The room felt smaller than it was.
The steady hum of medical equipment, the faint antiseptic sting in the air, the quiet weight of realization pressing against my chest.
I stood frozen, staring at Alexis Harrington, my mind working faster than my body could respond.
She knew.
Not just about Mr. Angel. Not just about my survival.
She knew.
I had spent practically a full year crafting identities, weaving masks so seamlessly that even the most persistent hunters struggled to follow my trail. I had deceived governments, navigated through shadowed corridors of power, and kept my true self buried beneath layers of calculated deception.
And yet—
A single nurse, standing there with that amused smirk, had figured me out.
She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, radiating effortless confidence. Her cropped platinum-blonde hair framed sharp, inquisitive blue eyes that flickered with something more than just amusement.
