For several seconds, he didn’t move.

Then he looked at me.

“What’s your name?”

“Elina Valdez.”

His expression changed.

“Your full name.”

I тιԍнтened my arms around the baby.

“Elina Maria Valdez. Why?”

He took a slow breath.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. What does that have to do with anything?”

He glanced toward the pH๏τograph again.

Then he whispered a name.

“Isabella.”

I frowned.

“Who?”

“My wife.”

The restaurant seemed to grow colder.

I looked at the woman in the pH๏τograph.

“Your wife?”

He nodded.

“Isabella Moretti. She died fourteen months ago.”

I looked down at the baby sleeping peacefully against my chest.

“Then I’m sorry. But I don’t understand why you’re looking at me like that.”

He approached the table and carefully adjusted his son’s little collar.

“Because you have her face.”

I forced a nervous laugh.

“People can look alike.”

“Not like this.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“My wife had that same dimple. The same eyes. Even the way you tilt your head when you’re confused.”

I stepped backward.

“Sir, I think you’re making a mistake.”

“My name is Alexander Moretti.”

I nearly dropped the baby.

I’d heard that name before.

Everyone in the city had.

Alexander Moretti was the man whose name made business owners lower their voices. A man surrounded by armed guards, expensive cars, and rumors nobody dared repeat.

And now his son was sleeping in my arms.

One of the bodyguards approached.

“Boss, we should leave.”

Alexander raised his hand.

“Not yet.”

He looked at me again.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Eight months.”

“Where were you born?”

“Brooklyn.”

“Your parents?”

“My mother died when I was little. I grew up in foster care.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Do you know anything about your biological family?”

I shook my head.

“No. I’ve spent most of my life trying to find out, but the records were incomplete.”

Alexander looked as though someone had just struck him.

“Your birthday?”

I told him.

His fingers slowly curled around the edge of the table.

Then he turned toward his bodyguard.

“Call Vincent. Tell him I need the Isabella file.”

The bodyguard immediately took out his phone.

I looked down at the baby.

He had awakened.

His little fingers were touching the necklace around my neck.

A cheap silver pendant shaped like a small star.

I’d worn it since childhood.

It was the only possession I’d received from the woman who had left me at the orphanage.

The baby suddenly grabbed it.

Then he made a tiny sound.

“Ma…”

I froze.

Alexander stared at him.

“What did you say, buddy?”

The baby looked up at me.

“Ma… ma…”

My heart began pounding.

Alexander’s face turned completely white.

“That’s the first sound he’s made in weeks.”

I swallowed.

“Maybe he’s trying to say something.”

He shook his head.

“No. He’s been hearing that word every day. His nanny says it. I say it. But he never responds.”

He looked at me.

“Until now.”

I gently stroked the baby’s hair.

“What’s his name?”

“Lucas.”

“Hello, Lucas.”

The little boy smiled.

Then he pressed his cheek against my chest and closed his eyes again.

Alexander looked away.

I noticed him wiping something from his face.

For a man everyone feared, he suddenly seemed terribly lonely.

But the moment didn’t last.

A woman entered the restaurant through the private dining-room entrance.

She wore a cream-colored suit, diamond earrings, and an expression that suggested she owned every room she entered.

Her eyes immediately landed on Lucas.

“Alexander! What are you doing?”

He turned.

“Victoria.”

His sister.

She approached us quickly.

“Give me the baby.”

Lucas immediately began crying.

Victoria stopped.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He doesn’t want to leave Elina.”

She looked at me.

Then her expression changed.

“Who is this woman?”

“She works here.”

Victoria stared at my face.

For a brief moment, genuine shock crossed her features.

Then she recovered.

“Alexander, we need to talk privately.”

“About what?”

“About Isabella.”

The name made him stiffen.

Victoria leaned closer and lowered her voice.

“You cannot seriously be considering this.”

I looked between them.

“Considering what?”

Neither answered.

Then Victoria reached toward my necklace.

“Where did you get that?”

I immediately stepped away.

“It’s mine.”

“Let me see it.”

“No.”

Her expression hardened.

“Alexander, look at the pendant.”

He looked down.

The moment he recognized it, his face changed.

“Elina,” he said slowly, “where did you say you got that necklace?”

“My foster mother gave it to me. She said I was wearing it when I was brought to the orphanage.”

Alexander turned toward his sister.

Victoria had gone completely pale.

“That’s impossible,” she whispered.

“What is?” I demanded.

Alexander carefully took out his phone and opened a pH๏τograph.

It showed Isabella standing beside a hospital bed, holding a newborn baby.

Around the baby’s neck was a tiny silver star.

Exactly like mine.

My knees nearly buckled.

“That’s… that’s my necklace.”

Alexander nodded.

“Isabella had two identical pendants made. One for herself and one for our daughter.”

I stared at him.

“Your daughter?”

His eyes filled with tears.

“We were told she died shortly after birth.”

The room seemed to spin.

I couldn’t speak.

Lucas stirred in my arms, reaching for my face.

Alexander continued.

“The hospital told us there had been complications. Isabella was devastated. She never recovered from losing that baby.”

I looked at Victoria.

She was no longer looking at me.

She was staring at the floor.

And suddenly, I understood that she knew more than she was admitting.

“Victoria,” Alexander said quietly. “Why are you afraid?”

She shook her head.

“I’m not.”

“Then explain why you recognize that necklace.”

Victoria looked toward the exit.

One of the guards quietly moved to block her path.

“Alexander, please. Not here.”

He stepped closer.

“Where, then? At the hospital where you told Isabella her daughter was ᴅᴇᴀᴅ? Or at the funeral where you insisted there was nothing left to investigate?”

My breath caught.

“What funeral?”

Alexander turned toward me.

“My daughter’s funeral.”

I shook my head.

“But if she died, how could I…”

He looked directly into my eyes.

“Because, Elina, there was never a body.”

Nobody spoke.

Then Lucas suddenly began crying again.

I instinctively rocked him.

He stopped almost immediately.

Alexander watched us, his expression breaking.

“Fourteen months ago, Isabella died believing our daughter was gone.”

I whispered, “What happened to her?”

He closed his eyes.

“She was found unconscious after a car accident. The doctors couldn’t save her.”

I felt tears gathering in my eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded.

Then he said something that made my heart stop.

“Before she died, she left me a letter. I couldn’t bring myself to read it until last night.”

He reached into his jacket and removed a folded envelope.

My name wasn’t written on it.

But the handwriting was unmistakable.

TO ALEXANDER — IF OUR DAUGHTER IS STILL ALIVE, FIND HER.

He opened the letter with trembling fingers.

The first paragraph was short.

Alexander, if you’re reading this, then I never found the courage to tell you the truth. Our daughter didn’t die. Someone took her from us.

Alexander’s hands began shaking.

He read the next line.

Then he stopped.

His eyes slowly lifted toward Victoria.

“Tell me this isn’t true.”

Victoria began crying.

“Alexander…”

“Tell me!”

She covered her mouth.

Lucas woke up and began fussing.

I held him closer, unable to move.

Alexander looked back at the letter.

Then he read the final sentence aloud.

“Ask my sister what happened to the baby she arranged to have taken from the hospital twenty-six years ago.”

The entire restaurant fell silent.

Victoria staggered backward.

And just before Alexander could say another word, she looked directly at me.

“Elina,” she whispered, “you need to understand something. Your mother didn’t abandon you.”

She paused, tears streaming down her face.

“I was the one who made sure you never found her.”

Then the restaurant’s front doors suddenly burst open.

A frightened young man rushed inside, holding a medical folder.

“Mr. Moretti! We found the original hospital records!”

Alexander turned.

The young man looked at me, then at the baby in my arms.

His voice trembled.

“There’s something else. The DNA results from the private laboratory just arrived.”

Alexander slowly reached for the envelope.

But Victoria screamed:

“Don’t open that! If you find out who Elina’s biological father really is, this family will never survive!”

TO BE CONTINUED — PART 3.