Sophie's POV
I slammed my laptop shut and opened it again.
"No way," I muttered.
My coffee sat untouched. The room was quiet, but my head was loud. I had not slept well since the night Sarah brought Daniel to the diner. Something about him felt wrong. Too calm. Too careful. Too empty.
I typed his name again.
Daniel Brooks.
Search.
Nothing.
I tried a different spelling. Same result. I checked old posts. Local records. Public photos. Even school lists. My fingers moved fast. I knew where to look. I had done this before. Not for fun. For safety.
Still nothing.
"That makes no sense," I whispered.
Everyone leaves a trail. Everyone. Even people who try to hide leave crumbs behind. But Daniel Brooks had no crumbs. No pictures. No comments. No tags. No past.
He was a ghost.
My phone buzzed. Sarah's name flashed on the screen. I ignored it. I needed proof before I scared her. She had been hurt enough already.
I opened another tab. I searched his face instead of his name. I used the photo I took outside the diner. It was not perfect, but it was enough.
The page loaded.
I held my breath.
At first, nothing happened. Then a list appeared. Not many results. Just a few.
One image caught my eye.
A blurry photo.
A man stood in a bright room, smiling beside a group of rich people. He wore a tuxedo. Clean. Sharp. Confident. Not the man who pretended he did not know how to tie a tie.
I leaned closer.
My heart pounded.
"That is him," I said.
The caption was small and cut off, but I could read one line.
Annual Charity Gala.
I clicked it.
The page took time to load. My hands shook. I felt cold all over.
There he was again. Same eyes. Same jaw. Same calm smile.
Daniel Brooks did not exist.
But this man did.
My phone buzzed again. Sarah.
I answered.
"Sophie," she said. "Why are you not answering?"
"Where are you?" I asked.
"At home," she replied. "Why?"
"Sit down," I said. "We need to talk."
She laughed lightly. "You sound serious."
"I am," I said. "Sarah, your fiancé is a ghost."
Silence.
"What?" she asked.
"I ran a background check," I said. "There is no Daniel Brooks. No records. No history. Nothing."
"That does not mean anything," she said quickly. "Some people live quiet lives."
"This is not quiet," I replied. "This is empty."
She sighed. "You are overthinking."
"I am protecting you," I snapped. Then I softened my voice. "Listen to me. The cashier. The bow. The free dinner. This man is hiding something big."
"He told me he had secrets," she said. "We all do."
"Not like this," I said.
There was a pause. I could hear her breathing.
"He helped me," she said softly. "When no one else did."
"I know," I said. "That is why this scares me."
"You did not see his face when I talked about Marcus," she said. "He cared."
"Caring does not erase lies," I replied.
Another silence.
"Send me what you found," she said at last.
"I cannot," I said. "Not yet."
"Sophie," she warned.
"I need to be sure," I said. "Please trust me this once."
She did not answer right away.
"Just be careful," she said finally. "Do not dig up something that could hurt him."
My chest tightened. Hurt him? What about her?
"We will talk later," she added.
The call ended.
I stared at the photo again.
Charity gala. Tuxedo. Power.
I clicked deeper. The page showed names of donors. Big names. Old money.
I scrolled.
Then I saw it.
A name blurred at the bottom of the photo.
Blackwell.
My heart skipped.
"No," I whispered.
I searched the name.
Results exploded across the screen.
Companies. News. Wealth rankings.
Dominic Blackwell.
I leaned back in my chair, dizzy.
That was the man from the photo. I was sure of it.
My phone rang again. Sarah.
I did not answer.
I needed time.
I opened the photo once more and zoomed in. The face was not clear, but it was close enough. Too close.
If I was right, Sarah was walking into a lie bigger than anything she had ever known.
I saved the image.
My hands trembled.
"Please let me be wrong," I whispered.
Outside, the night felt heavy. Somewhere, Christmas lights blinked on and off, cheerful and unaware.
I picked up my phone and typed one message to Sarah.
We need to talk. Now.
Then I stared at the screen, knowing that once she saw the truth, nothing would ever be the same.