Chapter 1

The fluorescent lights of my Innovatech office hummed. It was past nine. Another brutal day, another missed dinner with Emily.

I picked up my phone, swiping through Instagram. Just to numb my brain for a minute before the drive home.

Ms. Davis, Emily's preschool teacher, had a new Story up.

A birthday party. Bright balloons, a gaggle of four-year-olds.

Then I saw the cake.

My breath caught.

It was a massive, three-tiered robot, gears and circuits all edible art. Blue and silver.

Exactly like the one I'd commissioned from Antoine Dubois for Emily's birthday last month. The one he'd sworn was a one-off design for my little girl.

A little boy, not Emily, beamed beside it. He wore a miniature leather bomber jacket, aviation-style patches stitched onto the sleeves.

My stomach twisted. That jacket. I'd hunted it down from a boutique in Paris during my last business trip. For Emily.

The caption read: "Happy 4th, Leo! What an amazing cake from his mom! The kids at Bright Start Academy are loving it!"

Bright Start Academy. Not Emily's school, Golden Gate Prep.

A wave of cold unease washed over me.

I dialed Kevin.

"Hey," his voice was a little too jovial, like he'd just closed a deal. "Still at the office, Super CEO?"

"Kevin, I just saw something... odd."

I described the Instagram Story. The robot cake. The jacket.

"And Emily?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light. "Did she finally enjoy that robot cake I got for her birthday yesterday? I felt so bad missing it for that Tokyo merger meeting."

A slight hesitation on his end. A beat of silence that stretched too long.

"Oh, the cake," he finally said. "Yeah, she... she took a few bites, then, you know kids, she had a bit of a tantrum and knocked it over. Total mess. Shame, it looked amazing."

My heart sank. All that effort, that specific design she'd asked for.

"She knocked it over?" It didn't sound like Emily. She cherished her special things.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Honestly, Sarah, maybe lay off these super expensive cakes. It's a waste of money. Same with those designer clothes you buy her. She outgrows them in a season."

He sounded almost... rehearsed. Annoyed.

"About this other cake, Kevin," I pressed, pushing down the disappointment about Emily's. "The one in the picture. It looked identical."

He laughed. A short, dismissive sound that grated on my nerves.

"Sarah, relax. It's probably just a coincidence."

"A coincidence? That exact cake, designed by Antoine Dubois? That specific Parisian jacket?"

"Look, Emily's school isn't the only fancy preschool in the Bay Area. You know how these Silicon Valley parents are. They all try to one-up each other. Someone probably saw a picture of Emily's cake from her party and copied it."

"But her party was yesterday," I said, the timeline snagging in my mind. "How could they copy it so fast for a party today? And Antoine swore it was exclusive."

"Artists say a lot of things for a price, honey. Creative license, you know? Don't get worked up over nothing. I'm heading to bed."

He hung up before I could say more.

Don't get worked up over nothing.

His words echoed in the sterile silence of my office. But the knot in my stomach tightened. Emily, having a tantrum and destroying her cake? It didn't sound like my usually gentle daughter. And the speed of copying that intricate cake... it felt wrong.

I tapped back to Instagram. Ms. Davis's profile.

The Story with Leo's party? Gone. Vanished.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Why delete it so quickly?

I found Ms. Davis's number in my contacts and called.

"Innovatech Solutions, Sarah Miller speaking," I said, my voice a little too sharp, the CEO tone I usually reserved for tough negotiations.

"Oh, Ms. Miller! Hi! Is everything okay with Emily?" Her voice was high-pitched, a little shaky, like a startled bird.

"Emily's fine, Ms. Davis. I saw your Instagram Story earlier. The one with Leo's birthday cake at Bright Start."

A pause. Too long. I could almost hear her scrambling for words.

"Oh, that. Yes."

"It was an incredible cake. And his jacket was quite stylish. I was thinking of getting something similar for Emily. Could you tell me where his mom got them?" I kept my tone casual, inquisitive.

"Um, well, actually, Ms. Miller," she stammered, "Leo's mother asked me to take the Story down. She felt... she felt it was a bit much, you know? Didn't want to seem like she was showing off."

Showing off?

A custom Antoine Dubois-level cake and a Parisian designer jacket for a four-year-old's party, shared with his entire class, and now she's worried about appearing ostentatious?

It felt like a lie. A poorly constructed, flimsy lie.

"I see," I said slowly, the coldness spreading through me. "Thank you, Ms. Davis."

I hung up.

The unease was a solid weight in my chest. This wasn't a coincidence. This wasn't just Silicon Valley excess.

Something was very wrong.