"Young Miss."
The voice was low and deferential, cutting through the quiet hum of the luxury car's engine.
"The person you wanted to find has been located. He is currently working as a waiter in a club, and his five-year-old son is enrolled in a middle-level kindergarten."
I felt the air leave my lungs in a silent rush. My butler, John, spoke with the calm professionalism he always used, his gaze fixed respectfully on the road ahead.
He was reporting facts. To me, he was delivering a verdict on my soul.
My eyelids fluttered as I lifted my gaze from the swirling crimson liquid in my wine glass.
A waiter. My Lucas, the man with a mind brilliant enough to solve complex physics problems for fun, was serving drinks to strangers. And our son... our son was five.
So, five years had passed since my death.
A heavy, crushing weight settled in my chest. Five years. For me, in this new body, it had only been one.
One year since I woke up from a dark, silent abyss to find myself living as Helena Long, the sole heiress to a global empire.
But for them, half a decade had been stolen. My poor son had lived his entire life without a mother.
My husband had struggled alone for all that time.
My nose began to tingle, and a familiar heat welled up behind my eyes. I blinked it back fiercely. I was Helena Long now.
Crying was a weakness this new identity could not afford. I placed the wine glass on the car's polished wood fold-out tray with a steady hand.
"Thank you, John," I said, my voice coming out colder than I intended.
My first instinct was to scream, to order the driver to race to that kindergarten and snatch my son into my arms.
But the rational part of my brain, the part that had been honed by a year of navigating the treacherous world of the Long family, held me back.
What would I do? Run up to the school gates and start peering at five-year-old boys? I didn't even know what he looked like.
The only image I had of him was of a tiny, red-faced infant, an image now five years out of date. Rushing in would be foolish.
It would raise questions I couldn't answer and draw attention I didn't need.
No. I had to be smart. I had power now, influence beyond my wildest dreams. I had to use it carefully.
A plan began to form in my mind, a way to bridge the gap between the ghost I was and the mother I desperately wanted to be.
"John," I said, my voice now firm and clear. "Take me to the Grand Horizon Mall."
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he nodded without question.
"Right away, Young Miss."
The first step was simple, almost painfully domestic. I was going to buy clothes for my son. And toys. And books.
Everything a five-year-old boy could ever want. It was a shallow gesture, I knew, but it was something tangible.
A way for me to feel like a mother, even from a distance.
As the car glided through the city streets, I pulled out the sleek, custom-made smartphone that belonged to Helena Long.
I scrolled through my contacts to my personal assistant, a ruthlessly efficient woman named Sarah.
I needed a picture. I had to see his face.
I composed a text message, choosing my words with care.
Sarah, I need you to do something for me discreetly. There's a man named Lucas Vance, currently working at the Starlight Club.
He has a five-year-old son. I need a recent, clear photograph of the boy. The Long Charity Foundation is considering his school for a new youth program, and I want a face to put to the file. Be quick.
It was a plausible lie. Helena Long was known for her impulsive philanthropic projects. No one would question it.
I hit send, my thumb trembling slightly. Now, all I could do was wait.
The car soon pulled up to the gleaming entrance of the most opulent mall in Beijing. I stepped out, flanked by two bodyguards who materialised out of a second car, their presence a silent declaration of my status.
The world of Helena Long was one of constant protection.
As I walked through the towering glass doors into the air-conditioned sanctuary of high fashion, my phone buzzed in my hand. A message from Sarah.
Done, Miss Long. Photo attached.
My heart leaped into my throat. I stopped right there, in the middle of the polished marble concourse, ignoring the curious glances of other shoppers. My hands shook as I tapped open the message.
And then... nothing.
A grey box appeared on the screen with a slowly spinning circle in the center. The image was trying to load.
The mall's public Wi-Fi was notoriously slow, and my own mobile signal seemed to have vanished inside this palace of steel and glass.
"Come on, come on," I muttered under my breath, my knuckles white as I gripped the phone.
I started walking, my eyes glued to the screen, desperate for a stronger signal. I strode past the glittering displays of Cartier, the elegant windows of Chanel, and the bold designs of Gucci.
All around me was a world of instant gratification, a place where any desire could be fulfilled for the right price.
Yet, the one thing I wanted more than anything—a simple picture of my child—was being denied to me by a single, stubborn loading bar.
My frustration mounted with every step. I was Helena Long, a woman who could buy this entire mall with a single phone call, and I was being defeated by a poor internet connection.
The irony was almost laughable.
I found a slightly less crowded corridor near a large fountain and held the phone up, as if that would somehow help.
The loading circle continued its lazy, agonizing spin. The grey box began to fill, line by excruciating line, from the top down.
I could see the top of a head, a shock of dark hair. My breath hitched. It was his hair. It was Lucas's hair.
Then, a forehead. Smooth, pale skin.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of anticipation and fear. Just a little more.
A few more seconds, and I would finally see the face of the son I had abandoned. The face of the boy who haunted my every waking moment.
The loading bar crept downwards, revealing his eyebrows, and then, finally, his eyes.
That's when a loud bang echoed from just below the escalator near me.