"Mr. Vincent?" David, market director from Boston headquarters, stared at me, confused. "Thank God I found you! Hawaiian Airlines is still waiting, and the five o'clock meeting—"
I shook him off. Too late.
The crowd surged like a wave. The hula troupe moved on, tourists cheering after them. By the time I pushed through, the path to the beach stood empty except for a few shaved ice vendors hawking their wares.
She was gone.
I stood there in the streaming crowd, heart seized in an invisible fist. Every beat tore something inside me.
"Mr. Vincent?" David called again. I snapped back.
I turned, let the suits herd me toward the parking lot. My mind kept replaying that single second of eye contact. Casey'seyes, once full of adoration and warmth, now held only one thing: fear.
Not joy at our reunion. Not years of accumulated resentment. Fear. Like I was some kind of monster who'd drag her straight to hell if she hesitated one second.
That realization nearly suffocated me.
I sat through the meeting, documents in front of me, Hawaiian Airlines CEO talking. I heard nothing. My head was full of those few seconds—the way she looked at me, the way she ran with the child, that instant when the kid's face turned toward me.
Honestly, in that moment, I thought I was looking at myself at five. I knew, with absolute certainty, that he was my son.
After the meeting, I didn't go back to the hotel. I stood alone by the ocean for a long time.
I hadn't come to Hawaii for some acquisition deal. A three-hundred-million-dollar negotiation could be handled by someone else. I came for her. After they tracked her down here, I booked a flight that same day. Today was just a coincidence. I didn't know she'd be there.
I'd hesitated before coming. But the moment I saw her, I knew I'd made the right call.
"Still nothing?" My voice came out raw. I stared at my phone. My private investigator on the other end.
"Sir, she seems to be deliberately hiding her tracks, but on an island this small, complete erasure is impossible. Give me twelve more hours."
I hung up and slumped against the couch. Twelve hours. I couldn't wait that long.
The next day, I cleared my schedule, changed into low-key gray casual wear, and drove to that community hospital.
I parked under some trees, hidden in shadow. Like some pathetic voyeur watching the entrance.
Around four in the afternoon, the figure I'd been dreaming about appeared.
She wore faded light blue scrubs, hair pulled back simply. She looked thinner than six years ago. The naive innocence was gone from her eyes, replaced by weathered resilience and exhaustion.
My hand gripped the door handle. I almost burst out to pull her into my arms.
Then I froze.
A man in a white coat followed her out. Early thirties, warm and sunny-looking. He was turned toward Casey, speaking to her, his eyes showing admiration and affection I knew all too well.
He naturally took a heavy medical kit from her hands, movements practiced, like he'd done it a thousand times. Casey didn't refuse. She turned to him with a brilliant smile.
That smile used to be mine alone.
Jealousy engulfed me like wildfire. I wanted to charge over there, use the Vincent Family's damn power to kick this guy aside, tell him Casey was mine, that kid was mine!
My fist clenched tight, veins bulging on my hand. I watched them walk to a bench by the hospital entrance.
"Ella," the doctor's voice carried over. "I tried making some kids' meals tonight. I'll drop them by your place."
Casey looked at him gratefully, voice gentle enough to drive me insane with jealousy. "Thank you, Mark. Always bothering you. I don't know how to repay you."
