That’s the understatement of the century, but it’s all they’re getting. No way am I explaining Yuri’s threats, running in the middle of the night, the fear that’s been my constant companion since I left the Orlov estate.
“Well, next time your long-lost stepbrother shows up asking for a private, come find me,” Caty says firmly. “I’ll handle it. No more family reunions in the Champagne Room, got it?”
I nod, grateful for the out. “Got it.”
“All right, people, enough drama,” Caty continues, clapping her hands. “We open in two hours. Let’s get ready.”
The group disperses, though not without curious glances thrown my way. I grab my bag and escape to the dressing room, needing space to breathe. The small room is empty, mirrors reflecting my haunted expression back at me from every angle. I drop onto the bench in front of my station, head in my hands.
That could have gone worse. At least they don’t know the whole story. At least they don’t know how my body responded to Alex’s touch, how for one insane moment I wanted to—
My phone buzzes, cutting off that dangerous train of thought. I fish it from my pocket, expecting a text from Mark or Kayla, probably more questions I don’t want to answer.
Instead, I see a name that makes my heart stop.
Mom (1) Missed Call.
Mom: Vincent, please call me back. It’s important.
Five years since I’ve heard her voice. At first, she called constantly, left voicemails I couldn’t bring myself to listen to,sent texts I read but never answered. Eventually, the messages slowed, then stopped completely. I told myself it was better that way—cleaner. That she was probably relieved to be free of the reminder of her first marriage, the son who never quite belonged in the Orlov world.
But now she’s reaching out again. And I know exactly why.
Alex.
Fucking Alex.
He must have done something, right?
My hands tremble as I stare at the screen. I should ignore it. Delete the message. Pretend I never saw it. But something in my chest aches at the sight of that simpleMomon my screen, the echo of a connection I’ve spent five years trying to sever.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I hit call.
She answers on the first ring, like she’s been sitting with the phone in her hand, waiting. “Vincent?” Her voice is exactly as I remember it—soft, slightly accented from her years in France before I was born.
“Hi, Mom.” I clear my throat. “You called?”
“Yes,” she says, and I hear the smile in her voice. “Yes, I did. It’s so good to hear you. How are you?”
The normality of the question throws me. How am I? How the fuck does she think I am after being driven from my home by her husband’s threats?
“I’m fine,” I say instead, because what else is there to say? “Working. You know.”
“Yes,” she says, a hesitation in her voice. “I… I heard. Alexander mentioned he ran into you.”
The use of Alex’s full name sends me back in time—to formal dinners where Yuri insisted on proper names, to the stilted politeness of those first months after our parents married. Atime before Alex became just Alex to me, before we developed our own language of inside jokes and shared eye-rolls.
“Ran into me,” I repeat flatly. “Is that what he said?”
“He said it was at some party,” she continues, her voice careful. “That it was unexpected.”
Anger flares in my chest. Of course Alex wouldn’t tell her the whole truth. Wouldn’t mention that he’s been stalking me for weeks.
“That’s one way to put it,” I mutter.
“Vincent,” she says, and there’s a plea in her voice that makes my throat tight. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I close my eyes, fighting against the surge of emotion those words trigger. “Mom—”
