The baby screamed and stretched both arms toward Mallerie. “Her!”

Gideon Vale turned with the child in his arms and saw a silver bracelet on the server’s wrist.

Owen grabbed it seconds later.

Beneath it was a crescent-shaped scar.

Gideon stopped breathing.

The ballroom around them remained alive with music.

Crystal chandeliers scattered warm light across marble floors. Champagne glasses touched with delicate little chimes. A string quartet continued playing near the staircase, unaware that the most important moment in three lives had just begun beside a table of untouched desserts.

Mallerie Reed had been working for six hours.

Her feet hurt.

Her black service dress felt too warm beneath the ballroom lights.

And until thirty seconds ago, her greatest concern had been getting through the gala without dropping a tray.

Now a ten-month-old baby was reaching for her as if his entire world depended on it.

Gideon adjusted the boy against his chest.

“Owen.”

The baby twisted harder.

His small face reddened.

His eyes never left Mallerie.

She took an uncertain step closer.

Owen immediately quieted.

She stopped.

He whimpered.

She moved closer again.

Silence.

Mallerie stared at him.

“That’s strange.”

“You think?”

Gideon’s voice was controlled, but something uneasy moved through his expression.

Mallerie knew who he was.

Everyone working the gala had been briefed about Gideon Vale before the doors opened.

Influential businessman.

Private.

Extremely wealthy.

Arriving with his infant son.

Do not photograph him.

Do not bother him.

If he requested anything, contact the event manager.

But nobody had warned her that his son might attempt to climb out of his arms.

“I think he wants me,” she said.

Gideon studied her.

Mallerie expected suspicion.

Instead, she saw confusion.

“He doesn't do this.”

“Apparently nobody told him.”

For half a second, Gideon almost smiled.

Owen reached again.

Mallerie extended her arms.

Gideon hesitated.

Then he carefully transferred the baby to her.

Everything changed.

Owen stopped crying before Mallerie had fully settled him against her.

His tiny body relaxed.

He buried his face beneath her chin and released a trembling breath.

Mallerie froze.

Something inside her broke open.

Ten months disappeared.

She smelled antiseptic.

Saw white hospital lights.

Heard a nurse telling her everything would be fine.

Then pain.

Sedation.

A tiny warm body against her chest.

Thirty seconds.

Maybe less.

She had spent ten months wondering whether she had imagined some of those seconds.

“Ma’am?”

Mallerie blinked.

The ballroom returned.

Owen was staring at her.

Gray-blue eyes.

Soft brown curls.

Round cheeks.

A stubborn little mouth.

Her heart struck painfully against her ribs.

“Hey there,” she whispered.

Owen smiled.

Gideon went still.

Mallerie noticed.

“What?”

“He rarely does that with strangers.”

“Well, maybe I'm exceptionally charming.”

This time Gideon definitely almost smiled.

Then Owen grabbed her bracelet.

“Careful.”

Mallerie gently caught his fingers.

“That belonged to my mother.”

Owen refused to release it.

Instead, he pushed the old silver bracelet upward.

The crescent scar beneath it appeared.

Gideon’s expression changed instantly.

“What happened to your wrist?”

Mallerie looked down.

“This?”

“Yes.”

“Burned myself when I was twelve.”

Owen touched the scar.

Once.

Then again.

His tiny palm slapped excitedly against it.

Mallerie stopped breathing.

A memory flashed through her.

A nurse.

Her newborn.

A tiny ankle.

A crescent.

No.

She immediately rejected the thought.

Grief could make patterns from nothing.

She knew that.

She had spent months learning it.

A stranger’s child smiled and she imagined her son.

A baby cried in a grocery store and she turned automatically.

Every November advertisement, every hospital sign, every tiny pair of shoes in a store window could still open the wound.

Owen shifted in her arms.

His trouser leg pulled upward.

Mallerie looked down.

The room disappeared.

Above his left ankle was a crescent-shaped birthmark.

Her tray slipped from the edge of the nearby table.

It hit the marble.

Porcelain shattered.

Guests turned.

Gideon caught Mallerie’s elbow.

“What happened?”

She couldn't answer.

Her eyes remained on Owen’s ankle.

“Mallerie.”

“How old is he?”

Gideon frowned.

“Ten months.”

“Exact birthday.”

His gaze sharpened.

“Why?”

“Please.”

Something in her voice changed him.

“November seventeenth.”

Mallerie felt her knees weaken.

November 17.

The same date.

The impossible same date.

Owen touched her cheek.

Mallerie looked at him.

“I gave birth on November seventeenth.”

Gideon’s hand slowly fell away from her elbow.

“To a boy?”

She looked at him sharply.

“How did you know?”

He didn't answer.

Mallerie's pulse accelerated.

“They told me he died.”

The color left Gideon’s face.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

The crowd around them had become irrelevant.

Mallerie looked again at the birthmark.

“My baby had that.”

“You're sure?”

“I saw him for thirty seconds.”

Her voice cracked.

“I've remembered those thirty seconds every day for ten months.”

Gideon looked at Owen.

Then at Mallerie.

Something close to fear entered his eyes.

Mallerie had imagined this moment in nightmares without ever knowing she had imagined it.

What if the hospital had been wrong?

What if there had been a mistake?

What if—

No.

She needed facts.

“Where did you get your son?”

Gideon’s expression closed.

“Give him to me.”

Mallerie instinctively stepped backward.

Owen tightened both fists around her dress.

Gideon’s security detail moved.

Gideon stopped them with one look.

“My son is not a bargaining chip.”

“Neither was mine.”

The words struck him.

His hands lowered.

“He was placed in my arms three days after his birth.”

Mallerie stared at him.

“Three days?”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

Gideon glanced around the ballroom.

“We shouldn't discuss this here.”

“I've waited ten months.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don't.”

His jaw tightened.

Mallerie immediately regretted it.

Of course he might understand.

Whatever the truth was, Gideon clearly loved Owen.

She saw it in the way he watched the baby's head.

The way one hand remained ready beneath Owen even while she held him.

This was not a man discussing property.

This was a father terrified that the ground beneath him had begun moving.

Owen started fussing.

Mallerie reluctantly returned him.

He screamed immediately.

Gideon pulled him against his chest.

“Easy.”

Owen lunged toward Mallerie.

She couldn't bear it.

“Let me.”

Gideon returned him.

Owen quieted.

The transformation was so immediate that Gideon looked almost wounded.

Mallerie understood.

“He loves you,” she said quietly.

Gideon met her eyes.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because he kept checking where you were even while he was reaching for me.”

Gideon looked at Owen.

The baby was indeed watching him.

Then Gideon noticed something behind Mallerie.

His face hardened.

A hotel employee approached with an empty stroller.

Gray vest.

White shirt.

Name badge.

“For Mr. Vale,” the employee said.

Gideon frowned.

“I didn't request one.”

“Management thought the baby might be more comfortable.”

Mallerie glanced at his badge.

THOMAS AVERY.

Something bothered her.

Then she understood.

Twenty feet away, beside the dessert station, another employee turned.

His badge also read THOMAS AVERY.

Mallerie’s blood went cold.

“Gideon.”

The false employee moved.

He shoved the stroller forward and reached toward Owen.

Mallerie spun away.

Gideon caught the stranger’s wrist before he reached the baby.

Security surrounded them.

The confrontation lasted seconds.