<b>Chapter </b><b>154 </b>


    -HUNTER’S POV-


    The numbers in the quarterly report mix like colors in the rain.


    I blink hard, forcing my eyes to focus on the profit margins spread across the mahogany conference table, but my mind keeps drifting three


    thousand miles away to a woman with warm brown eyes and the child growing in her belly.


    “Mr. Reid?” The voice cuts through my haze like a de. “The projections for the third quarter?”


    I look up to find eight pairs of eyes staring at me expectantly.


    The London boardroom feels suffocating despite its soaring ceilings and floor–to–ceiling windows overlooking the Thames.


    “I apologize,” I say, straightening my tie. “Could you repeat the question?”


    Jameson Morris, my London operations director, exchanges nces with his colleagues. The kind of look that says ‘the boss is losing his


    edge.‘


    “The third quarter projections, sir. For the European development.”


    Right. The development that should be the crowning achievement of my career. The deal I’ve been directing for two years.


    Instead, all I can think about is whether Celine remembered to take her prenatal vitamins this morning.


    Whether Caesar ate his breakfast without throwing a tantrum. Whether Dr. Martinez called with any updates about the baby.


    The baby.


    ‘Our‘ baby.


    A warmth spreads through my chest at the thought, followed immediately by a cold spike of anxiety. <fnbc22> Find the newest release on find?novel</fnbc22>


    Dr. Martinez’s call yesterday still echoes in my mind…Reid Industries requesting Celine’s medical records. My mother’s fingerprints are all


    over it.


    “Mr. Reid?”


    I snap back to attention. “The projections look solid. Move forward with franchise.”


    it’s a general response that seems to work for them.


    The meeting goes on around me, and the voices mix into background noise as I look out at the gray London sky.


    What is my mother nning? She’s not stupid—she knows Dr. Martinez would report back to me. Which means she wants me to know she’s digging.


    The question is why.


    Two hourster, I’m shaking hands with thest of the associates, their satisfied smiles telling me the meeting went better than I deserve.


    My assistant gathers the papers while I loosen my tie, desperate to escape the corporate theater.


    “Sir?” Robert, my London driver, greets me with his crisp British ent as I appear from the building. “Finished for the day?”


    <b>13:05 </b>Fri, 8 Aug


    “Yes, Robert.” I manage a smile as I approach the sleek ck car. “Thank you.”


    I’m reaching for the door handle when a voice stops me cold.


    “Hunter?”


    The blood freezes in my veins. I know that voice—it’s haunted my dreams for three years.


    I turn slowly, and there she is. Mrs. Greyson. Sophia’s mother.


    She looks older, more fragile than I remember, but her blue eyes…..so much like Sophia’s–are bright with recognition.


    Beside her stands a young woman, maybe sixteen, with golden hair and those same devastating blue eyes.


    “I wasn’t sure it was you,” Mrs. Greyson says, her voice trembling slightly.


    “Hello, Mrs. Greyson.” My throat feels raw. “How are you?”


    “We’re well, dear. Very well.” She gestures to the girl beside her. “You remember little Arie, don’t you?”


    Little Arie. I remember a gap–toothed twelve–year–old who used to hide behind Sophia’s legs whenever I visited.


    Now she’s a young woman, beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache because she looks so much like her sister.


    “She doesn’t look so little anymore,” I manage.


    Arie blushes but mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.


    The corners of my mouth twitch upward despite everything–Sophia used to do the same thing when she was embarrassed.


    “We were just picking up some supplies for the house,” Mrs. Greyson exins. “Nothing important.”


    “Can I drop you somewhere?” The offeres out automatically, bred from years of politeness and a desperate need to somehow make amends for sins I can’t even name.


    “Oh, we couldn’t impose….”


    “Please. I insist.”


    Mrs. Greyson’s eyes soften. “If you’re certain…”


    Robert opens the door for both women while I slide into the front passenger seat, needing the distance.


    The familiar streets of London <i>roll </i>past the windows, but all I can see are memories of another time, another life.


    The Greyson house tooks the same–a modest cottage with cheerful yellow trim and window boxes overflowing with flowers.


    Sophia used to drag me here every other weekend, desperate to share her family with me. To show me what normal looked like.


    Standing on the sidewalk <i>now</i>, staring at the front door where she used to wait for me with that brilliant smile, I feel like I’m drowning in the past.


    “Hunter?” Mrs. Greyson’s voice is gentle. It’s been a long time since you’ve been here.”


    “Yes,” I whisper. “A long time.”


    <b>13:05 </b>Fri, 8 Aug


    She must see something in my face because she sends Are Inside with Robert to carry the packages, then turne to me with the wind al maternal concern that used to make me believe in happy families.


    <b>“</b>Would you like toe in for tea?


    Every instinct screams at me to run. To get back in the car and drive away from this house full of ghosts and might have bands,


    But I have Celine now. Caesar. A baby on the way. I can’t keep running from the past if I want to build a future


    “I would like that,” I hear myself say.


    The moment I step through the front door, the memories hit like a physical blow.


    Christmas morning three years ago….Sophia hanging on my arm as she introduced me to extended family, her face glowing with pride.


    The warmth of eptance I had never felt in my own home. The smell of Mrs. Greyson’s famous mince pies and the sound of ver. Greyson’s boomingugh.


    Everything the Reid family never was and never would be.


    “Hunter!” Mrs. Greyson calls from the kitchen. “Make yourself at home, dear!”


    I remove my coat and gloves, draping them carefully over the familiar sofa.


    The living room is a shrine to family memories–photos covering every surface, chronicling birthdays and holidays and ordinary moments made precious by love.


    My feet carry me down the hallway without <i>conscious </i>thought, stopping outside a door I recognize but have never had the courage to enter


    Sophia’s room.


    My hand hovers over the doorknob, trembling.


    Part of me expects to find her there–curled <i>up </i>on the bed with a book, ready to scold me for staring. Ready to forgive me for everything i did wrong.


    I turn the handle.


    AD


    Send gift