autopilot as the unease from last night lingered. I felt jumpy, my stomach twisted in knots. Would Nicholas come back today? Would he keep showing up at the café, weavin

e from my throat as the full reality sank in. He had been looking at me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve, his eyes sharp, calculating. He already suspected something. And when Nicholas Romanov suspected, he didn't stop until he had the truth. Until he had blood. A cold sweat drenched my skin, making the fabric of my shirt cling uncomfortably to my body. My chest tightened, panic clawing up my throat, squeezing until I felt like I might choke on it. I thought I had buried my past. That I had escaped. But it was never truly gone. And now, standing here in the middle of my mother's café, surrounded by the comforting scent of coffee and the warmth of a life I had carefully built, I realized just how fragile it all was. Nicholas Romanov was the kind of man who didn't let go of loose ends. And if he ever found out who I really was- I was as good as dead. The café felt too small, the walls too close, the air too thick. My mother's voice was a distant hum, the comforting routine of the morning rush reduced to nothing but background noise. I could hear the steaming of milk, the clatter of cups, the familiar buzz of customers placing their orders. It was all so... normal. But my world was anything but normal. Not anymore. I had spent years carefully constructing this life, brick by brick, lie by lie. I had blended in, perfected the art of being invisible. Chloe Monroe, the quiet girl who ran a coffee shop with her mother. Chloe Monroe, the woman who had no past worth digging into. And yet, despite everything, I had let him in. Nicholas. I could still feel the weight of his gaze from the night before, the quiet intensity of it. He had been studying me, picking me apart like I was a puzzle he was desperate to solve. I had seen the flicker of suspicion in his eyes, the way his jaw tensed every time I hesitated before answering a question. He knew something was off. And that meant I was running out of time. My stomach twisted as I reached for the remote on the floor, my hands still shaking. I turned the TV off, as if that could somehow erase what I had just heard. As if it could take away the gnawing fear clawing at my chest. But the words had already been spoken. Alex Gray's body had been found in Russia. And there had been a note. A cryptic message left behind, leading the authorities to believe his death was connected to the witness from ten years ago. To me. A tremor ran through me as I forced myself to breathe, to push down the panic threatening to swallow me whole. This wasn't supposed to happen. I had spent a decade ensuring there was no trace of me left. So why now? Why was someone bringing that case back to life? And, more importantly-did Nicholas know? I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of my mother's gaze on me. I hadn't noticed her watching, her hands paused mid-wipe on the counter. "Chloe?" Her voice was soft, but lined with concern. "Are you okay?" I forced a smile. It felt wrong. Tight. "Yeah," I lied. "Just tired." She didn't look convinced, but she let it go, nodding toward the espresso machine. "Go take a break