Chapter 68

"Miss Valentine!"

Manager Quentin's alarmed voice pierced the air.

I braced myself against the cold wall, my knuckles turning white from the pressure. The familiar metallic taste rose in my throat again, and I bit my lip hard.

"I'm fine." My voice came out feather-light.

Quentin's hand hovered midair, hesitant to touch me. "Should I call an ambulance?"

"No need." I fished out the pill bottle from my bag, shaking out the last white tablet. The empty container mirrored my dwindling life.

The painkiller dissolved on my tongue, spreading bitterness.

"The floor—"

"Forget the floor!" Quentin wrung his hands. "You're pale as paper. Are you sure you don't need a hospital?"

I shook my head, forcing a smile. "Just an old condition. Won't kill me."

The onboarding process went surprisingly smooth.

When Quentin showed me to my workstation, he hesitated. "About... Mr. Roland's account—"

"Adrian and I are over." I cut him off. "He's engaged now."

Quentin frowned. "His fiancée... I swear I've seen her somewhere before."

I stayed silent. The world had many lookalikes—just like Mr. Alistair and I, strangers who felt inexplicably familiar.

The afternoon meeting took an unexpected turn.

"Oh my God! It is you!" Miss Fiona Valdemar fluttered over like an excited sparrow. "The shining star of Milan Design Institute!"

I froze.

"Those celestial rings you designed were divine!" She gushed breathlessly. "Our entire class applied because of you!"

Madame Valdemar smiled indulgently. "Youthful enthusiasm."

Memories flooded back—Milanese sunlight, studio lamps, abandoned dreams. Who would I be now without that accident?

"Where did you disappear to, senior?" Fiona pressed.

I adjusted my cuff, hiding the scar on my wrist. "Personal matters."

"What a waste!" She suddenly grabbed my hand. "But I found you now! I'll tell everyone the shining star is back!"

"Please don't." I recoiled. "I just want quiet work."

Fiona's gaze dropped to my modest outfit. Her voice softened. "Is it because of the baby?"

I didn't deny it.

As she left, she shoved a card into my hand. "Call me anytime you need help!"

My phone vibrated.

[Adjusting well?]

My breath hitched.

[Are you watching me, Mr. Alistair?]

[I only watch what's worth watching.]

The screen dimmed, then lit again: [Hold your phone steady.]

My hands jerked, nearly dropping it. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, only the bustling crowd moved.

[Where are you?]

[Does it matter?]

I stared at those three words. He was right. Why did it matter? This stranger who refused to meet me.

[Do we know each other?] I typed with trembling fingers.

Each second of waiting stretched like a year.

Finally, the reply came:

[I knew Stella Valentine long before you think.]

"Miss Valentine?" Quentin's voice snapped me back. "Your payroll card—seventy thousand. You can withdraw for emergencies."

I clenched the thin plastic. Seventy thousand—nowhere near the surgery cost.

But it was a start.