Every passing day felt like a countdown to something inevitable. Damon and I had spent nights planning, going over every possible way to infiltrate James’ company. His electronics empire was massive, and if we wanted to uncover the truth and get the upper hand, we needed to get inside. That meant finding a way to work there—blending in, learning the ins and outs of the place.
The problem? Neither of us knew the first thing about repairing appliances.
So we found someone who did.
For weeks, we trained under an old technician who had no idea who we really were. Damon caught on quickly, his hands steady and precise, while I struggled at first, my frustration mounting with every mistake. But I had no choice—I had to learn. This was the only way.
When the day finally came to apply for jobs, I felt confident. That was until Damon stopped me outside the company gates.
“You can’t go in like that,” he muttered, scanning my face.
“What do you mean?” I frowned, adjusting my cap.
He let out a sigh. “Zoey, you were famous once. Even with your accident and everything that happened, people will recognize you. You need to disguise yourself.”
I hated that he was right.
Reluctantly, I bought a short, choppy wig that completely altered my look. My long, flowing hair was gone, replaced by something straight and dull. I changed my style, darkened my skin slightly with makeup, and even wore thick-rimmed glasses to make myself look like a completely different person. It was unsettling how easy it was to disappear behind a fake identity.
For a few days, it worked.
But then… I noticed something strange.
A man.
He was always nearby—too close for coincidence. At first, I thought I was just being paranoid, but then I saw him again. At a coffee shop. In the company cafeteria. Outside the dormitory we were renting.
I told Damon about him, and he immediately went on high alert. “Someone’s watching you,” he said, his jaw tightening. “We need to be careful.”
We were right to be worried.
A few nights later, my world shattered again.
It started with a single photo. One that spread like wildfire across social media. A blurry shot of me—disguised but still recognizable to those who knew me well. The caption made my stomach drop.
"Spotted: Is former singer Zoey back from the dead?"
Panic gripped me.
Who took this? Who posted it? Was it that obsessed fan? Or worse… James?