I looked away and unscrewed the cap. "The past doesn't matter, Mark. I'm just a nurse now."
Mark went quiet. He pulled out the chair across from me and sat, his gaze soft. "You're always wound so tight. Ella, have you ever thought about letting yourself relax a little? You don't have to carry everything alone. Tommy needs a more complete family, too."
I set down the bottle and met his eyes. He meant it. I could tell.
"A complete family doesn't have to mean three people." My voice was gentle. "What I'm giving Tommy now is the best I can give. Mark, you're a good man. You should find someone who can love you with her whole heart. Not a single mom with her guard up."
Mark's face fell. He smiled sadly. "You always make rejection sound so final."
"Because hesitation is unfair to both of us." I stood up and pulled my mask back on. "I need to get back to work."
Chapter Eight
Paul
Oahu.
Twenty-second floor of the Hawaii International Business Hotel. I stood at the window, but couldn't feel an ounce of tropical warmth.
I clutched a file—one the private investigator had delivered to my hands just half an hour ago.
The paper's edge crumpled under my grip. The words stared back at me, crystal clear.
"Target confirmed as Casey White. Current alias: Ella. Current occupation: nurse at Oahu Community Hospital. Current status: unmarried, one son, approximately five years old."
This was the sixth year I'd been searching for her.
Six years. I'd combed every inch of Boston where she might have lingered, hired investigation teams across three countries, and even leveraged the family's gray connections to access immigration records nationwide. Leads died in nameless towns more times than I could count. I'd chased false hope after falsehope, staring at reports of people who shared nothing but her name.
Until this sun-scorched island. Until I finally saw the name "Ella."
I stared at her photo. She'd pulled her long hair into a no-nonsense ponytail. The sun had bronzed her skin to a warm honey shade.
She wasn't the Casey from the library anymore, the one who'd cradle translation texts with soft eyes. In this photo, she pushed a heavy medical cart, her gaze carrying a toughness I'd never seen before.
My finger traced the last line of the report. "One son." My chest seized. Couldn't breathe.
I collapsed onto the couch, my mind spiraling backward, out of control.
Six years ago, Diana and I had only been engaged. That so-called elite alliance had been a performance from day one. We lived at opposite ends of the manor, separated by endless corridors and countless empty guest rooms. We only linked arms for camera lenses or family galas, playing at devotion.
One night, I sat alone in the third-floor study, gripping a photo of Casey and me.
We'd taken it under an old oak behind Boston University. She'd looked so goofy, leaning against my shoulder, still holding half-eaten takeout.
"Still thinking about that girl?"
The study door swung open. Elizabeth walked in wearing a silk robe. She glanced at the photo on the desk, lips curling into a mocking smile.
"Paul, how long are you going to wallow?" She approached me. "You're the head of the Vincent Family now. Your marriage isn't just a contract—it's the foundation. Moping over some ordinary girl isn't just weakness. It's an insult to who you are."
I looked at her. My throat worked, but no words came.
"She's just a translator, Paul." Elizabeth's finger landed on Casey's face in the photo. "She doesn't even deserve to set foot in this study. You're from different worlds. The social capital and business support Diana brings you—that girl could never offer you anything like that in her entire life. Forget her. It's for your own good."
Back then, I'd agreed with my stepmother. I loved Casey, but she wasn't suitable as my wife. I'd used that twisted logic to mask my betrayal, told myself abandoning her served the greater good.
Until the charity gala a year into the engagement. Some fundraiser for an arts foundation. Every big name in Boston showed up. Amid the hollow small talk, I noticed an unusual couple.
