said, holding up a shimmering gown. "We are going as the women who keep that building standing. We are going to make those executives break their necks looking at us."

Isabella laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in weeks. As they looked through the beautiful clothes, she felt a flicker of excitement. For one night, she wouldn't be the girl with the mop, and she wouldn't be the "Little Secret" in the red dress. She would just be Isabella.

She didn't know that Alexander Sterling had instructed his staff that the party was mandatory for everyone. He wasn't looking for a cleaner. He was looking for a ghost. And he was about to find both.