CHAPTER 2: THE BLACK SUV
Before the children could utter another word, the heavy silence was shattered by a sharp, panicked gasp.
"Regina! Lucy! Valerie!"
A blonde woman in a sharp gray blazer—clearly a high-end private nanny—rushed toward us. Her face was stark white, drenched in a level of terror that didn't make sense for a public park. She snatched the triplets back, her hands shaking as she pulled them away from me.
"I am so sorry, sir! They shouldn't have bothered you," she stammered, her eyes darting around the park as if she were being watched by invisible snipers.
I stood up from the bench, the paper coffee cup crushing in my grip. "Wait! Please. They weren't bothering me. I just need to know their mother's name—"
The nanny didn't let me finish. She looked at me, then at the tattoo on my arm, and her eyes widened in pure horror. She knew. She recognized it.
"We must go," the nanny whispered, her voice trembling as she dragged the girls backward. "Ms. Montgomery is going to be furious."
Montgomery. The name hit me like a physical blow. The Montgomery family owned half of the real estate in Manhattan. They were untouchable. Dynastic. Secretive. Eight years ago, Camilla had never told me her last name. She had only worn expensive clothes disguised as thrift-store finds, refused to answer encrypted phone calls, and vanished into thin air before sunrise.
May you like
"Camilla..." I breathed out.
A sleek, black armored Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows was idling at the curb, its door already swung open. The nanny practically threw the girls into the back seat.
