My hands were still shaking when I unlocked the door.
Liam stood there in his faded Northwestern hoodie, holding two mugs. Steam curled around his face. He took one look at me — barefoot, uniform half-zipped, eyes red — and his smile fell.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Hey, what happened?”
“Nothing,” I said too quickly. “Stomach bug. I’m fine.”
He didn’t move. Liam had known me since I was seven, since my mom used to cut his hair in our kitchen because his mom worked nights. He knew every version of my lying face.
“You’re pale as paper,” he said. He held out the mug. “You sure?”
I took it because my hands needed something to hold. The coffee burned my palms. I couldn’t look at him.
Behind him, my phone buzzed on the hallway table. Then again. And again.
Liam glanced back. “You’ve got like six missed calls. Same number. No caller ID.”
Ice shot through my stomach. Only one person called from a blocked number.
Damien Cross.
The man who had paid me three thousand dollars to walk into that gala as Emma, to get close enough to Alessandro Vitali to copy the files from his foundation’s private drive.
The man who told me Emma was just a girl who used to work for Alessandro, a girl who disappeared, and all I had to do was borrow her name for one night.
My phone buzzed again.
Liam frowned. “You want me to answer?”
“No!” The word came out sharp, raw. I grabbed the phone, silenced it. My thumb hovered over the screen, slick with sweat. A text preview glowed there.
*You missed check-in, Emma. We need to talk about what you took from 1520. Tonight. Or I talk to Vitali for you.*
The floor tilted.
He knew I’d been in the room. He thought I’d stolen something.
Liam’s eyes flicked from my face to the phone. “Em, who is that?”
“No one. Wrong number.”
“Liar.” His voice was gentle, but it cracked. “Elizabeth, talk to me.”
Hearing my real name from his mouth after weeks of being Emma made my eyes fill instantly. Tears spilled before I could stop them.
“I messed up,” I whispered. “Liam, I really messed up.”
He set both mugs down without looking and pulled me into his chest. I was stiff at first, then I folded. I cried into his hoodie and he just held the back of my head, his hand big and steady.
“What did you do?” he murmured into my hair.
I couldn’t say the words *I’m pregnant* out loud. Not yet. Not with Damien threatening to blow my life apart.
“I took a job,” I said against his shoulder. “A guy paid me to go to that gala. To pretend to be someone else. To get close to Alessandro. I was supposed to just get photos of his schedule, his office. I didn’t. I swear I didn’t take anything. But now he says I did.”
Liam went very still.
“Who paid you?”
