FIVE!

Mabel

It's been a while since I stepped foot into this country, and by a while I mean four years, and eleven months.

Yes, it's nearly five years since I found out my husband, and his so-called best friend had a child together, and made me care for the child for six months.

Jason will be five years soon, despite him not being my child. I couldn't help but be glad. With all the pictures of him roaming around the internet he seems to be a very healthy boy.

Finding out Jason wasn't my child was the most painful, and terrible thing I have ever felt. Despite him not being able to bond with me, I felt like I did and we would be working step by step to be mother, and son.

Despite the divorce papers Ethan had handed to me I wasn't going to leave without him, not until the DNA result that was anonymously sent to me dropped on my laps.

I knew I had to find my child. I don't even know the gender of my own child. I tried tracking the person who gave me the results with the logo on the envelope.

It had a C in it, which I learnt stands for Croft. But even since then I haven't learned anything until now.

I received yet another anonymous message about a celebrity who just adopted a four and half years old boy.

According to the documents that were sent to me he was given birth too on the same day I gave birth to my baby, and in the same hospital. New York City Memorial Hospital.

Even while searching for my child, I chased my dream.

Leaving New York was the only way I could start over so I flew to Los Angeles, California.

I started anew in LA, and drove myself into work, and ignored all the distractions.

In five years I have made a name for myself. I was no longer Hailey Hoss, the Billionaire's wife. I am Mabel James, CEO of MJ Style.

MJ Style is a name mentioned in Beauty brands, and runaway. I have stylized celebrities, dancers, influencers, and even models.

And today I'm arriving in New York City to style one of the city's most prominent women as she celebrates her son's adoption.

A child that might be mine.

“Mabel, we are here,” my assistant said to me as she tapped my arms. I quickly wiped my tears before she could see them but I was too late.

“You are crying again,” she said with worry in her face.

“I'm fine, Rose. You don't have to worry about me,” I said to her.

“You know that all I do is worry about you, especially when it's my job to worry about you,” she said, and I smiled.

I met Rose the first year I started styling in Los Angeles. I had just started receiving a lot of orders, and personal recommendations and I needed an assistant I could trust.

Rose was the first person I interviewed, and I hired her immediately. I felt a connection with her.

We couldn’t look more different, Rose with her tall, slim frame and bright blonde hair, me with my curves and stubborn red curls. But our bond? Unmistakable. Especially in our eyes. Black, white, and grey. Just like how we saw the world.”

“No, your job is to make sure I don't screw up in front of Mrs. Latham. She's counting on me to make her look good tonight,” I said, and she gave me a gloomy look.

“Are you sure you should be the one doing this?” She asked me, and I sighed.

Sometimes it feels weird that Rose knows who I am despite the exterior I had built around me all over the years.

I'll be fine, Rose,” I dragged the words out, hoping she would get the hint. She didn't, or at least didn't want to.

“It's okay, not to be fine. “You’re about to style the woman who just adopted the kid you’ve searched for five years for. That’s not nothing, Mabel,” she said, and my breath seized.

I pressed the button beside me, “how long till we get there?” I asked.

“A couple more minutes, ma'am,” I heard, and released the button.

“Mabel….” Rose called my name but I cut her off.

“I'll be fine, Rose. You just worry about us doing a good job today,” I said. I could see she wanted to protest, but she knew better.

She nodded her head, and rested against the car seat.

A few minutes later the car drove into a very beautiful estate.

The car drove slowly past a large black gate and into a breathtaking estate. I had seen wealth. I had even lived in it. But this… this was something else entirely.

Lush green lawns. Fountains that danced in perfect rhythm. A mansion that screamed power without even trying.

I swallowed hard. Was he in there?

Was my son just beyond those perfectly trimmed hedges?

“Stay focused, Mabel,” I whispered to myself.

The car came to a smooth stop in front of the entrance, and a valet immediately opened my door.

I stepped out, smoothing my gown and adjusting my sunglasses. I couldn’t afford to let anyone see the storm raging inside me.

Rose came around and handed me the garment bags. “Her personal assistant said she’s in the west wing, third floor.”

I nodded, tightening my grip on the hangers. “Let’s go.”

As we walked inside, everything smelled like roses and money. Staff bustled past with trays of gold-rimmed glasses and stacks of pristine white linen. Everyone moved like they had been rehearsing for this moment all their lives.

A butler greeted us with a small bow. “Miss James, Mrs. Latham is expecting you. Right this way.”

We followed him through corridors that felt endless, with paintings older than me on the walls and chandeliers so big they could swallow a car.

“Is it just me,” Rose whispered behind me, “or does this place feel like it could swallow secrets whole?”

I didn’t respond. Because she was right. And I had one too many secrets.

The butler stopped in front of a large double door and opened it. “Mrs. Latham, Miss James is here.”

“Send her in,” a voice called out.

I stepped in, my heels echoing on the marble floor. And there she was.

Vanessa Latham.

Tall. Elegant. Radiant in a silk robe. Her hair was swept back, and her face looked like it hadn’t aged in ten years. The media called her the queen of real estate.

“Hi, Ms. Latham, it's an honor to meet you,” I said as I extended my hands.

“Please call me Venessa,” she said, as she shook my hands, and then Rose.

“You are very beautiful, my friend didn't do you justice when she described you,” she said, and I smiled.

I was about to respond when I heard a faint laughter. A child's laughter.

I froze. My hands began to sweat. Could it be him?

Am I about to see my child since I gave birth?