Melissa had settled into a routine. Arrive at 5:45 AM. Clock in. Take the service elevator to floor sixty-five. Clean until 2 PM. Go home. Repeat. The work was mindless. Her body moved while her mind wandered. She'd stopped hoping for a miracle. Stopped imagining the masked director would notice her. Rita had been right. He didn't look at cleaning staff. Nobody did. Thursday morning, 6:23 AM. Melissa was cleaning the executive conference room. The massive table gleamed. The windows sparkled. Everything perfect. She gathered her supplies. Prepared to move to the next room. That's when she heard it. Footsteps behind her. She turned. The masked director stood in the doorway. This close, she could see details she'd missed before. His suit was immaculate. Custom tai

That evening, Melissa couldn't stop thinking about Derek's accusations. She sat in her apartment. The tiny studio with its cracked walls and leaking faucet. The folder Derek had shown her—those papers—they haunted her. But it couldn't be true. Alex Chen was weak. Soft. Kind to the point of being pathetic. He'd bring her flowers from the discount grocery store. Write her terrible poetry. Work three jobs just to afford cheap dates. That Alex couldn't possibly be the masked director. The director was cold. Calculated. Powerful enough to destroy Derek's empire with a phone call. Two completely different people. Had to be. Her phone rang. Unknown number. She almost didn't answer. But something made her pick up. "Hello?" "Miss Zhang?" Professional voice. Male. "This is Chen Global S

The Grand Meridian ballroom glittered like a fever dream. Melissa stood near the entrance, clutching a champagne flute she'd taken from a passing waiter. She hadn't sipped it. Just held it. For something to do with her hands. The room was packed. Five hundred guests, maybe more. Corporate executives. Politicians. Socialites. Media personalities. Everyone who mattered in the city. And Melissa. A cleaning lady in a two-year-old dress. She scanned the crowd for Derek. Couldn't find him. But she found the director. He stood near the center of the room. Surrounded by admirers. Wearing an immaculate black tuxedo and that same black mask. Even from across the room, his presence was magnetic. People leaned in when he spoke. Laughed at his comments. Competed for his attention. Power recognized power. Melissa watch

Alex didn't go home that night. He stayed in his office until 3 AM. Staring at nothing. Melissa's words echoed in his head. *I destroyed a good person. Someone who loved me.* Past tense. Loved. Because that person was dead. The Alex Chen who'd loved Melissa Zhang had died in that hotel two years ago. This Alex—the one who built empires and crushed enemies—he didn't love anyone. Couldn't afford to. His phone buzzed. Isabella. *Still working? You promised you'd come home at a reasonable hour.* He typed back: *Something came up. Don't wait up.* *Alex. You need sleep.* *I know.* *What happened?* He stared at the question. What could he say? That a ghost from his past had apologized? That it hurt more than he'd expected? *Nothing. Just work. I'll be h

Friday, 1:45 PM. Alex stood backstage at the Chen Global auditorium. Fifteen minutes until the press conference. Fifteen minutes until the mask came off. He could hear the crowd beyond the curtain. Hundreds of journalists. Cameras. The low hum of anticipation. Lucy appeared beside him. "We're ready when you are." "Is Isabella here?" "Front row. Your mother sends her love, by the way." Alex blinked. "My mother?" "Virtual attendance from Shanghai. The live stream will reach her." Lucy smiled slightly. "Turns out you have more family than you thought. Distant cousins. Your grandmother's relatives. They've all been watching." "Great. More people to disappoint." "You won't disappoint anyone." Alex touched the mask. It felt different today