Chapter 3 The First Lie

Chapter 3 - The First Lie

Alexander POV

Five years is long enough to bury a woman. Long enough to build an empire on top of her grave. And still... not long enough to stop her from coming back into my world. The International Finance Summit is loud, polished, and full of people who smile like predators pretending to be polite. Every face here is controlled. Every movement is measured. I stand at the center beneath the lights, cameras angled upward, microphones catching every word. "I am here today," I begin, voice steady, "to present the continued expansion of Reid Corporation into emerging global markets." A pause. Just long enough for the room to lean in. "Stability is not accidental. It is built." My tone is calm. Controlled. But inside, something is slightly off. A small disturbance I cannot name.

My eyes scan the audience once. Twice. Then it happens. A subtle shift in the room. Not noise. Not movement. Recognition. I do not see her yet, but I feel her, like pressure building beneath the surface. The host steps forward, voice bright, "And now, we welcome our newest global investor..." I stop listening halfway through the sentence. The doors open at the back. My breath slows. Because I see her, and for a moment, everything in me stops working the way it should. She walks in like she owns the room, in a black suit. Calm posture. No hesitation. Every step is deliberate. Controlled. Like she is performing a role she understands perfectly. My heart slows, then tightens. No. That face. It is impossible.

My voice almost fails, not completely, just enough to create a fracture. "...as I was saying," I continue, though I cannot remember what came before. That moment passes quickly, but I feel it. That break in control. The room does not notice, but I do. She approaches the stage. Closer now. Too close. And when her eyes meet mine, something inside me shifts. Recognition floods my chest, sharp and immediate, but her expression is empty. Not confused. Not surprised. Empty. Like she is looking at someone she does not know. That is what unsettles me most. Not her presence, but her indifference.

The host gestures, and she steps onto the stage beside me. The air changes. She is close enough now that I can smell her. Same scent. Faint. Familiar. Painful. For a brief second, my mind betrays me, a thought flashing through, she never died. Then I correct myself. No. I watched the report. I confirmed the records. I saw what remained. She extends her hand. "Mr. Reid." Her voice is smooth. Too smooth. I take her hand, a second longer than necessary, maybe two. Her fingers tighten slightly. Not a mistake. A response. I release her slowly, carefully. "Ms. Laurent," I say. The name feels wrong the moment I say it. She nods. Professional. Controlled. But I am watching everything now. Every breath. Every pause. Every micro-expression. Because something is wrong. Not obvious. Not loud. But deliberate. And deliberate things are never random.

The speech continues, but I am no longer listening to the words. I am watching her. Calculating. Testing. When it ends, she leaves the stage, and I follow. Not immediately. Close enough. I give her time to settle, to lower her guard, to believe she has passed. Then I approach. "You look like someone I knew," I say. Direct. No hesitation. She turns slowly, measured, unbothered. "People say that often," she replies. Her tone is polite. Too polite. "What is your real name?" I ask. "Sienna Laurent." "Where are you from?" "Switzerland." No pause. No hesitation. Too smooth. Too practiced. "Did we meet before?" I hold her gaze. She does not look away. "I don't believe so," she says. A lie. Perfectly delivered. And that is the problem. Because only someone trained can lie that well.

"You resemble my late wife," I say quietly. And this time, there it is. A reaction. Small. Almost invisible. But real. Her breathing changes. Just slightly. "I'm sorry for your loss," she replies. Her voice remains steady, but her eyes, for a fraction of a second, something flickers. Gone immediately. But I caught it. "Her name was Sophia." Another pause. "I've seen the reports." Headlines. That is what she calls it. As if it were not her own life. Something inside me tightens. Dangerously. "Enjoy the summit," she says, then she walks away. No hesitation. No glance back. That should be the end, but it is not.

Later, I watched her from across the room at dinner. She blends in perfectly. Smiling. Speaking. Engaging. But something is off. Always slightly off. Like she is performing a version of herself, not being it. I signal Evan. "Get me what she drinks from." He nods once. No questions. Hours later, I received the confirmation. I do not open the message immediately, because I already know what it will say. But when I do, the room tilts slightly. "DNA match: 99.98% probability." Silence follows. Absolute. I read it again, then again. "She's Sophia Reid." Alive.

The word lands harder than any impact I have ever taken. Alive. Not memory. Not theory. Alive. My grip tightens. Something inside me fractures. Not grief. Not shocked. Something far more dangerous. Hope. And anger. Because now the question changes. Not if she survived, but how. And why is she lying? Because she is lying. I know it now. Standing in front of me. Looking at me like a stranger. She chose that. Which means someone taught her to, or someone forced her to. And that means someone is still watching. Still controlling this. Still pulling the strings.

I stare out at the city, reflections moving across the glass. "I lost you once," I say quietly into the dark. "Not again." But something deep inside me tightens further. Because if she came back from the dead, then this was never about death. It was about something else. Something far more dangerous. And I intend to find out exactly what it is, before someone finishes what they started.