"After three years searching Europe for his missing wife, he came home to his own mansion and heard a barefoot maid whisper, “I’m sorry, sir”—then realized the voice belonged to the woman he had never stopped loving."

CHAPTER 1

The metal bucket hit the white marble floor so hard the sound cracked through the mansion like a gunshot.

Water splashed across Alejandro Castillo’s shoes.

A maid dropped to her knees instantly, her thin hands shaking as she grabbed a rag.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered.

Alejandro stopped breathing.

The suitcase slipped from his hand.

That voice.

For three years, he had heard it in dreams, in crowded train stations, in hotel lobbies across Paris, Rome, Madrid, and Vienna. He had chased rumors, hired investigators, followed false sightings, and buried himself in guilt until his own reflection looked like a stranger.

Now the voice was coming from a barefoot maid kneeling on the floor of his own mansion.

Slowly, the woman lifted her head.

Alejandro’s heart nearly stopped.

“Elena?”

Her eyes widened.

For one impossible second, the entire mansion disappeared.

Then a cold laugh floated down from the staircase.

“Well,” Vivian Moretti said, holding a glass of wine, “this is awkward.”

Elena lowered her head so quickly it looked like fear had pulled her down.

Alejandro saw the bruised shadows around her wrists.

The raw skin on her hands.

The way every servant in the hall looked away.