Prologue
Jess
Walking inside the café, I inhale deeply, letting the familiar scent of rich, aromatic coffee and freshly baked cinnamon bread wash over me. The comforting warmth of the place clings to my skin like a second home, easing the sharp edge of the morning chill. The bell above the door chimes behind me, its cheerful ring a reminder that some things—precious few—haven’t changed.
For a moment, I just breathe—slow, steady. Like Joseph taught me.
It’s been four years, but sometimes it still feels like yesterday.
The day I dyed my hair. The day I buried Vivienne for good. The day I walked into Pam & Billy’s café and asked if they needed help behind the counter. My voice trembled. My palms were slick with sweat. I’d barely managed to look Pam in the eye.
But she smiled—soft and knowing. And she never asked questions.
They didn’t see an heiress in hiding. They saw a girl who needed a second chance.
And for the first time… I felt safe.
Pam & Billy’s Coffee House is a cozy little corner tucked between a florist and a worn bookstore in lower Manhattan. Warm brick walls, mismatched chairs, the steady hum of conversation—it’s unpretentious, welcoming, and just enough off-the-radar for someone like me.
Moving quietly, I make my way to the farthest booth tucked beneath a crooked framed painting of the Golden Temple—Pam’s favorite. The corner seat is mine. It always has been. It faces the wall, not the windows, and gives me a view of the room without putting myself on display. It's the only habit I’ve refused to unlearn over the past four years. The fear of being seen—truly seen—still slinks in my shadow.
The world out there has forgotten me. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I still remember the morning I asked for a job here. Four years ago. Scared. Lost. Hiding.
****FLASHBACK****
Four years ago
I wake up gasping for air—again. My chest heaves as if I’ve been drowning in a sea of memories, and for a moment, I truly believe I was. The same nightmare. The same dark room. The same hands.
I rub my eyes with shaky fingers, willing the morning light to erase the shadows etched into my mind. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake them. They’re stitched into me. My past isn’t behind me—it clings to my skin.
“You need help,” a voice says softly.
I startle. I hadn’t noticed him there.
Joseph.
Our family’s lawyer. My late mother’s closest friend. The man who stitched my wounds and shielded me with unwavering loyalty when the rest of the world turned its back.
He doesn’t just protect me out of duty.
He loved her—my mother. Still does. And I look just like her.
It’s a blessing and a curse.
After she died, everything changed. My father couldn’t even look at me—too haunted by grief. The only comfort I had was my twin brother… until he brought his girlfriend home, and suddenly I was alone again.
I push those thoughts away. I can’t afford to feel that emptiness now. Not when I’ve come this far.
Joseph watches me carefully, waiting for a response I won’t give. I swing my legs over the bed, ignoring the way the sheets cling to my damp skin. My robe slips down my shoulder, and Joseph looks away even though he’s seen it all—the bruises, the stitches, the raw pieces of me no one else ever will.
“Let me help you,” he pleads, his voice rough with emotion.
“You’ve done enough,” I whisper, stepping toward the bathroom.
Steam curls around me as hot water scalds my skin, but it doesn’t wash anything away. Not really. When I come out, he’s still there—still hoping.
“Did you bring what I asked for?”
“On the kitchen island.”
“Thanks.”
Last night, I asked for contact lenses and hair dye. A new look. A new name. A new identity. It’s time to disappear for good.
He follows me into the kitchen, sighing. “Why do you need those?”
I smirk without humor. “To play salon with my imaginary friends.”
He doesn’t laugh. He never does when it comes to this.
“I’m thinking of applying for a job,” I add quietly, mixing the dye.
His face hardens. “A job? Vivienne—”
“There’s a small café down the street—Pam & Billy’s. They’re hiring a waitress. I saw the flyer in the window yesterday.”
“Absolutely not.”
I turn, palms braced on the counter, meeting his furious gaze. “It’s just a job. I need something normal.”
“You’ve never worked a day in your life.”
“Then I’ll learn.”
He exhales harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re terrified of being touched, Vivienne. How will you manage serving coffee and smiling at strangers?”
“I’ll manage,” I bite back.
“You’re an heiress,” he snaps, eyes flashing. “You don’t have to do this.”
“No,” I say coldly. “I was an heiress. Now I’m a ghost.”
Joseph flinches at my words.
“Seth made sure the world thinks I’m dead. I want to keep it that way.”
He hesitates, then nods. “And Roman?”
A dagger to the heart. My knees nearly buckle at the mention of his name.
“He got the letter?”
Joseph nods solemnly. “He was… devastated.”
I swallow hard. “Good. He needs to move on.”
“You still love him.”
“I do,” I admit. “Which is why I had to let him go.”
Joseph steps closer. “You didn’t have to do it alone. He would’ve fought for you.”
“I didn’t want him to die for me.”
Silence stretches between us. Thick. Final.
After a long moment, Joseph softens. “Just promise me one thing, Viv. Whatever name you choose, whatever life you build—don’t give up on love.”
I don’t respond.
Because I already have.
***Present***
—“Long time, hun.”
The familiar voice snaps me from my thoughts, and I look up to see Cora slide into the booth beside me, her hip bumping mine as she settles with zero grace and all the confidence in the world.
Cora is… loud. Sharp-tongued. She says what she means, and if she doesn’t like you, you’ll know it before your coffee's brewed. But behind her tough, New York-girl edge is a heart that quietly bruises when no one’s looking.
She was brutal to me at first—called me “glass girl” because I always looked like I’d shatter if someone raised their voice. But eventually… she softened. I think it happened one night when she caught me crying in the storeroom and handed me a Snickers bar without saying a word. Since then, we’ve been oddly inseparable.
“Pam was asking about you. You been hiding, or just avoiding her chai therapy sessions?”
Pam & Billy, are in their early sixties. Pam is tiny but fierce, her silver-streaked hair always pinned up in a neat bun. She’s a mother to every waitress who’s ever walked through these doors—and the boss of this café like it's her kingdom.
Billy, her husband, is her opposite in every way: tall, soft-spoken, and with the gentlest eyes. He’s the one who teaches new hires how to work the register and brews masala chai like it’s a sacred ritual.
They took me in with no questions, no judgment. Just a smile and a warm cup of tea.
They saved me, in more ways than I can say. They gave me more than a job. They gave me sanctuary
I laugh softly, feeling warmth uncurl in my chest. “I’ve been around.”
“You’re always around but never with us,” she says, mock-scolding me. “Anyway—what are you doing tonight?”
I sigh, brushing a stray hair behind my ear. “It’s Sophia’s birthday.
“Boo,” Cora pouts dramatically, flopping her head on my shoulder. “I wanted to catch up. I have so much to spill. Like, earth-shattering, tequila-worthy gossip.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Rain check?”
Cora lifts her head and eyes me with a playful smirk. “You used to be one of us. Slumming it with coffee trays and mop buckets. Now look at you—Ms. Event Planner. The girl who went from refilling sugar jars to running high-society birthdays.”
I roll my eyes, chuckling. “Don’t make it sound like I’m throwing parties at the Met Gala.”
She gasps. “Not yet. But give it time.”
There’s a beat of shared silence before she adds, quieter this time, “I’m proud of you, Jess. You got out. You made something for yourself.”
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” I promise, “and you can spill all the secrets while Pam stuffs us with parathas.”
“You better,” Cora says with a fake sniffle. “Because I’m emotionally neglected and Pam says I’m getting too thin.”
“Pam says that to everyone,” I laugh, “and then feeds them ghee-loaded parathas until they need to unbutton their jeans.”
Cora snorts, standing up. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She tosses me a wink before heading off toward the counter, already calling out a customer’s name with her signature sass. I watch her go, heart lighter than when I walked in.
For now, in this little bubble, it’s easy to pretend the past is just a story I once read.
But I know better.
It’s just a matter of time before it turns the page on me.---
