Now that Tate Vargas’s biological daughter had finally been found, Emily Blair was left with a new dilemma—how could she possibly break the news to Tate that Isabella Austin was already gone?
The thought gnawed at her all evening. She tossed and turned in bed, replaying every detail she remembered about Juliana Silva, the woman always at Benjamin Gomez’s side, and the strange look Juliana had given Isabella’s grieving parents.
First things first—she had to figure out exactly who Juliana Silva was.
“Recently the government’s been spearheading—”
Emily’s gaze drifted to the potted plant in the corner. Elizabeth Wilson’s voice hummed in her ear, half lost in the haze of her preoccupation.
“A lot of companies are scrambling for this contract. We really—”
Emily nodded, slow and absent.
“Emily Blair, hello? Emily Blair, are you even listening to me?”
She nodded again, just as slowly.
Elizabeth gave her a pointed look, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Finally, she leaned over and nudged Emily’s arm.
Startled, Emily blinked and turned. “What?”
Elizabeth folded her arms, chin tilted high. “What’s going on with you? I’ve been talking for minutes—did you hear a single word?”
Emily searched her memory: …nothing.
She gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, go on. I’m listening now.”
Elizabeth clicked her tongue. “What were you thinking about? Do you know how many times I called your name?”
“Nothing important. Come on, just keep going.”
Elizabeth fixed her with a knowing look. “Emily, you know how long I’ve known you?”
“Five, six years?”
Elizabeth leaned in, eyes narrowed in mock accusation. “Exactly. Five, six years. I don’t know what’s on your mind right now, but I can tell when you’re hiding something from me.”
Emily looked away.
“Hey, hey—”



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