Chapter 2: The Web of Secrets**
Victoria instantly locked her emotional armor back in place. Wiping the dampness from beneath her lashes with a subtle flick of her wrist, she turned to face Richard. The warmth in her demeanor evaporated, replaced by the icy poise the corporate world feared.
“I was complimenting the hotel’s presentation, Richard,” Victoria replied smoothly, stepping slightly to shield Elena from his cold, assessing gaze. “Go ahead to the executive suite. I will be there in two minutes.”
Richard sneered, glancing at Elena’s faded nametag with undisguised contempt. “Make sure she finishes the lobby before the international investors arrive. We don’t pay five-star rates to look at beggars.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the private elevators.
Elena flinched at the word *beggar*, but Victoria’s jaw clenched with simmering fury. Turning back to Elena, Victoria pulled an embossed business card from her designer handbag and slipped it into Elena’s apron pocket.
“Room 1402. Tonight at eight o’clock,” Victoria whispered urgently. “Do not tell anyone. Not your supervisor, not the other staff. Just come.”
Elena nodded faintly, her chest heaving with an overwhelming surge of shock and wonder.
Six hours later, Elena stood before the heavy mahogany door of Room 1402, clutching the card in her calloused hands. When the door opened, Victoria wasn't wearing her billionaire facade. She wore a simple sweater and jeans, her face bare of makeup, looking startlingly like the little girl Elena had tucked into bed thirty-four years ago.
Inside the suite, a lavish spread of food sat untouched. Victoria pulled Elena inside and shut the door, locking it securely.
“I was told my birth parents died in a car crash,” Victoria revealed, tears finally spilling freely down her cheeks. “The late Arthur Sterling adopted me from an upscale private agency. He gave me everything—wealth, education, power. But I always remembered that song. Where were you? Why did you let them take me?”
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Elena collapsed into a velvet armchair, burying her face in her apron as a decades-old nightmare resurfaced. “I never gave you away, Clara. You were stolen from me.”
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