Red heels clicked against the marble floor as Chloe slipped through the side entrance of the Royal Crown Hotel. Her fingers clenched the hem of her sleek, borrowed gown,fiery blue satin that hugged her curves like it was tailored just for her. It wasn't. She'd found it in a thrift shop clearance rack three nights ago. Five dollars. No tag. But tonight, it made her feel like somebody.
She didn't belong here. Not among the elite, the champagne clinking, the thousand-dollar suits. But for once, she didn't care.
She only needed one thing. One look at him.
She didn't know his name. Didn't know if he'd even remember her face.
But her heart raced with a need she couldn't explain.
He had to be here.
Music from the ballroom spilled into the hallway. Laughter, luxury, and perfume blended in the air like sin. Chloe stepped forward, head high. She was invisible at her bakery. Unseen on the street. But tonight… she was in his world.
She just didn't know if she would survive it.
***
Mark Williams leaned against the marble counter of the hotel's private lounge bathroom, his fingers gripping the cool edge. The bourbon burned in his throat, and the headache pulsed in sync with the low thump of music vibrating through the walls.
He hated events like this. The fake smiles. The greedy investors. The string of women in painted-on dresses, all whispering his name with hungry eyes.
He stared at his reflection. Thirty years old. Billionaire. Broken.
He buttoned the collar of his tux, jaw clenched. The deal with Thompson Global was on the table. He just needed to finalize one detail,marriage. Image mattered.
A knock sounded.
He turned. "Occupied."
But the door creaked open anyway.
She stepped in, out of breath. Her eyes wide with panic, her lips parted as if words escaped her. Mark froze. She was stunning,soft curls falling down one shoulder, a figure he could drown in, and a blue dress that dared him to look away.
Chloe blinked, Him. He was here. She didn't plan to walk into a restroom God, she thought it was another hallway,but now, face to face with him, her heart thudded wildly.
He didn't remember her.
But he was staring.
"Sorry," she mumbled, turning fast.
"Wait."
His voice stopped her. It was deeper than she remembered. Rough, a little tired.
She turned slowly.
Mark stepped closer. Something about her felt… familiar. The way her gaze held strength behind fear. The way her dress clung to her like it had secrets.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
Chloe's stomach flipped. She could lie. Or tell the truth that once, months ago, they met. Not in a ballroom. Not even by name. But in a drunken haze where two broken people collided for a night that left her with a child.
But no. Not now.
"I was just leaving," she whispered.
Mark stepped in front of the door, blocking her.
"You came in here for a reason."
Chloe hesitated.
"I thought this was the powder room," she said. "I didn't mean to bother you."
He tilted his head. "You don't look like a bother."
There was something in his voice now,an edge. Heat. His eyes dragged over her as if trying to place a memory.
"Who are you?"
Chloe opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Before she could speak, someone called his name from the hallway.
Mark's jaw tightened. He stepped aside.
Chloe rushed out, heart pounding, her heels echoing down the corridor.
She didn't see the woman standing in the shadows, watching her with cold eyes.
Mrs. Squibb narrowed her gaze.
That was not Zoe
And she had a feeling... she'd seen that face before.
***
Two hours later, Chloe stood by the hotel bar, hidden behind a curtain, watching Mark from across the ballroom.
He looked untouchable. Surrounded by executives. He laughed once but it didn't reach his eyes.
A man beside her leaned in. "You know him?"
Chloe flinched. "No."
But her hand rested protectively on her stomach.
The child was asleep back at home, with Mrs. Tula, the old woman who took her in.
She needed answers. She needed him to recognize her. Something. Anything.
She turned to leave
"Zoe."
She stopped.
Mark's voice.
He stood behind her now.
His eyes scanned her with confusion. Then something like shock.
"You changed," he said.
Chloe blinked. "What?"
"Your dress. Your hair. Earlier… you didn't look like this."
Her lips parted. So he did remember.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded slowly.
"I have to ask you something," Mark said, stepping closer. "Are you ready to be my wife?"
Chloe froze.
Her pulse thundered.
He thought she was someone else.
And she needed that money. For her baby. For answers. For survival.
She smiled, slowly. "Yes."
From across the ballroom, Mrs. Squibb's eyes narrowed as she watched Chloe take Mark's arm.
"I buried Zoe," she hissed under her breath.
"Who the hell is this girl?"
***
Later that night, Chloe found herself alone in the guest room of Mark's penthouse suite. The ring on her finger glimmered under the soft light.
Everything was happening so fast.
Too fast.
She was married now.
To a billionaire.
Pretending to be someone else.
With the father of her child.
And he had no idea.
She reached for the doorknob to step out,and heard a voice from down the hall.
"She's not Zoe," Mrs. Squibb whispered to someone on the phone. "I don't know who she is, but I swear,I saw that face before. Years ago."
Chloe froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Then the voice continued
"If she finds out the truth… it's over. I'll have to kill her too."