Chapter 1

Cloudport was blanketed in heavy snowfall.

Zayn Quandt gripped a bouquet of red roses as he sped through the streets in his old, beat-up Passat, racing toward the airport. After two years abroad, his wife, Yvonne Beech, was finally coming home.

With the doctor saying his grandma's health was fading fast, Yvonne's return was the only bit of hope he had left. His grandma had just asked about her, saying she wanted to see Yvonne one more time. And now, like some twist of fate, Yvonne was back in Khelmoria.

The icy wind cut through the morning light as the snow thickened. Zayn pulled into the airport lot an hour early, the roads almost deserted. As he stepped out, his phone buzzed, and his stomach dropped at the caller ID.

"Zayn, brace yourself," Dr. Stone's voice came through. "Your grandmother's condition is declining faster than we thought."

Zayn's heart sank. "How much time?"

Dr. Stone let out a heavy sigh. "She may not make it through the night."

"...So soon?"

Zayn clenched his fists. The weight hit him hard.

His grandma adored Yvonne, and he wasn't about to let her pass without seeing her one last time. Taking a shaky breath, he grabbed the roses and stepped into the snow. Yvonne loved red roses, and he had a surprise for her—a 100 million-dollar contract for BeechCorp.

Two years ago, when BeechCorp was barely hanging on, Zayn had mortgaged his house, pitching in $200,000 to keep it afloat. Since then, he'd been quietly helping it grow into something solid.

Outside, snowflakes drifted down, covering everything in white. Zayn walked toward the arrivals gate, but then spotted two familiar faces.

"David? Sharon?" He looked at Yvonne's parents, surprised. "What are you guys doing here? I could've picked her up. She's got barely any luggage."

David Beech and Sharon Chapman exchanged a quick, loaded look.

"Zayn, why are you here so early? I told you ten o'clock," Sharon said, a bit annoyed.

Zayn blinked. With the snow piling up, getting there early just made sense.

"It's snowing hard. I didn't want to risk it, so I got here sooner," he said, adding quietly, "And my grandma... Her condition is worse. She might not make it through the day, and I need Yvonne to see her. One last time." His voice broke, eyes misting.

David cleared his throat, sounding sympathetic. "Maybe you should go back to your grandmother. You're her closest family—she'd want you there. We can stay here and wait for Yvonne. She'll understand."

Zayn hesitated, then shook his head. "No, I want to bring Yvonne myself. Grandma's been waiting to see her. We still have time."

David seemed ready to argue, but Sharon nudged him and muttered, "Enough. He'll find out soon enough."

Zayn thought he'd be waiting for another hour, but just ten minutes later, Yvonne appeared.

She was even more stunning than he remembered, turning heads in the airport with her long, glossy hair and a beige trench coat that showed off her graceful figure.

But as Zayn stepped forward, his heart dropped. His smile froze. Walking beside her was a man.

The two of them looked like a perfect match, even down to their coordinating outfits.

The man was tall, wearing a navy coat that highlighted his sharp, movie-star features —enough to turn heads on his own.

His eyes softened as he looked at Yvonne, a gentle smile playing on his lips. But when he glanced over at Zayn, that smile twisted into something smug, almost taunting.

"Yvonne." Zayn fought to keep his voice steady. "Who's this?"

Though he already had a sinking suspicion, he needed to hear it from her.

Yvonne shot an annoyed look at Sharon. "Mom, didn't I ask you to tell him to come later?"

Sharon threw up her hands. "I told him. He didn't listen—what did you expect me to do?"

So, they'd wanted him to come late, to keep this from him.

The man stepped forward, looking smug. "You must be Zayn," he said. "I’m Eric Baston—Yvonne’s boyfriend."

Boyfriend?

It hit him like a punch. She’d already moved on, and they weren’t even officially divorced yet?

What did he mean to her, then?

But with his grandma’s condition weighing on him, Zayn swallowed his anger. He stepped closer, reaching for Yvonne’s wrist. "Yvonne, come with me. We need to talk."

He could feel her slipping away, but he needed her to see his grandma—just this one last time.

Before he could speak, Eric grabbed his arm, jealousy flashing in his eyes. "Let go of her."

Zayn’s temper flared. "She’s still my wife."

He turned to Yvonne, pleading. "Please. There's something important you need to hear."

"I said, let go," Eric demanded, his grip tightening as he stared Zayn down.

Zayn's frustration mounted. His grandma was critically ill; he didn't have time for this. "Move," he said, shoving Eric backward.

Eric stumbled, landing on the floor with a heavy thud.

"Eric! Are you alright?" Yvonne cried, rushing to him, worry all over her face.

She shot Zayn a sharp look, frowning. "Was that really necessary? Eric was just looking out for me. Couldn’t you have handled it without shoving him? Talking to you is impossible. I don’t want to see you right now. Just leave."

Without waiting for a response, she turned back to Eric, her expression softening. "You okay, Eric?"

"I’m fine, don’t worry," he muttered, wincing. "Just a little bruise."

But Yvonne wasn't buying it. "A little bruise? You look like you could've fractured something. Come on, let me take you to the hospital."

She wiped the sweat from his forehead and helped him to his feet. With her parents' support, they walked right past Zayn without another glance.

"Yvonne, please. Grandma really wants to see you; she's—"

But Yvonne cut him off, ice in her voice. "I don't want to hear it. Not one word."

And with that, Yvonne and her family disappeared into the crowd, leaving Zayn alone.