Chapter 7

The city of Boston had been good to her.

Lena stood in the center of Hart and Co., her design studio on Newbury Street, and surveyed the space with the quiet pride of someone who had built something from nothing. The walls were lined with fabric samples and mood boards, color palettes that ranged from Scandinavian minimalism to bohemian warmth. A sleek conference table held a half-finished presentation for a hotel chain rebranding, her laptop open to a 3D rendering of a boutique lobby. Morning light poured through the front windows, illuminating the minimalist aesthetic that had become her signature.

It was not a billion-dollar empire.

But it was hers.

"Mommy!"

A small tornado crashed into her legs, and Lena laughed as she looked down at her daughter.

Mia Hart was four years old, with Lena's dark curls and a stubborn chin that she definitely had not inherited from her mother. But her eyes, those were unmistakable. Amber, flecked with gold, with thick lashes that framed them like a Renaissance painting. Alexander's eyes. Every time Lena looked into them, she felt the old ache stir, the ghost of a man she had spent five years trying to forget.

"What is it, peanut?"

"I made you a picture." Mia held up a crayon drawing of two stick figures holding hands under a lopsided sun. "That is me and you. And this is our castle."

"It is beautiful, baby. I love it."

Mia beamed, and Lena's heart clenched with the ferocious love that had carried her through five years of single motherhood. The late nights. The canceled dates. The exhaustion of doing everything alone. The first time Mia had called her "Mama," the first steps, the first day of preschool, the skinned knees and the fevers and the bedtime stories that had become their sacred ritual.

She had never regretted it.

Not once.

The bell above the studio door chimed, and Lena looked up, expecting her assistant, Jen, back from the coffee run.

Instead, the world stopped.

Alexander Voss stood in her doorway.

He was older, harder, more devastating than she remembered. At twenty-nine, no, he must be thirty-four now, he wore his power like a second skin. The charcoal suit was impeccable, the cut perfect, the fabric whispering wealth. The jaw was sharper, shadowed with a hint of stubble that added a dangerous edge to his beauty. The amber eyes that had haunted her dreams for five years swept the room and landed on her with the force of a physical blow.

For a moment, neither of them breathed.

"Lena," he said.

Her name in his mouth was a wound reopening. It was the same voice, the same low timbre, but there was an edge to it now, a coldness that had not been there five years ago. This was not the man who had whispered stay against her hair. This was the Alexander Voss the world knew. Ruthless. Controlled. Terrifying.

"You are trespassing," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. Her hands were shaking, and she pressed them against her thighs to hide it. "This is a private business."

"Am I?" He stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click. "I am looking for the woman who disappeared from my hotel room five years ago. The woman I searched for. The woman I" He stopped.

Because Mia had stepped out from behind Lena's legs, her amber eyes wide and curious, and was staring up at the stranger with an expression of childish recognition.

"Hello," Mia said politely. "Are you a giant?"

Alexander went very still.

His gaze moved from Mia's face to Lena's, and the dawning horror in his eyes was worse than any threat Lena had ever received. He looked at Mia's eyes, her chin, the way she stood with her weight on one hip, and Lena watched him put the pieces together with the terrifying speed of a man who had built his fortune on seeing what others missed.

He knew.

With a single look at the child who shared his eyes, his cheekbones, his stubborn chin, he knew.

"Lena," he said again, and this time her name was an accusation, a prayer, and a war cry all at once. "What have you done?"