Chapter 3 - The phantom memories
The master guest suite was a sprawling sanctuary of cream velvet, dark mahogany, and panoramic windows overlooking the estate’s manicured gardens. Sofia sat on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, feeling like an imposter. She had removed her crisp white collar and apron, leaving only the simple black dress. She touched her cheek. The stinging had faded, but the emotional whiplash of the evening left her completely disoriented.
Why had Mr. Sterling looked at her with such intense, desperate recognition?
Exhausted, Sofia curled onto the bed, pulling the heavy silk duvet over her shoulders. As she drifted into sleep, the familiar, terrifying nightmares returned. They were not linear dreams, but fragmented, sensory assaults. The smell of choking gray smoke. The crackle of consuming flames. A woman with beautiful, dark hair screaming her name. And a blinding, overwhelming flash of brilliant green light—the exact shade of the emerald that had shattered on the marble floor hours ago.
She woke up with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat, her heart hammering against her ribs. The clock on the nightstand read 3:00 AM. Unable to sleep, she wandered out of the suite, her bare feet silent against the thick Persian runners lining the grand hallways.
She felt a strange, inexplicable pull toward the west wing—a section of the mansion Alexander rarely used. She walked down a long gallery lined with historical family portraits. She stopped in front of a massive oil painting illuminated by a single spotlight. It was a portrait of Alexander’s mother, Eleanor Sterling.
Sofia stared at the canvas. The woman possessed dark, glossy hair, a gentle smile, and enormous hazel eyes. Eyes that perfectly mirrored the ones staring back at Sofia in the mirror every morning.
I couldn't sleep either, a deep voice echoed through the gallery.
Sofia jumped, turning to see Alexander standing in the shadows. He had shed his suit jacket and tie, wearing only a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his muscular, athletic forearms. He held a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He looked incredibly tired, yet dangerously alert.
I'm sorry, Sir. I shouldn't be wandering, Sofia whispered, looking down.
Alexander stepped into the light, his piercing gray eyes scanning her face. Stop calling me Sir, he requested quietly. My name is Alexander.
He walked to stand beside her, looking up at the portrait of his mother. She died when I was seventeen, Alexander said, his voice a low, rough rumble. There was a fire at our old estate in Malibu. The authorities said it was an electrical fault. My mother, and my two-year-old sister, were trapped in the nursery. By the time I broke through the burning door, the floor had collapsed. There was nothing left.
Sofia felt a profound, aching sorrow for the powerful billionaire. I am so sorry, Alexander.
Alexander turned to look at her. The emerald necklace Victoria was wearing tonight... it was custom-made for my mother. It was the only thing recovered from the ashes, locked inside a fireproof safe. My mother always said she had a secret compartment built into it, a gift for my sister's eighteenth birthday. I never knew how to open it until tonight.
Sofia’s breath caught in her throat. The photograph... the baby was named Sofia.
Alexander nodded slowly. I hired my private investigator, Marcus, to run a preliminary background check on you three hours ago. Sofia, your orphanage records are incomplete. You were dropped off at Saint Jude’s in Los Angeles twenty-two years ago, just three days after the fire that supposedly killed my sister.
Sofia shook her head, her angelic face pale. That’s impossible. I'm just a maid. I grew up with nothing.
Alexander stepped closer, his imposing presence suddenly overwhelmingly protective. Your records at the orphanage have massive, glaring gaps. An hour ago, Marcus discovered that your adoption files weren't just misplaced. They were entirely fabricated by a shell company twenty years ago to erase your origins. Someone went to great lengths to hide who you are, and simultaneously ensure you ended up working in my house.
Why? Sofia asked, tears welling in her enormous hazel eyes.
Because keeping your enemies close is the best way to monitor a threat, Alexander said grimly. And whoever placed you here is terrified of you remembering the truth.
Before Alexander could explain further, his encrypted cell phone vibrated violently in his pocket. He pulled it out, his sharp masculine jaw tightening as he read the message from his investigator.
What is it? Sofia asked, sensing the sudden drop in temperature in the room.
Alexander looked up, his gray eyes flashing with lethal realization. The shell company that forged your orphanage records... it’s a subsidiary of Vanguard Holdings.
May you like
Sofia frowned. Who owns Vanguard Holdings?
Victoria's father, Alexander said, his voice turning to ice. Richard Thorne. The man who stood to gain everything when my mother's tech patents were transferred after her death.
