Chapter 3
I shouldn't have gone. Every rational cell in my body screamed it was a trap.
But desperation makes fools of us all.
Café Blanc was a quiet spot in SoHo, the kind of place where people discussed things they didn't want overheard.
A woman sat in the corner booth, her face partially hidden behind oversized sunglasses.
"Ms. Cole. Thank you for coming."
She slid a folder across the table.
"My name is Natasha. I was Vivienne Laurent's college roommate."
I opened the folder and felt the world tilt.
Medical records. Plastic surgery consultations. DNA analysis reports.
"I don't understand," I whispered. "What am I looking at?"
"The woman in Dominic Ashford's penthouse is not Vivienne Laurent."
I looked up sharply.
"The real Vivienne died in that car accident four years ago. The woman pretending to be her is Elena Marchetti."
"Elena underwent three years of surgical procedures in Switzerland to replicate Vivienne's appearance."
"But... the DNA test confirmed—"
"Faked," Natasha cut in. "Elena had access to Vivienne's stored biological samples. Hair from a locket, blood from a preserved medical specimen. The lab that ran the test is owned by a shell company connected to the Marchetti family."
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the papers.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Natasha removed her sunglasses, revealing a long scar across her cheekbone.
"Because Elena destroyed my life too. She took everything from me, and the authorities wouldn't listen."
"She's not just after Dominic's love. She wants his empire."
I stared at the evidence.
"Even if this is true, Dominic will never believe me. He thinks I'm a liar."
"Then don't try to convince him now." Natasha leaned forward. "Disappear. Get strong. Come back when you have the power to make him listen."
"I'm pregnant," I said. "I have nothing."
Natasha slid a business card across the table.
"My brother runs an architecture firm in London. He's looking for a junior partner."
"London?"
"Far enough from the Ashfords, close enough to rebuild."
I looked at the card, then at the ultrasound photo in my wallet.
I had two choices: stay and be crushed, or leave and come back unbreakable.
That night, I booked a one-way ticket to London.
At the airport, my phone rang one final time.
Dominic.
My thumb hovered over the answer button for ten agonizing seconds.
Then I declined the call, powered off the phone, and boarded the plane.
Whatever he wanted to say, it was three days too late.
London swallowed me whole, and Serena Cole vanished from New York.
But not forever.
But desperation makes fools of us all.
Café Blanc was a quiet spot in SoHo, the kind of place where people discussed things they didn't want overheard.
A woman sat in the corner booth, her face partially hidden behind oversized sunglasses.
"Ms. Cole. Thank you for coming."
She slid a folder across the table.
"My name is Natasha. I was Vivienne Laurent's college roommate."
I opened the folder and felt the world tilt.
Medical records. Plastic surgery consultations. DNA analysis reports.
"I don't understand," I whispered. "What am I looking at?"
"The woman in Dominic Ashford's penthouse is not Vivienne Laurent."
I looked up sharply.
"The real Vivienne died in that car accident four years ago. The woman pretending to be her is Elena Marchetti."
"Elena underwent three years of surgical procedures in Switzerland to replicate Vivienne's appearance."
"But... the DNA test confirmed—"
"Faked," Natasha cut in. "Elena had access to Vivienne's stored biological samples. Hair from a locket, blood from a preserved medical specimen. The lab that ran the test is owned by a shell company connected to the Marchetti family."
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the papers.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Natasha removed her sunglasses, revealing a long scar across her cheekbone.
"Because Elena destroyed my life too. She took everything from me, and the authorities wouldn't listen."
"She's not just after Dominic's love. She wants his empire."
I stared at the evidence.
"Even if this is true, Dominic will never believe me. He thinks I'm a liar."
"Then don't try to convince him now." Natasha leaned forward. "Disappear. Get strong. Come back when you have the power to make him listen."
"I'm pregnant," I said. "I have nothing."
Natasha slid a business card across the table.
"My brother runs an architecture firm in London. He's looking for a junior partner."
"London?"
"Far enough from the Ashfords, close enough to rebuild."
I looked at the card, then at the ultrasound photo in my wallet.
I had two choices: stay and be crushed, or leave and come back unbreakable.
That night, I booked a one-way ticket to London.
At the airport, my phone rang one final time.
Dominic.
My thumb hovered over the answer button for ten agonizing seconds.
Then I declined the call, powered off the phone, and boarded the plane.
Whatever he wanted to say, it was three days too late.
London swallowed me whole, and Serena Cole vanished from New York.
But not forever.