My Cold CEO Has a Secret Daughter

The little girl was standing in the middle of the rain. Barefoot. Alone. And staring directly at me. I stopped beneath the awning of the café, my fingers tightening around the paper bag I was carrying. The storm had arrived without warning. Ten minutes ago, the streets had been dry. Now rain poured from the sky so heavily that the cars looked like shadows behind a wall of silver. Everyone else had run inside. But the child hadn't moved. She couldn't have been more than five. Her white dress was soaked. Her dark hair clung to her cheeks. One tiny hand held a broken pink umbrella. I looked around. “Where is your mother?” She didn't answer. I stepped closer. “Sweetheart, where's your mommy?” The girl's lips trembled. Then she looked up at me. “Mommy?” My heart stopped. “No,” I whispered. “I'm not your—” She suddenly ran toward me. Her little arms wrapped around my waist. “Mommy!” The paper bag fell from my hand. I stood frozen. The child buried her face against my coat as if she'd finally found the person she'd been searching for. “I missed you.” My throat tightened. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I think you have the wrong person.” She pulled away. Her eyes were wet. “You came back.” “I…” I didn't know what to say. Then a black car stopped violently at the curb. The rear door opened. A man stepped out. Tall. Broad shoulders. Black suit. Black hair slicked back by the rain. And an expression so cold that the entire street seemed to become quieter. I knew that face. Everyone in the business world knew it. Alexander Sterling. Thirty-one years old. Billionaire. CEO of Sterling Holdings. The youngest man to ever take control of the company. And the man who had destroyed three competitors before breakfast according to the newspapers. His eyes immediately found the little girl. Then they found me. For one second, his expression changed. Shock. Real shock. Then it disappeared. He walked toward us. “Emma.” The little girl turned. “Daddy!” Alexander crouched in front of her. “Are you hurt?” She shook her head. Then pointed at me. “Daddy, Mommy found me.” His gaze slowly returned to mine. I swallowed. “I think there's been a mistake.” He stood. He was taller than I remembered. Wait. Remembered? I frowned. I had never met him. Had I? His eyes narrowed. “What's your name?” “Claire.” “Claire what?” “Claire Bennett.” The moment I said my last name, something dark passed through his eyes. “You're Claire Bennett?” “Yes.” He stared at me for several seconds. Then he looked at Emma. The little girl was still holding my hand. “Daddy,” she whispered, “don't let Mommy leave again.” My stomach twisted. Alexander's jaw tightened. “Emma, she's not your mother.” The child's eyes filled with tears. “But she looks exactly like the picture.” I looked at Alexander. “What picture?” He didn't answer. Instead, he picked up Emma. She immediately reached back for my hand. “Mommy, come with us.” I gently pulled my fingers away. “I can't.” The child's face crumpled. Alexander noticed. For the first time, his cold expression softened. Barely. “Emma.” She looked at him. “Let's go.” “No.” Her tiny arms tightened around his neck. “I want Mommy.” Alexander looked at me again. Something about his stare made me uncomfortable. “Where do you live?” I frowned. “Why?” “I'll have someone drive you home.” “I can take a taxi.” “It's raining.” “I'll manage.” He stepped closer. “Claire.” My name sounded different in his voice. Like a warning. “Why does my daughter think you're her mother?” “I don't know.” “Have you met her before?” “No.” “Have you ever been near my family?” “No.” He stared at me. Then he asked quietly: “Do you have a sister?” My breath caught. “Yes.” His eyes hardened. “What was her name?” “Lily.” Silence. Alexander looked away. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Before I could ask anything else, his phone rang. He answered. “What?” A pause. His expression changed. “Where?” Another pause. “Don't touch anything. I'm coming.” He ended the call. “What happened?” I asked without thinking. He looked at me. “My daughter was kidnapped three hours ago.” My blood ran cold. “What?” “Someone left her here.” I looked down at Emma. The little girl was watching me. Alexander stepped closer. “And whoever brought her here knew exactly who you were.” My heart began pounding. “Why me?” His answer came quietly. “That's what I'm going to find out.” He turned toward the car. Then stopped. “Come with us.” I shook my head. “No.” His eyes became colder. “That's not a request.” I stared at him. “I don't work for you.” “No.” He looked at Emma. “You might be the only person she trusts.” The little girl reached for me again. “Please, Mommy.” I looked into her tearful eyes. And against every instinct screaming at me to walk away, I stepped toward the car. I didn't know it then. But that decision would destroy the life I thought I knew. Because when I entered Alexander Sterling's mansion, I saw a framed photograph hanging above the fireplace. It was a photograph of a woman. A woman who looked exactly like me. And beneath the photograph was a date. Five years ago. The date my sister Lily disappeared.