“That’s not pocket change. How do I know your check won’t bounce?” Braxton Thompson asked, his tone leaving no room for argument. The car Maggie was driving—an understated Mercedes borrowed from Madeline Johnston—didn’t exactly scream someone who could casually throw around millions. His suspicion wasn’t unwarranted.

Maggie sighed. “I really need to get to the Vienna Hotel. If you’re that worried, why not just call the cops? File a report and stop worrying about me vanishing.”

As luck would have it, Braxton was headed to the Vienna Hotel, too. “My car’s down for the count. We’ll go together. Though your driving could use some work...” He glanced at Gustavo Cruz. “You drive.”

Frustration washed over Maggie. She’d completely forgotten Braxton was going there for Aubree Foster’s birthday party. Eager to shake off the encounter, she’d blocked out the details.

Fine. It was just a ride. Still, the jab at her driving was uncalled for.

Resigned, Maggie moved to sit in the front passenger seat—only to find Gustavo had already planted a spiced honey cake there. With no other choice, she reluctantly climbed into the back.

Gustavo couldn’t wrap his head around the president’s logic. The damage to their car was minor—nowhere near bad enough to keep them from driving. Why squeeze into this cramped little ride? But questioning orders wasn’t his style. So he arranged a tow and grudgingly accepted his new role as chauffeur.

Braxton stayed quiet during the ride, subtly studying Maggie. The familiarity was almost unnerving.

Maggie kept her thoughts locked down and tried to make herself as invisible as possible.

As they neared the hotel, Madeline called. “When are you getting here? The kids are getting hungry.”

“Don’t wait for me—go ahead and eat. Leave when you’re done,” Maggie said quickly, worried about running into Braxton. That would only feed his suspicions.

She hung up and caught Braxton’s gaze lingering on her phone screen, where Madeline’s name was still displayed.

She looked away fast. She always avoided direct eye contact with him—those piercing eyes seemed to strip secrets bare. And yet, no one could ever tell what lay beneath them.

Nervous, Maggie started picking at her nails, an unconscious habit that kicked in whenever anxiety crept up.

“Do you know Madeline Johnston?” Braxton finally broke the silence, his gaze sharp and assessing.

“We met through an international buyers’ group. Why—do you know her?” Maggie feigned surprise, then added, “Your social circles must be pretty tight-knit.”

Stay calm. Don’t let him intimidate you. He doesn’t recognize this face now.

Bracing herself mentally, Maggie kept her expression calm as she met Braxton’s eyes.

“I was headed to the Vienna Hotel today. We just happened to meet at the children’s home, and then we cross paths again?” Braxton smirked, though the curve of his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Maggie’s heart skipped a beat. Braxton had this unsettling habit of smiling when he was masking anger. That smile confirmed he hadn’t recognized her.

She thought about insisting it was just a coincidence, but she didn’t have the nerve. Who would buy that?

“What do you think it is, if not a coincidence? You think I’m deliberately trying to get close to you? Honestly, sir, you’re a little full of yourself. Might I remind you—you approached me first?”

Gustavo’s eyes went wide with alarm—especially at her bold crack about Braxton’s ego. He hit the brakes so suddenly that Maggie tumbled into Braxton.

The man chuckled, looking more amused than offended. “And who’s throwing herself into whose arms now?”

Maggie’s irritation spiked.

A hint of a smirk crossed Braxton’s face. The foul mood he’d been in seemed to lift, as if Maggie’s annoyance amused him.

“You call this driver of yours skilled? Slamming on the brakes on a perfectly smooth city road!” Maggie’s anger now had a target: Gustavo, her only available outlet.

Gustavo felt the sting of unfairness. If this woman had the nerve to talk back to Braxton, how could he not be nervous?

“Forget it. I’ve had enough!” Maggie snapped as they pulled up to the Vienna Hotel. She opened the car door, ready to make her escape, when Braxton caught her wrist.

“Trying to swap the damage for the money owed? Pretty crafty.”

Maggie fumed and yanked the keys from the ignition. “My check is solid. Believe it or not—call the cops if you don’t.” She snapped the words out and stormed off, afraid she’d say something she’d regret if she stayed a second longer.

As she walked away, Braxton found himself unexpectedly amused by her anger.

Gustavo stared at Braxton in disbelief. Was that an actual smile? Since his wife’s disappearance, Braxton hadn’t shown a hint of real emotion.

“Mr. Thompson, that woman can’t be Maggie. Her reactions seemed too genuine, like our run-ins really were just coincidences. I mean...”

Braxton cut him off coldly. “What makes you so sure?”

Startled, Gustavo stammered, “Because she didn’t try to get your contact information. That check looked like a genuine attempt to compensate you. If she were trying to pursue you, wouldn’t she have taken the chance to linger?”

Seeing Braxton’s expression darken, Gustavo stopped talking.

“Quite an analysis,” Braxton said with a sarcastic smile. Just as Gustavo let out a breath of relief, Braxton added, “Your bonus is safe, but don’t expect a raise.”

Gustavo, who had just submitted a request for a raise, felt like drowning in regret.

Still sulking, Gustavo grabbed the spiced honey cake and followed Braxton into the elevator.

Aubree’s birthday party was being held on the top floor—a privilege the Vienna Hotel had granted to no one else. It was Braxton’s way of giving her public recognition. Naturally, the place was buzzing with excitement. Except for the family hostile to Braxton, everyone else had sent a representative.

The guests were eager to see if Braxton would finally make his relationship with Aubree official. The rumors about them had been swirling for ages, but nothing had been publicly confirmed. Despite the lively party, Braxton’s conspicuous absence stirred gossip among those hungry for drama.

Aubree’s eyes kept darting to the entrance. Braxton had promised to come. His word was usually as good as gold, but his delay was starting to unsettle her.

“Sis, it’s such a big day. As your boyfriend, Braxton should be here, right? I heard the media’s ready to see him officially introduce you as his girlfriend. It’d be pretty awkward if he didn’t show.” Her envious acquaintance teased, clearly enjoying Aubree’s discomfort.

Forcing a smile, Aubree replied, “Of course he’ll be here. His gift arrived earlier, and he just got back from overseas. It’s understandable that he’s running late.”

Aubree Foster stood stiff amid the glitter of her birthday party, her face a tight mask of worry. Ever since Maggie Thompson’s tragic death, Braxton Thompson had kept his distance. Her risky plan was supposed to pull him in, but what if it backfired? If Braxton didn’t show, she’d be the laughingstock of London’s elite.

When the door finally opened and he walked in, the knot in Aubree’s chest loosened. She hurried over to greet him.

“Braxton, you came. Everyone’s waiting for us to cut the cake,” she said, her smile sweet, though it hid a pride she had no intention of sharing.

The murmurs among the guests fizzled out.

“So Braxton actually showed. Guess the rumors are true,” someone whispered in the crowd.

“Yeah, Aubree really pulled it off. From a nobody to Braxton’s girlfriend—talk about a leap.”

The word mistress made Aubree’s shoulders go tight, but one look at Braxton and her confidence came rushing back. Why should she care about whispers when he was on her side?

Braxton noticed her step closer, and a faint frown flickered across his face. But it was her birthday, so he let it go. “Let’s cut the cake.”

Gustavo Cruz announced the cake, setting it between Aubree and Braxton at just the right distance.

“Thank you, Braxton. The cake looks stunning,” she said, even as irritation coiled in her gut. Gustavo had no business wedging himself into what should have been her moment alone with Braxton.

She moved back to Braxton’s side, basking in the envy burning in the other women’s eyes.

Suddenly, a child’s voice sliced through the air: “Mommy, why are you here with another man? Are you leaving Daddy and me?”

Aubree went rigid. The knife hovered just above the cake. Every head turned toward the voice.

A little girl stood clutching the hand of a frail, tired-looking man. Their clothes were plain but clean. And the resemblance between the girl and Aubree was impossible to miss.

The mood in the room shifted in an instant. Panic climbed up Aubree’s throat.

“Braxton, don’t believe them. I’ve never seen these people before,” she said quickly, though the familiar cast of the girl’s features made her stomach turn.

The man—gaunt, gravely ill—looked at her with pleading eyes. “I know you think I’m not good enough for you, especially with my terminal lung cancer. I won’t last much longer. It’s only reasonable that you’d want a better life,” he said, sadness pooling in his eyes. “But can you take care of our child? When I’m gone, she’ll need you.”

The mention of his illness softened the crowd. Against a dying man and a child who looked so much like her, Aubree suddenly seemed callous. Was she really involved with Braxton while she had a husband and child at home? Scandalous.

The reporters in the room were practically vibrating with excitement. They’d come expecting gossip about Braxton’s romantic exploits. Instead, they’d stumbled onto a scandal involving a top CEO and a woman with a family? That was prime copy.

“Stop taking photos!” Aubree’s voice spiked with panic as cameras flashed around her. She tried to explain herself to Braxton, one arm raised against the blinding lights.

But the reporters didn’t let up. They captured every humiliating second.

“Mommy, we know you don’t love us anymore,” the girl sobbed. “We just came to wish you a happy birthday. Daddy says you’re going to marry into money, and we won’t bother you again.” Her tears made her look even more like Aubree, drawing sympathy and keeping the cameras rolling.

“Is Mommy abandoning Daddy and me? Will she be rich after she marries Mr. Thompson? Could she give us some money? I don’t want Daddy to die…” The girl’s pleas hit their mark, painting the picture of a child forced to grow up too soon.

Aubree, every inch the polished socialite, now faced the open contempt of the press. Abandoning her own daughter? Could anything be colder?

“Ms. Foster, what’s going on here?”

“The child looks exactly like you. Did you really leave her for Mr. Thompson?”

“I don’t have a child! I don’t know these people!” Aubree’s voice climbed, frantic. Why were they coming at her with such baseless claims now? It had to be someone’s setup to ruin her.

That was the only explanation. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became.

“Why should I care if you’re dying? You’re getting nothing from me!” she spat.

Her harsh words made the reporters’ stares turn even colder. Aubree had carefully curated an image of warmth and grace. But trying to disown these strangers exposed something ugly and afraid underneath.

She didn’t seem to notice how drastically she’d changed—how far she’d fallen from her usual composed self.

If any reporter had still been skeptical, Aubree’s sudden shift wiped out the last doubt.

“Aubree, please, take it easy,” her assistant warned, alarmed by the outburst.

“My birthday is being ruined by a bunch of crazies making wild accusations, and you want me to stay calm? Get them out of here!” Aubree demanded, her voice sharp with fury.

Braxton’s frown deepened. Aubree’s behavior had changed—drastically. Years ago, when an injury had left him blind, he’d seen only her kindness and care. Could time really change a person this much?

“Braxton, you have to believe me. I’m not like this. They were obviously planted here to ruin my birthday!” Aubree pleaded, desperate to salvage her shattered image.

But Braxton’s silence gave the crowd all the room it needed to doubt her. She couldn’t let this scandal spiral out of control.