Chapter 008

Hailey’s POV

The name Moore clung to me like a shadow long after I left the institute.

I felt it with every step I took on the sidewalk, with every breath I drew in the cold New York air. It wrapped around my chest, squeezing, reminding me that no matter how far I ran, some things had a way of circling back.

Grant walked beside me in silence. He did not try to explain himself. He did not apologize. Somehow, that restraint unsettled me more than words would have. I had spent three years married to a man who spoke plenty but never said what mattered. Silence had become something I both feared and understood too well.

When we got back to his aunt’s house, the warmth inside felt almost unreal. Aunt Rosa was in the kitchen humming softly as she stirred a pot on the stove. The smell of spices and cooked vegetables filled the air, making my stomach twist with a strange mix of hunger and nausea.

“You’re home,” she said cheerfully, turning around. “Sit, Hailey. Dinner will be ready soon.”

I nodded and forced a smile, lowering myself carefully onto a chair. My palm moved instinctively to my stomach, fingers splaying protectively as though I could shield my babies from the thoughts racing through my mind.

Grant lingered near the doorway, watching me. His gaze was heavy, thoughtful. He looked like a man carrying a truth he had not planned to share yet.

“Are you okay” he finally asked.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to pretend the institute had not spoken Dylan’s name so casually, as though he was just another businessman and not the man who had broken me so thoroughly that I still woke up some nights gasping for air.

“I’m fine,” I lied softly.

He did not argue. He simply nodded and stepped away.

That night, sleep refused to come.

I lay on my side staring at the wall, listening to the quiet sounds of the house. A distant car passing. The faint hum of electricity. The soft rhythm of life continuing without concern for my inner chaos.

My thoughts drifted back to California against my will.

To the mansion that never felt like home. To the way Dylan’s eyes always seemed to pass through me, as though I was invisible until I inconvenienced him. To Lexa’s smirk, sharp and victorious, as she clung to the man I had called my husband.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest tightening painfully.

“You’re not there anymore,” I whispered to myself. “You survived.”

My babies shifted inside me gently, a subtle reminder that I was not alone anymore. Tears slid silently down my temples and into my hair. I let them come. They did not feel weak tonight. They felt like release.

Morning came with a dull ache behind my eyes.

Aunt Rosa noticed immediately. She always did.

“You didn’t sleep,” she said, setting a cup of tea in front of me.

I shook my head slightly. “I’ll be fine.”

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Strength doesn’t mean pretending,” she said quietly. “But I won’t push.”

I swallowed, gratitude swelling in my chest.

After breakfast, Grant left early for work. He told me he would be late again. I watched him walk out the door, a strange unease settling in my stomach. For the first time since I arrived in New York, I felt something close to fear that had nothing to do with my pregnancy.

I spent the day studying, forcing my focus onto charts, strategies, and case studies. Numbers made sense. Logic obeyed rules. They did not betray you when you trusted them.

But even as I worked, my thoughts strayed.

Moore Global Holdings.

Why did fate insist on pulling Dylan back into my orbit just when I had begun to rebuild myself.

That afternoon, my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

My heart jumped violently before I could stop it. I stared at the screen for several seconds, my pulse roaring in my ears. Slowly, I silenced the call and placed the phone face down on the table.

It buzzed again.

Then stopped.

A cold sweat broke across my back.

I told myself it was nothing. Telemarketers. Wrong number. Coincidence.

Still, my hands shook as I packed my books away.

When Grant returned that evening, I confronted him without meaning to.

“You didn’t tell me,” I said quietly as soon as the door closed behind him.

He stiffened. “About what”

“Moore Global,” I replied. “About your connection to them.”

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t think it would matter.”

“It matters to me,” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it. “Everything connected to him matters.”

He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw something like regret flash through his eyes.

“I would never put you in danger,” he said firmly. “I swear that.”

I nodded, but unease lingered. Danger did not always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it arrived quietly, wrapped in familiar names and forgotten ties.

That night, as I prepared for bed, my phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a message.

I stared at the screen, my breath shallow, before unlocking it.

One word appeared.

Hailey.

My knees weakened instantly and I had to sit down.

No greeting. No explanation.

Just my name.

My chest constricted painfully as a thousand thoughts crashed into me at once. How did he find me. Who told him. Why now.

I pressed my palm to my stomach, fear blooming sharp and immediate.

“You will not hurt us,” I whispered fiercely. “I won’t let you.”

The phone buzzed again.

Another message came through.

I didn’t open it.

I couldn’t.

Because deep down, I already knew.

The past had finally found me.

And it was no longer content with silence