The Man from Five Years Ago

ELENA'S POV.

The moment I entered the living room, the weight of their stares hit me like a brick wall. Every eye in the room turned my way, some sharp with judgment, others indifferent but no less intrusive. The knots in my stomach tightened.

Why were they all staring at me? After years in the mental hospital, I’d grown used to being invisible. This sudden attention felt suffocating, every glance like a spotlight I hadn’t asked for.

“Good morning…” I said softly, bowing slightly in an attempt to ease the tension.

“I can’t figure out why you were hired,” Hailey—Justin’s mother—spoke without preamble, her tone cold and cutting. Her sharp, piercing eyes met mine, brimming with unspoken disdain. “But let me make one thing clear. If you fail to take proper care of my grandson, not only will you be fired, but I’ll make sure you go to jail for it.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, like a guillotine suspended above my head. I swallowed hard, unsure if I could trust my voice to respond.

“Leave,” the head maid whispered as she moved closer, her voice low but firm, as though she were doing me a favour by sparing me further humiliation.

I didn’t argue. My legs moved before my mind caught up, carrying me out of the suffocating room.

Why does she hate me? The thought lingered, uninvited, as I tilted my head to the side, trying to shake it off. With a determined exhale, I made my way to the kitchen to pack Noah’s lunch.

I pushed Hailey’s hostility to the back of my mind and focused on the task at hand. The kitchen was bustling when I walked in, and I couldn’t ignore the curious stares that followed me. Some faces were familiar—others belonged to the new staff I had briefly met when the headmaid introduced me.

Keeping my head down, I worked quickly, packing Noah’s lunch with care. Once done, I sat down for a light breakfast in the corner, silently observing the flurry of activity around me. My thoughts swirled, but I forced myself to focus on the present.

Soon, I left the kitchen. I didn’t bother stepping into the dining room—I had no desire to face anyone there. Instead, I headed straight outside. Earlier, I had been introduced to Noah’s driver and the two maids who would be tending to him alongside me.

When I stepped into the compound, I spotted his driver near the car and approached him with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” I greeted, my tone courteous but reserved.

“Good morning, Miss,” he replied, his voice polite as he opened the car door. I carefully placed Noah’s bag and lunch kit inside, double-checking everything was in order.

As I turned to head back into the house and check if they had finished eating, the distant hum of an engine caught my attention. A sleek car rolled into the driveway, its polished exterior gleaming under the morning sun.

I stopped mid-step, my curiosity piqued as I watched the vehicle glide to a halt. Something about its arrival sent an unexplainable ripple through the air.

The car was a sleek, blue luxury model, the kind that demanded attention without trying. Something about it held me in place, stopping me just as I was about to head back inside.

When the driver’s door opened, I found myself frozen near the doorway, my curiosity piqued.

He stepped out—a tall figure with short brown hair, pale skin, and a sharp jawline. Recognition hit me like a slow wave. Roland. Justin’s stepbrother. I had seen him briefly with his sister the other day, though from a distance.

As he moved toward me, his steps faltered slightly, as though he might stumble, but he quickly steadied himself. There was something odd about the way he carried himself—like a shadow of discomfort or tension clung to him.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away, and then it hit me again—that strange, creeping feeling of familiarity. It was the same unease I’d felt with Justin’s driver.

My chest tightened. Oh no. Not again.

What was this? Did I know this family from somewhere? First the driver, now the brother? Questions swirled, threatening to pull me under.

But in that brief moment, I pushed the thoughts aside, convincing myself it was nothing.

“You’re overthinking, Elena,” I whispered to myself. “You’ve been stuck in one place for too long. That’s all this is—your mind playing tricks on you. Focus.”

I lowered my head, stepping out of his path before he could get too close.

“Good morning, Master Roland,” I greeted politely, my voice steady despite the strange tension gripping me.

He didn’t reply immediately. His phone beeped, and he pulled it out, frowning as he read the screen.

“Those bastards,” he muttered under his breath, his sharp tone cutting through the morning air.

The words were casual, almost dismissive, but in that fleeting moment, my curiosity got the better of me. I stole a glance at his face.

My breath hitched.

I know him.

It wasn’t just recognition—it was certainty, cold and unyielding. I’d seen him before. My mind scrambled to place him, to unearth the memory lurking just out of reach.

He turned and walked away, his strides purposeful, as though I didn’t exist. But just as he was about to disappear from view, I saw it.

The tattoo.

The sight of it sent a jolt through me, and suddenly, the memories came flooding back.

Five years ago… that night…that tattoo on his arm...the dimly lit hotel room… him.

My legs felt unsteady beneath me as realization struck me with brutal force. I could barely breathe as the truth settled in, heavy and undeniable.

This is the man.

The man who stole my innocence.

The father of my lost child.