I never expected three little triplets pointing at my tattoo to unlock an eight-year-old secret I thought was buried forever.

The Plaza Hotel loomed before me like a fortress of marble and gold.

I stood across the street, watching as luxury cars pulled up to the entrance. Men in tailored suits. Women in dresses that probably cost more than I made in a year.

I felt like an imposter in my cleanest shirt and scuffed work boots. But I didn't turn away.

I'd spent the morning researching everything I could about Richard Sterling. His businesses, his properties, his reputation. The more I read, the darker it got. Former employees who'd signed NDAs and refused to speak. Business partners who'd gone bankrupt after crossing him. And always, always, the rumors about his temper.

One article, buried deep in an archive from seven years ago, mentioned a "private incident" at the Sterling estate shortly after the triplets were born. Police had been called, but no charges were filed. The story had been scrubbed from every major outlet within twenty-four hours.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

I crossed the street and walked toward the hotel entrance. A doorman in a red coat looked me up and down, his expression polite but unmistakeable.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I'm here for the Montgomery-Sterling Foundation luncheon," I said, keeping my voice steady.

"Do you have an invitation?"

I didn't hesitate. "I'm a guest of Ms. Montgomery. She asked me to meet her here."

The lie tasted bitter, but it worked. The doorman's eyes flickered with something—recognition? Fear?—and he stepped aside.

"Ballroom's down the hall to the left, sir."

I nodded and walked inside, my boots sinking into the thick carpet. The lobby smelled like flowers and old money. Every surface gleamed.

I found the ballroom easily. A large sign outside confirmed the event. Through the doors, I could see hundreds of people seated at round tables covered in white linen.

I didn't go in.

Instead, I found a spot near the restrooms where I could see the entrance to the ballroom without being seen. I leaned against a marble pillar and waited.

An hour passed. Maybe two. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.

Then she appeared.

Camila walked out of the ballroom, her movements quick and purposeful. She wore a simple navy dress, her hair pulled back in a low bun. Even from across the lobby, I could see the exhaustion in her face.

She was even more beautiful than I remembered.

She headed toward the restrooms, and I stepped out from behind the pillar.

"Camila."

Her name came out rougher than I intended, like I'd swallowed sand.

She froze.

Her entire body went rigid, just for a second. Then she turned slowly, her eyes wide with disbelief.

They found mine.

For a moment, the entire lobby seemed to disappear. No other people, no chandeliers, no sound. Just me and her, eight years and a lifetime between us.

Her face crumpled.

"No," she whispered, backing away. "No, you can't be here."

"We need to talk," I said, taking a step toward her.

"You need to leave." Her voice was urgent, terrified. Her eyes darted around the lobby like she expected Richard to step out from behind a potted plant. "Now. Before someone sees you."

"Camila—"

"Please." Her voice broke. A single tear escaped, trailing down her perfect makeup. "If he finds out you're here..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. The fear in her eyes said everything.

"Are they mine?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

The question hung between us like a knife.

Camila's eyes closed. When she opened them, they were swimming with tears and something that looked like agony.

"Go," she whispered. "Please, just go."

She turned and practically ran into the ladies' room. The door swung shut behind her.

I stood there, my heart pounding, my mind racing.

She hadn't said no.

She hadn't denied it.

She'd just begged me to leave.

That was answer enough.

I turned and walked toward the hotel exit, my mind already racing ahead. She was trapped. Scared. And those three little girls—my daughters—were trapped with her.

I wouldn't let that stand.

I didn't know how, and I didn't know when, but I would find a way to get them out.