Chapter7
When Ethan Sterling stepped out of the CEO’s Corner Office, his back was already drenched in cold
sweat.
He spat toward the closed door.
“Damn it–sick in the head.‘
He was the one who had driven Vivian Hart to despair, yet now that she was gone, regret gnawed at
him like poison.
Too late. Far too late.
He slumped into his leather chair, panic twisting tighter in his chest. He had never once imagined losing Vivian.
Sleeping with Sloane Quinn had been an accident–at least, that’s what he told himself. But after that day, he couldn’t stop.
In Northbridge City, he ruled everything from the shadows. Keeping a mistress hidden from Vivian
had been child’s play. Vivian was pregnant back then, and he hadn’t wanted to touch her. So he
locked his lust away in a secret underground suite, using Sloane to feed the hunger.
The thrill had become addictive.
V
And once Sloane carried his child, he gave her whatever she wanted. When she told him, he had only
smiled faintly and promised her safety.
But Vivian had found out. That part was his own damn carelessness.
He had always thought she was easy to placate. Last time, all it had taken was plunging a knife into
his own chest to win her over. He thought this time would be no different. Kneel a little, beg a little
-Vivian would always forgive him.
But then Sloane slit her wrists. She carried his unborn child–his flesh and blood. How could he not
rush to her?
Vivian had the city’s best doctors at her side. Nothing would happen to her, he’d told himself.
He hadn’t expected Vivian to explode. Hadn’t expected her to scream about ending things.
Twenty years of childhood bonds, of growing side by side–she couldn’t just leave him. She
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wouldn’t.
Or so he believed.
Until the unthinkable happened.
He lost their baby. Vivian had dragged Sloane into traffic, threatening to take them both down.
Instinct had propelled him forward. He couldn’t lose another child–not again. Not the one still
growing inside Sloane.
He had saved Sloane. But Vivian had vanished.
Ethan tore at his tie, a suffocating ache crushing his chest. He didn’t know why it hurt so much,
only that it did.
A month later, in the dead of night, news came from his contacts in the States.
Someone had spotted Vivian at Avalon Private Hospital.
The photo confirmed it–her.
But she looked different. Lighter. Happier. Happier than she had ever been with him.
The report said Avalon was owned by Prescott Holdings.
That surname -Prescott–rare, yet strangely familiar. He couldn’t place it, but it scratched at the
back of his mind.
There was no time to think. He ordered Derek Lane to ready the Gulfstream. They would leave that
very night.
In the States, under Miles Prescott’s relentless insistence, I stayed in the hospital for another two weeks. Only when the doctors declared me fully recovered did he finally allow me to leave.
He took me to his own home–nothing extravagant, just a small villa. Cozy, warm.
The front and back gardens overflowed with roses and jasmine.
My favorites.
The sweet fragrance washed over me. Ethan had always been allergic to pollen. I hadn’t smelled
fresh flowers in years.
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That night, a cool breeze drifted across the balcony, carrying the delicate scent of blooms. For the first time in what felt like forever, I tasted peace.
I thought I was well again, my body strong as before. But Miles refused to leave me unguarded, hovering by my side as if afraid I’d vanish.
I began to believe life might settle into this quiet rhythm.
Until the day I walked, as usual, to Maplewood Park.
From a distance, under the shade of a tree, stood a silhouette I knew too well.
My steps froze. I turned, ready to walk away.
But he had already seen me.
“Vivian!”
