LOGINScarlett's POVAnother journalist joined in. "But is it true that Mr. Sterling was close to the model? That she was six months pregnant?"Marcus stood up too, slowly. His aura shifted. His shoulders went rigid. His jaw tightened."I won't comment on personal matters."His voice came out low, controlled, but charged with an authority that made some journalists hesitate.But not mine."Mr. Sterling, there are documents suggesting that Emily Parker was alive until a few years ago. Do you know where she is?" The question was direct, without hesitation.Marcus went pale. His knuckles turned white."That's none of your business." The answer came out dry, cutting."People want to know," the journalist said, without backing down. "Emily Parker was a rising star in photography. Her disappearance left many unanswered questions. Can you explain what happened?"The studio fell into absolute silence.Claire stared at Marcus, her eyes wide, her breathing becoming ragged."Marcus... what are they sa
Scarlett's POVThe studio was organized chaos. Lights, cameras, cables, assistants running from one side to the other. The sound of clicks and voices giving instructions filled the space. The smell of makeup and coffee mixed in the air.I was at the center of it all.Dressed in black from head to toe. Tailored trousers, a silk blouse, high heels. My short dark hair perfectly slicked back. The folder in my hand, my eyes watchful of every detail.This was my domain. My territory. The place where I was in charge.Claire was sitting in the makeup chair, being finished by the team. The dress she was going to wear was an exclusive design, created by a French designer I knew personally. The fabric was navy blue, with hand-applied sequins. Every detail had been thought out to make her look like a star.She was radiant."Scarlett!" Claire stood up as soon as she saw me, arms open. "This is incredible! I've never had a production like this! So many journalists, so many cameras, so many importan
Scarlett's POVThe gallery opening was nothing special.Another exhibition of overpriced photographs, another room full of wealthy patrons sipping champagne and pretending to understand art. I had been to a hundred of these events. I would probably go to a hundred more.It was business. Nothing more.I stood near the back of the room, a glass of wine in my hand, my eyes scanning the crowd. Nielsen had told me there would be important contacts here tonight. Potential clients. People who could help expand the agency.I didn't care. But I went through the motions anyway.The room was warm, crowded, loud. Laughter mingled with the clink of glasses. The walls were covered in black and white photographs—landscapes, portraits, abstract compositions that meant nothing to me.I was about to leave when I saw him.He was across the room, near the far wall, half-hidden behind a cluster of guests. An older man, silver-haired, leaning on a cane. His shoulders were slightly stooped, his posture betr
Scarlett's POV One week passed. Then another. I didn't call. I didn't text. I let the silence stretch, let Vivienne wonder if I would keep my promise. Let her hope. And then, on a gray Tuesday afternoon, I drove back to the clinic. The same iron gates. The same manicured grounds. The same antiseptic smell mingled with lavender. The same nurse at the front desk, her smile slightly warmer this time. "Mrs. Moore. Mrs. Sterling has been asking about you." My heart quickened, but I kept my expression pleasant. "Has she?" "Every day." The nurse lowered her voice conspiratorially. "She's not used to visitors. When you came last week, it was the first time anyone had visited her in months." "How tragic," I said softly, the words dripping with false sympathy. "She's in the garden again. She spends most of her time there." I nodded and made my way through the corridors. My heels clicked against the polished floors, each step measured, deliberate. When I stepped through the glass doo
Scarlett's POVVivienne's eyes narrowed, studying my face with the sharp intensity of a woman who had spent decades reading people. Even now, broken and dying, there was something predatory in her gaze."I don't know you," she said slowly, her voice thin and reedy. "But you... you look familiar. Have we met before?"I softened my expression, letting warmth creep into my smile. "No, Mrs. Sterling. We've never met. I'm Scarlett Moore. I run a photography agency in London.""A photography agency?" She tilted her head, the movement slow and labored. "Why would someone from a photography agency visit me here?""I'm working on a project," I said gently. "A series of portraits of influential women. Your name came up, and I was hoping to discuss the possibility of including you."She laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "Influential women? I'm stuck in this garden, my dear. There's nothing influential about that.""On the contrary." I stepped closer, my voice soft and warm. "The Sterling name stil
Scarlett's POVThe restaurant was small and intimate, tucked away in a quiet corner of London. My father had chosen it himself—a place he used to visit with my mother, back when they were young and in love.I watched him from across the table as he studied the menu, his weathered fingers tracing the words with careful precision. He looked tired today. More tired than usual. The disease was taking its toll, eating away at him slowly but steadily.But when he looked up and smiled at me, I saw the same light in his eyes that had been there since the day we met. The same love. The same pride."You look beautiful, my dear," he said. "That color suits you."I glanced down at my burgundy blouse, then back up at him. "Thank you, Father. You look well."He laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "Liar. I look like death warmed over. But I appreciate the sentiment."I reached across the table and took his hand. "You're still here. That's all that matters."He squeezed my fingers gently. "And I plan to s
Emily's POV The open suitcase on the bed seemed like a reflection of the state of my mind. Crumpled clothes, shoes thrown in haphazardly, the camera case tossed in a corner.I shoved everything in without looking, without folding, without thinking. I just needed to leave that country. That place.
Emily's POVHis hand remained firm on my waist, preventing me from sinking completely into the mud.The rain streamed down my face, my hair, the dress that now felt as heavy as lead on my body. But I couldn't look away from his eyes. Dark. Intense. As if he could read inside me just by staring.Ano
Emily’s POV "Simple. For one night, we're nobody. I don't know your name. You don't know mine. And tomorrow, if we run into each other on the street, we don't know each other.""You're crazy." I said."Maybe." He set his glass on the table. "But at least I'm an honest crazy person. Unlike the trai
Emily's POV "Are you insane?" His voice hissed against my ear, hot and irritated at the same time.Marcus's fingers dug into my waist forcefully, pulling me into the dark corner of the service hallway. The smell of the whiskey I had been drinking mixed with his expensive cologne, the one I had cho







