[From the Author: I want to apologize again for the inconvenience. I am deeply sorry.]
Before leaving, she made sure to take the woman’s ID and her home address, and warned her not to let Alex out of sight.
Alex stood next to Linda, the security guard Heather had entrusted him to. She was more focused on the soccer match streaming on her phone than on her actual job.
Alex’s eyes scanned the crowd. That’s when he noticed a girl nearby, maybe twelve or thirteen, wearing a T-shirt printed with a red carpet photo of Miss H.
Curiosity sparked in his eyes. She wasn’t far. And Linda was still glued to her phone.
He stepped forward, moving slowly toward the girl.
"Miss H is here," Alex said with certainty in his voice.
He had done his homework. He knew everything he could find about her.
The girl turned toward him, blinking in confusion. "What?" she asked.
"Miss H," Alex repeated, pointing toward the restroom door. "She’s in there."
The girl folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. "No, she’s not," she said, sounding annoyed.
"Yes, she is. She just went in."
"How would you know? You’re just a little kid," she said, rolling her eyes.
Alex didn’t reply. He simply turned his attention back to the restroom door, staring at it with quiet confidence. As if he knew it would prove him right.
Then the door opened.
Heather stepped out. She wore sunglasses and a face mask, trying to stay unnoticed. But the moment the girl saw her, her jaw dropped. She grabbed her friend’s arm and gasped.
"Oh my gosh!" she whispered loudly. "It’s her. It’s really her!"
The rumor spread like wildfire. People started turning their heads, phones came out, cameras aimed. Within seconds, a crowd began to form.
"Miss H!" someone shouted.
Heather froze in place. Her heart raced, and her eyes flicked to Alex. But before she could act, Linda stepped between her and the crowd.
"Back up!" Linda shouted. "Give her space!"
Linda tried to hold them off, but there were too many people. They kept pushing forward. Heather’s chest felt tight, and panic crept in fast.
Without thinking, she turned and stepped back into the restroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her. She leaned against it, breathing hard.
She closed her eyes and listened to the muffled voices outside. It was too much. Right now, she hated being loved by strangers.
Meanwhile, Alex had already slipped away. His small size helped him weave through the legs of distracted adults.
He knew his mom might be mad, but she’d understand eventually. He wasn’t doing this to cause trouble. He had a bigger reason.
His eyes locked onto the glass conference room ahead. Inside, he saw the man he had studied in pictures. Caius. He smiled with excitement, pressing his face against the cool glass like a kid seeing his hero.
Caius’s security team was already guiding him toward the door. Alex’s heartbeat sped up. He wasn’t going to miss this chance.
He took off running. His sneakers made soft squeaks against the floor. He followed as the group moved down the stairs, pushing himself to keep up. When they reached the exit and Caius stepped outside, Alex made it just in time to slip through before the heavy doors shut.
Back in the restroom, Heather paced. She hadn’t heard Linda’s voice in a while. That could only mean the crowd had overwhelmed her. That’s when the panic hit full force.
She pulled out her phone and called Marcus, her voice urgent.
"Marcus, where are you?
"I’m outside, ma’am. The crowd’s crazy. Are you alright?"
"I’m fine. Just find Alex. Please. I can’t see him anywhere."
She kept pacing, holding her phone tightly. No message, no update. She was stuck in this restroom with no clue what was happening. Her hands were trembling.
The fans outside were relentless. They wanted to see Miss H up close. Heather thought about just stepping out and letting them do what they wanted.
Maybe if they got a picture, they’d back off. But she knew better. People didn’t stop at one photo. They wanted everything.
All she wanted was her son.
Alex finally caught up. The area was filled with noise. He saw Caius only a few steps away, walking toward a black car that had just arrived. This was it. His moment.
He ran toward Caius, stretching out his small hand, about to tug at his coat—
But Marcus caught him first.
"Whoa, buddy," Marcus said gently, picking him up. "Where do you think you’re going?"
"Let me go!" Alex shouted, kicking his legs. "Let go!"
He hit Marcus with his little fists, desperate to escape.
"I need to talk to him!"
Caius had one foot in the car, but stopped. He turned at the sound of the voice. His eyes landed on the boy now struggling in Marcus’s arms.
"Daddy!" Alex cried. "Daddy, help! Let me go! I want to see my daddy!"
Did the boy just call him... daddy?
He stood still, confused. Only one child had ever called him that—his son, Asher. Was this a mistake? Was the boy confusing him for someone else?
His security whispered to him, urging him to get in the car. He blinked once, forcing his face back into its usual calm expression.
Without a word, Caius turned away and stepped inside the car.
"Daddy!" Alex yelled again, his voice cracking. "Daddy, wait!"
Marcus held him tightly, glancing once at the black car before carrying the boy away.
"Come on, buddy," he said softly. "Let’s go."
Heather was still stuck inside the restroom. She checked her phone again, waiting for any word from Marcus. Then finally, a text came through.
She let out a shaky breath. Relief flooded her body. She leaned back against the wall, heart still pounding.
But she couldn’t stay here.
The crowd was getting louder. She needed a way out. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on a narrow window high above.
She walked toward it, poked her head out, and instantly backed away. The drop was too far. No way she could jump.
Then she spotted a vent near the floor. It looked small, but just big enough. She crouched down and tugged at the cover until it loosened.
Without wasting a second, she slipped inside, hoping it would lead her somewhere safe—and closer to her son.
Heather crawled through the narrow vent until she reached an opening. Carefully, she pushed the grate aside and slipped out.
But as soon as she stood up, she realized with horror that she had landed right behind the same crowd she was trying to escape.
She froze in place. Her sunglasses had slipped slightly down her nose. The fans were still gathered at the restroom entrance, not noticing her yet.
Heather took a deep breath, adjusted her glasses, and started walking slowly in the opposite direction, trying not to draw attention.
As she turned a corner, she accidentally bumped into a little girl holding an ice cream cone. The cone slipped from the girl’s hand and fell to the floor with a soft splat.
The girl looked down at it, her lip trembling, then looked up at Heather. Her eyes widened in shock, then turned back to the ice cream.
Luck was not on Heather’s side.
"My ice cream!" the girl yelled, pointing at Heather with an accusing finger.
"I’m so sorry," she said quickly, reaching for her purse. "Here, let me—"
But it was too late. The girl’s crying had already attracted attention. A nearby woman, who seemed to be the girl’s mother, turned around at the sound. Her eyes landed on Heather, and she gasped.
"Oh my goodness," the woman said, holding her chest. "It’s Miss H!"
The crowd turned all at once, and their eyes locked on Heather. The murmurs rose into a wave of voices, and then, like a spark hitting dry grass, the fans surged toward her.
Their cries grew louder, more desperate, as if they could sense her slipping away.
Heather felt like she was trapped in a zombie movie.
She didn’t wait. She quickly pulled some cash from her purse and tossed it toward the girl before turning and running toward the stairs.
As she ran, she grabbed her phone and dialed Marcus.
"Marcus," she panted, "get the car ready. I’m on my way down."
"Understood," he said. "Alex is with me. We’ll meet you at the front entrance."
Heather hung up and pushed herself to run faster, even in her heels. Her legs were burning and her breathing, jagged, but she could see the front doors ahead.
A few more steps is all... Just as she approached the main doors—
The shout hit her like a gunshot.
Something—no, someone—slammed into her from the side with brutal force. She felt the collision rattle through her bones.
Even her heel twisted as she flew sideways, hitting the cold, hard floor with a heavy thud.
Pain exploded in her hip, her elbow scraped harshly against the tiled ground, her bag tumbled out of her hands, scattering its contents—phone, wallet, lipstick—across the floor.