"Nobody sent me!" Ivy snapped, her patience fraying. "I don't even know who you are."

That was a lie. Everyone knew Auguste Randall. But she needed him to believe she was just a bystander.

She tried to gently pry Ara's fingers off her hand. "Sweetie, I have to go."

Ara whimpered. It was a high, broken sound that tore at Ivy's heart. The girl looked up, her eyes pleading. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small notepad and a crayon.

She scribbled furiously and held it up.

STAY.

Ivy bit her lip.

Auguste watched the exchange, his mask of indifference slipping for a moment. "She spoke to you?"

"She wrote to me," Ivy corrected.

Auguste reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a checkbook. He uncapped a fountain pen.

"How much?" he asked.

Ivy blinked. "Excuse me?"

"To stay," Auguste said, not looking up as he began to write. "For an hour. Until she falls asleep. My nanny is... unavailable. I need to finish some calls."

He ripped the check out and held it toward her. It was blank.

Ivy stared at the paper. Then she looked at his face. He thought she was a prostitute? Or an escort?

She laughed. It was a sharp, incredulous sound.

"I'm not for sale, Mr. Randall," she said.

She pushed his hand away.

"I have my own son waiting for me," she said, her voice softening as she looked down at Ara. "I can't stay."

Auguste paused. "You have a child?"

"Yes."

Ara's shoulders slumped. She looked defeated. She let go of Ivy's hand and trudged toward the velvet sofa in the corner, curling up into a miserable little ball.

Ivy turned to the door. She put her hand on the handle.

She looked back.

The room was vast and cold. Auguste had already turned back to his phone. The little girl looked so small, so lonely on that giant sofa.

It reminded her of Albion in the early days, when they had nothing.

Ivy cursed under her breath.

She walked back to the sofa. She sat down on the edge, avoiding Auguste's surprised glance.

"I can't stay long," she whispered to Ara. "But... do you know the song about the moon?"

Ara shook her head, her eyes wide.

Ivy began to hum. It was a simple, melancholic lullaby she used to sing to Albion when the thunder scared him. Her voice was low and rich, filling the silence of the room.

Sleep, little star, the night is your friend...

Ara's eyelids fluttered. Her breathing slowed. Within minutes, her grip on the cushion relaxed. She was asleep.

Ivy stopped humming. The silence returned, but it felt less hostile now.

She stood up, smoothing her dress.

Auguste was watching her. He hadn't made a single call. He was just... watching.

"You have a nice voice," he said. It sounded like an accusation.

"You owe me an apology," Ivy said quietly. "Not money."

She walked to the door.

"Wait," Auguste said.

But Ivy didn't wait. She slipped out into the hallway, her heart racing, leaving the check on the table untouched.

Ivy practically ran to the valet stand. Felix was waiting by the car, looking anxious.

"Where have you been?" he hissed as she slid into the passenger seat. "You were gone for forty minutes."

"I met a lunatic," Ivy said, buckling her seatbelt with shaking hands. "And his sad kid."

"A lunatic?" Felix started the car. "At La Rive? Who?"

"Auguste Randall," Ivy said.

Felix nearly swerved into oncoming traffic. " The Auguste Randall? You met the head of the snake?"

"He tried to pay me to babysit," Ivy said, leaning her head back against the seat. "I refused."

Back at the club, the scene was very different.

Auguste carried the sleeping Ara out the back exit to his waiting armored Maybach. He placed her gently in the car seat, securing the buckles with practiced ease.

Justus Randall, his younger brother and VP, was in the driver's seat.

"Date went well?" Justus smirked, looking in the rearview mirror. "I saw the lady in sequins storm out."

Auguste ignored him. He climbed into the back seat.

"Pull the security footage from the hallway outside the VIP suite," Auguste ordered.

Justus blinked. "Why? Did something happen?"

"A woman," Auguste said. He touched his chest absently. His heart rate was still elevated. "Red dress. Ara... liked her."

"Ara liked a human?" Justus turned around, his jaw dropping. "That's impossible. Ara hates everyone except you."

"She fell asleep in five minutes," Auguste murmured. "The woman hummed a lullaby."

It was a melody that tugged at the edge of Auguste's memory. A hazy, drug-induced memory from four years ago. A rainy night. A woman's soft skin. A song.

He shook his head. Coincidence.

"Find out who she is," Auguste said, his voice hardening. "Everything. Name, address, history."

"On it," Justus said, tapping on his tablet as the car pulled away.

On the highway, the Maybach sped up, passing a black sedan in the slow lane.

Inside the sedan, Ivy looked out the window at the passing car. The windows were tinted dark, impenetrable. As the imposing vehicle swept past, an inexplicable shiver traced its way down Ivy's spine. She dismissed it as the evening chill, her thoughts already turning to the battles ahead.

She looked at Albion, asleep in the backseat.

"They looked alike," she whispered to herself. The little girl's eyes. Albion's eyes.

"Who?" Felix asked.

"Nothing," Ivy said. "Just my imagination."

Felix's phone pinged. "The casting director called. They want to see you tomorrow at 9 AM."

Ivy straightened up. The mother vanished. The actress returned.

"Good," she said, staring at the city lights. "Braeden will be there."

"Are you ready?"

"I was born ready," Ivy said.

In the Maybach, Auguste received a text from the family psychiatrist.

Ara needs a maternal figure for her therapy to progress. The attachment disorder is worsening.

Auguste looked at his sleeping daughter.

"I will find her," he vowed silently. "And I will keep her."

Sunlight streamed into the CEO's office at the top of the Randall Tower, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

Auguste sat at his desk, signing documents. He looked tired. The insomnia had been bad last night. The melody of that lullaby had played on a loop in his head, keeping him awake.

The door opened. Justus walked in. He wasn't smiling.

He held a thick black dossier in his hand.

"You're not going to believe this," Justus said, dropping the file on the mahogany desk.

"You found her?" Auguste asked, not looking up.

"I found her," Justus said. "And you know her."

Auguste paused. He looked at the file. He flipped it open.

The first page was a photo taken from the security footage at La Rive. The woman in the red dress.

The second page was an obituary.

Ivy Hogan. Beloved Daughter and Fiancée. Lost at Sea.

Auguste froze.

"Ivy Hogan?" he said slowly. "Braeden's ex? The one who died?"

"The dead one," Justus confirmed. "Death by drowning. No body found. Empty casket funeral."

Auguste looked at the recent photo. She looked very alive. And very different from the meek girl in the obituary photo.

"She has a son," Justus added. "Albion Hogan. Three years old."

Auguste flipped to the birth certificate copy.

Father: Unknown.

A strange spike of irritation hit Auguste's chest. Unknown? A son, born roughly three years ago. The timing was... a coincidence. It had to be. The woman from that night was gone, and this one belonged to Braeden's past. Still, the thought lodged in his mind like a splinter of ice.

"So she faked her death?" Auguste mused.

"Or someone tried to kill her," Justus suggested darkly. "The family didn't exactly mourn her. Braeden was engaged to her sister two months later."

Auguste tapped his finger on the desk. This complicated things. She was technically family. She was his nephew's ex-fiancée.

"Where is she now?" Auguste asked.

"She's an actress," Justus said. "Or trying to be. She's auditioning for The Red Palace today."

Auguste checked his watch. 8:45 AM.

"That's our production," Auguste noted.

"Yes. Braeden is running the casting."

Auguste stood up abruptly. He buttoned his suit jacket.

"Clear my schedule," he ordered.

Justus blinked. "For what? You have a meeting with the Japanese investors."

"Cancel it," Auguste said, walking toward the door. "I'm going to the auditions."

"You never go to castings," Justus called after him.

"I do today."

The waiting room of the studio was packed with nervous women muttering lines to themselves.

Ivy stood near the window, wearing a simple black dress that highlighted her pale skin. She wore sunglasses, hiding her eyes.

The door to the hallway burst open.

Calla Mcgowan walked in, surrounded by an entourage of assistants. She looked like a queen surveying her subjects. She laughed at something an assistant said, tossing her blonde hair.

"Make sure Braeden has his coffee," Calla ordered loudly. "And tell these girls to go home. We're looking for a star, not extras."

She turned and almost walked into Ivy.

"Watch it," Calla snapped.

Ivy slowly reached up. She took off her sunglasses.

She looked directly into Calla's eyes.

Calla stopped. The color drained from her face instantly. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She stumbled back, clutching her chest.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Ivy said. Her voice was calm, pleasant, and absolutely terrifying.

Calla screamed. It was a shrill, piercing sound that silenced the entire room.

"Ghost!" Calla shrieked, pointing a trembling finger. "She's a ghost!"

Ivy smiled. It was the smile of a predator who had just cornered its prey.

"I'm not a ghost, Calla," Ivy stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper only Calla could hear. "I'm your worst nightmare."

At that moment, the double doors at the end of the hall opened.

Auguste Randall walked in, flanked by security. He saw the scene. He saw Calla hyperventilating. He saw Ivy standing calm and collected in the center of the storm.

Their eyes met.

Auguste smirked.

"Interesting," he whispered.