Benedict's heart sank as Sabrina's words hit him like a freight train. He reached out, his voice pleading, desperate for any ounce of hope. "Sabrina, please. I need to know the truth. Are you sure? Are you really telling me our child is gone forever?Sabrina halted where she was, her back still turned on him, but stiffness crept into her body at his words. She inhaled sharply, steadying herself, that pain so raw even years after it.I am not lying, Benedict," she said in a low but very filled tone by the years of brokenness within her. "Our child is dead. The moment I walked out, you shattered everything: my heart, our future, and yes, our baby, too.His words felt like acid in his chest. He stood there, trying to wrap his head around the reality of it all, as if the world was crumbling in on itself around him."I never wanted this Sabrina," he rasped, moving closer, his eyes filled with anguish that would not be held back. "I never wanted to lose you. I never wanted to lose our child
Sabrina stood by the wall, her eyes fixed on Benedict as the conversation weighed in the air between them. Confusion, anguish, and remorse twisted his face—something she wanted to see and couldn't find peace over because of the weight of her past with him. He had been the reason that reshaped her life; the scars of betrayal were something she carried over the years. Now that she stood on the other side of it all, having watched him crushed by the consequences of his actions, her heart felt a fulfillment it had never known before. I’m sorry, my little Saben, she thought quietly to herself, her gaze softening as she remembered the life she had built with her son. But this is for your dad. He needs to feel what he's done. The lies, the betrayals. Sabrina's fingers curled hard around the rim of her glass, her mind snaring on her own feelings. She would not drag Saben into this sick dance with Benedict. Her son was her life, and he would never know the ache of the past. But Benedict? He ha
Benedict sat in his office, the weight of Sabrina's words pressing heavily on his chest. With every revelation-be it his wife's pregnancy and then the tragic loss of their child-the pain didn't seem to move in any other direction in his mind; he had an ache he couldn't escape.Holding onto this pain, he took his phone and called a number he knew better than any other. His mother, Teresa, answered after the first ring."Benedict," she greeted warmly. "It's late. What's wrong?"There was a long pause before Benedict finally spoke, his voice heavy with emotion. "Mother, I… I saw Sabrina tonight."Teresa's tone shifted instantly, a mix of curiosity and concern. "Sabrina? Where? How is she?""At the St. Laurent Hotel," Benedict said. "She was there for an investor's meeting. She looked… strong, confident. But…" His voice broke as he tried to find the words."But what, Benedict?" Teresa pushed, her anxiety increasing.Benedict shook out his breath shakily, his heart weighted with grief and
"Actions really do speak louder than words, Benedict. It's always hard to remember that sometimes the hardest truths are the ones we need to face. Being honest is not just about speaking your mind; it is to feel it in your bones and let that lead your actions. And let her see that you have changed, not for her but for yourself."Benedict clenched his fists, determination settling. "I'll start with honesty. But that's not an end. I'll take up a fight for myself-even if it takes forever to prove myself worthy enough."Teresa looked on at him with a pinch of pride and concern. "Then don't waste any further time, Benedict. There is no pause in the clock for any of us."As Benedict stood there, preparing to leave, the spark of purpose flickered back into him. For the first time in years, he had a direction—a chance, however slim, to make things right. And he wasn't going to let it slip away.She went inside in her beautiful Parisian abode, composure unwrapping the moment the door creaked s
Benedict sat alone in his office, the heavy burden of his decisions weighing him down. His mind was a tornado of emotions that all came from the chance meeting with Sabrina at the event of the investor. Every word she uttered, every look she flung at him felt like an open wound that would never heal. But there was even more to what caused the stir in his being: the possibility that he might have a son—his child. A feeling of regret, and longing, and hope began to stir within him.He had vowed within himself to do whatever it took to make things right, but first, he needed to know the truth. Was that child hers? Was it really his?The thought of Sabrina's son haunted him. He knew he could not change what was done; perhaps he might still be able to redeem himself, prove himself as the man she once believed in. But before any of that, he had to know where Sabrina was, and if that child was his.Tucking the restlessness in his heart, he picked up the phone and dialed his mother's number.
Sabrina sat forward, forcing herself to focus.She nodded along as Penelope talked about the details, but the words felt distant and jumbled in her mind. All she could think about was the question that kept haunting her: how would she face Benedict if he found out that Saben was really his son? Her thoughts spiralled as she tuned out Penelope's voice. She replayed every moment of her meeting with Benedict at the investor's event. His expressions, his questions, the unmistakable pain in his eyes—all of it felt too real, too fresh. Lying to him about their child was all she knew to protect Saben and herself, but now she didn't know how long she could maintain the facade.“Hey!Sabrina,” Penelope’s voice broke through her fog. “You’re not hearing a word I’m saying, are you,dear?Are you okay?”Sabrina blinked, looking a little embarrassed. She had completely spaced out. "Sorry,Penelope," she muttered in a near-whisper, heat traveling to her cheeks. “I’m just. I’m not myself today.”Penelop
The next morning, Sabrina walked into Benedict's office building with a calm yet determined air. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor. She had convinced herself that this visit was necessary—not for Benedict, but for herself. She needed clarity, if only to prepare for what might come next.As she waited at the reception desk, she overheard hushed whispers from a group of employees nearby."Did you hear? The long-lost Sabrina—Benedict's ex-wife—showed up at the investor's night," one said, her tone conspiratorial."Yes, everyone is talking about it. I heard she told him their child had died. Poor Mr. Benedict. But can you imagine? After all these years, she just reappears like that?""I wonder if she's back to win him over," another chimed in.Sabrina did not react. Her face, unbroken, held an expression that reflected her stinging hurt. She curled her fists by her sides and willed herself not to respond.Across the hall, Clara was seething with anger. Benedict's long-te
"Clara," he stated firmly, his voice unchaotic but edged with frustration, "stop this. Whatever you think is happening between us, it's not real. What happened between us.it was a mistake."Her face crumpled at his words, tears streaming freely now. "A mistake?" she repeated, her voice trembling. "How can you say that, Benedict? After everything we've shared?"He shook his head, softening his tone slightly but remaining resolute. "I told you before, Clara. I don't love you and that is reality. Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but you deserve to be given someone's whole heart, and that's not me."Clara took a step closer, desperation written across her face. "You are lying to yourself! I have seen the way you look at me when no one is around, Benedict! You feel something for me—I know it! And Sabrina? She has a child with someone else! What can she possibly offer you now?"Benedict's jaw clenched over her words, but he forced himself to be composed. "Clara, it isn't about Sabr
Her fingers stroked the material. "Okay," she breathed.The boutique manager came back once more, and Eliana smiled, her voice more even now. "We'll take this one.""Good choice, Miss Thompson." The manager clicked her fingers together, obviously delighted. "We'll have it steamed and wrapped up to deliver this evening, or would you like to take it with you?"He rested against the door of the fitting room, arms crossed, suit perfect, tie razor-sharp—but jaw clenched, eyes contained, tracking her each movement in the mirror."You're staring," she said without raising her gaze."You knew you would."Eliana swung around reluctantly, glancing at him.The way he regarded her—it wasn't admiration. It was possession, and something in his eyes that bordered on restraint."Well?" she breathed. "Too much?"His gaze dropped to the V of the neckline, black, and up to her face."It's perfect," he said softly. "Perilously perfect."A silence. The whir of the boutique died under weight of air between
There was silence. Alexa was always too professional ever to say anything that wasn't absolutely imperative, but Eliana could almost feel the twitch of interest in the static."Oh, of course, ma'am. I'll alert Mr. Wolfe right away."The intercom clicked off.Eliana slowly breathing out through her nose, her fingers running along the top of the desk as if signing the lines of her own doubt.Why does the ring of his name feel like pulling on wire that had twisted hard against her ribcage?Damian Wolfe. Her shadow. Her bodyguard. The man whose lips whispered softly, and whose eyes whispered too loudly, leaving her quivering.It was not right—the way he gazed at her. The way he avoided gazing at her when he should have.As Nathaniel had been comfortable with the old version of her… Damian was comfortable with the woman she wasn't yet. With the one with burning rage, fear, and smoldering lust all twisted up in one.She sat back from her computer screen, attempting to escape in work, but he
She did not scroll to the top of her phone contact list. She did not have to. Damian Wolfe was the first on everyone else's list—just like Nathaniel Carter was. Two names. Two men. One choice she'd never been able to make.Until today.Her thumb was still hovering, her breathing even.One telephone call changed the direction of her life.Before she could get cold feet, she heard footsteps—heavy, slow, familiar.She turned.Damian stood in the doorway to her office.And something about the way he was looking at her—as if she were his shelter and his tempest—stole her breath."Eliana," he said softly. "I'm not going to press you. I swear. I just. I needed to confirm that you were okay.""I am not," Eliana said softly. "But I will be."He bobbed his head. "Good. Because I've watched you shatter and remade myself. I understand how strong you can be once you finally begin not to attempt to flee from yourself."There was something primal in his gaze, something smothered yet deeply well-wrou
Vincent smiled at her. "Does your security detail have a habit of crashing high-level meetings?"Noelle smiled to himself as he put away the tray."Men, take a five."Reluctance was there, but Vincent finally relented. "As you desire, bella."The others flowed out of the room, and he was left alone with her.Eliana stood in front of Damian, arms crossed, but her voice was filled with softness. "You didn't need to defend me like that."He leaned in over her. "I wasn't sticking up for you. I was reminding them who the hell you are.""I know who I am.""Then why are you allowing this world to destroy you just so you won't hurt?" His words cut her like glass."I'm not avoiding—You haven't even cried," Damian breathed, pulling another closer to her. "Not for the disaster Harper created. Not for Nathaniel. Not even for you."She pulled her face away. "If I do, I would not be able to stop."She waited. Then:"I'd defend you if you did."Her eyes were burning. She raised her face, and there
She hauled herself up, carefully brushing her matted hair out of her face, her heart slowed a bit now. More confident. Less frantic.Her gaze returned to the phone.No new messages.And for once, that didn't sting like abandonment.It felt like freedom.She stood, walked barefoot into the kitchen, and poured the forgotten tea down the drain. It had cooled. Like the version of herself who sat around waiting for someone else to pick her.That version had fallen silent now, too.A vibration on the counter startled her.Damian.Just his name. No note. Just a missed call.She gazed at it forever, then she murdered the screen's power. She wasn't ready—not for him, not yet. Perhaps never.She moved to the living room, attracted by the hum of the television behind her. Her brother's form glowed under the blue light, stretched out on the couch with a pillow over his face as if he hadn't intended to sleep but the rest of the world had otherwise."Saben?" she whispered.He groaned. "Mmhmm?""Did
The door closed gently, but to Eliana it was a gunshot.Her spine against the wood, she was frozen, her breathing barely more than a stillness. Her voice was still stuck in her throat, her heart bruising under the words she had said to Nathaniel-the words she had only recently realized for herself. "What have I done?" Eliana whispered into the silence, her voice faltering slightly.The Thompson estates did hulk over her in oppressive silence. The sort that did not forgive-it judged.Stumbling, she fell to the couch with her knees buckling under her. Her hand brushed against the thick cushion next to her, which Nathaniel would lean against for drawing her into himself and whisper, "You feel like home.""Then why do I feel so far from it now?" she whispered.Her phone flashed when she answered it. No messages. No missed calls. No apologies. No begging. No promises. Just her. Alone. With the wreckage of something she couldn't fix.She stared at Damian's name burning on her screen. Her t
Eliana resolved to speak with Nathaniel.Nathaniel's presidential suite door was too intimate. It repelled her.She’d memorized the weight of her hand knocking on it. The scent of his cedarwood cologne that always lingered in the hallway. The way her heart used to leap—used to believe—that she belonged here.But now, everything felt quieter.Not empty. Just. still.He opened the door after two knocks, like he’d been waiting. Like he knew.“Eliana.” His voice cracked the silence like thunder rolling in slow motion. “You’re here.”She nodded, catching her breath.He hadn't slept. Rumpled shirt, rolled-up sleeves. Hair ever so slightly too messy. Eyes ever so slightly too shattered.As if he'd been injured by her very indecision."May I enter?" she asked, knowing the response in advance. Nathaniel stepped aside. "You don't need permission."She entered as if it would be her last time ever pushing the door open.He stood there with arms crossed over chest, shoulder blade against the wall
The sun filtered a reluctant angle over Eliana's headboard blinds, tinting the floor in pale golden stripes as if someone was trying to make amends for a bitter, long-fought battle. She was lying on her side, the crescent moon charm still amazing her palm, her fingers clenched around it as if it might prevent her heart from breaking into fragments.But there was reality—that her heart was already broken. In more than one place.Tap. Light. Soothing."Enter," she breathed, already suspecting who it was.Sabrina entered, loose linen thrown over her, bearing a tray full of hot tea. She put it down on the floor without a word at all, eyes drinking in the broken pieces of her daughter's mind.Eliana sat up, legs tucked under her, hair wet from last night's rain. "May I ask you something?" she asked."Always," Sabrina replied, sitting on the bed, facing her."How did you know?" Eliana's voice broke. "How did you know Dad was the one? Was it easy?"Sabrina's eyes softened. "No. God, no. It w
The storm was over, but the earthy scent of the rain remained. Fragile mist curled from the window panes of Eliana's room; now the sun had to struggle to break free from the clouds, while everything around looked bathed in soft golden light. The world looked washed clean—fresh, mysterious, like a blank page with wet ink smeared at the edges.Eliana sat on the edge of her bed, the silver crescent pendant sitting quietly in her palm. She smoothed its curve with her thumb repeatedly, as though it would somehow open up a hidden answer to her if she pressed hard enough.The sketch Saben left lay beside her, and she’d stared at it until the ink seemed to blur and reshape itself. Damian on one side. Nathaniel on the other. And her—right in the middle, like a bridge being pulled at both ends.She hadn’t slept. Not really. Just drifted in and out of thoughts so loud they echoed inside her skull."You’re the shadow that never departed.""You were the light when I was shattering."Two truths. Tw