Three years later.
The yellow taxi jerked to a halt in front of the Plaza Hotel in midtown Manhattan.
Danae pushed the door open. She stepped onto the pavement, her black stiletto heels clicking sharply against the concrete. She wore a tailored white blazer that screamed authority, her posture rigid and flawless.
She handed a crisp hundred-dollar bill through the window to the driver and turned toward the revolving glass doors.
She hadn't been on American soil in three years. The Langford Research Institute—her nominal co-appointment—had existed only as a line on her credentials, a digital ghost she had never once logged into, exactly as Kellan had instructed. She had kept her promise. No footprint. No trace. No reason for anyone on this continent to know she was coming.
Cleo, her clinical assistant, was bouncing on her heels in the lobby.
"Dr. Davis!" Cleo rushed forward, holding out a glossy lanyard. "You made it."
Cleo slipped the VIP all-access badge over Danae's head.
"The main sponsor for the symposium just changed at the last minute," Cleo muttered, matching Danae's fast pace as they walked through the opulent, gold-leafed lobby.
"I also got a strange call from Langford this morning," Cleo added, frowning. "Something about a chemical authorization flagged on your researcher profile. I told them you weren't even in the country yet. They said the request went through last week, so I figured it was just a clerical glitch."
Danae slowed her stride for half a beat. A cold prickle ran down the back of her neck. "What kind of authorization?"
"They didn't say. Some routine reagent order. Probably nothing." Cleo shrugged. "Anyway, the department head is waiting inside. Big crowd."
Danae filed the information away. She would deal with Langford after the symposium. Right now, she needed to focus.
Danae pushed open the heavy mahogany double doors leading into the grand banquet hall.
The roar of hundreds of wealthy doctors and investors hit her ears.
She walked straight to a towering champagne pyramid. She reached out, her manicured fingers wrapping around the stem of a crystal flute.
Just as she lifted the glass, a low, rumbling laugh cut through the noise behind her.
The sound hit Danae's spine like a live wire. Her entire body locked up. Her lungs stopped pulling in air.
She knew that laugh. It was etched into her bones.
Danae forced herself to breathe. She turned around, her movements agonizingly slow.
Ten feet away, standing in the center of a circle of medical executives, was Adrian.
He looked older, harder. His black suit fit flawlessly over his broad shoulders. As he shifted his weight, his dark eyes casually swept across the room.
His gaze locked onto hers.
Adrian's body went completely rigid. The muscle in his jaw ticked violently. The champagne glass in his hand tilted, spilling dark red wine onto the pristine carpet.
Before Danae could process the shock on his face, a woman stepped into the circle.
The woman wore a custom emerald-green gown. She slid her arm through Adrian's, pressing her chest intimately against his bicep.
The woman turned her head, smiling up at Adrian.
Danae's stomach dropped out of her body.
The glass in Danae's hand slipped. She fumbled, catching it by the base just before it shattered on the floor.
The woman—Jordyn Webster—had the exact same slope of the nose. The exact same sharp jawline. The exact same shade of dark hair.
Memories assaulted Danae. Adrian staring at her face in the dark. Adrian tracing her jawline.
She hadn't been his wife. She had been a placeholder. A cheap copy.
A wave of pure, suffocating panic crashed over her. Her chest tightened, the air refusing to enter her lungs. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision.
Jordyn noticed her staring. Jordyn's lips curved into a slow, calculated smirk. She tilted her head, a deliberate, mocking gesture aimed right at Danae.
Adrian followed Jordyn's gaze. He looked at Danae again, his eyes darkening into something dangerous and unreadable.
Danae couldn't breathe. The walls of the banquet hall were closing in.
She spun around. She slammed her champagne glass down onto a passing waiter's silver tray, the liquid sloshing over the rim.
"Excuse me," she choked out to Cleo, pressing her hand hard against her sternum.
Danae shoved her way through the crowd, her heels digging into the carpet as she sprinted toward the side exit of the ballroom.
