005

Christian’s POV

The Castillo estate looked exactly as I remembered it. Too big, too bright and too full of ghosts.

Eden. 

That was what my grandfather liked to call it, as if giving it a biblical name made it less suffocating. 

The stone walls still gleamed like money. The manicured lawns stretched endlessly under the morning sun. And the gates—those damn gates—swung open as if they’d been waiting for me to finally stop running.

I almost didn’t come back.

If it hadn’t been for the phone call—Martha’s voice trembling as she told me Abuelo had been unwell—I would still be in Camden, pretending London was a lifetime ago and not just a plane ride away.

But here I was.

It had been years, and yet standing here again felt like no time had passed at all. Same house. Same air. Same ghosts.

The tires crunched against the gravel as I pulled up to the front steps. I sat for a long moment, hands locked around the steering wheel, staring at the house that had been both home and hell.

London had taught me composure—how to wear calm like armor—but the air here was heavier. It pressed on my chest like memory.

By the time I stepped out of the car, my mask was already in place. The cold, composed Castillo everyone expected.

The scent hit first—pine, polish, and something faintly floral. My mother’s scent.

For a split second, the years fell away: her laughter in the hallway, sunlight on her hair, then blood—and then nothing. I shoved the memory back where it belonged. Some wounds don’t heal; you just learned to walk without touching them.

The front doors swung open.

Alberto Castillo, silver hair perfectly combed, cane in hand, stood tall and proud despite the years.

“Christian,” he said, his voice gravelly but warm. “Mi niño. You’re finally home.”

The old man didn’t wait for me to move. He pulled me into an embrace. For a heartbeat, I froze, then let him. His cologne—cedarwood and time—brought a sting to my chest.

“Abuelo,” I said softly, stepping back before the moment lingered too long. “You look good.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t lie to an old man. London’s made you taller… and colder, I think.”

“Occupational hazard,” I said with a half-smile.

“Still that mouth,” he said with affection. “Come. Everyone’s waiting. They’ll be happy to see you.”

The foyer was alive with sound—voices, laughter, the shuffle of footsteps on marble. The house felt… almost alive.

Before I could fully take it in, a blur of blonde hair launched at me.

“Christian!”

Lola’s arms wrapped around my neck, her laughter as bright as I remembered.

“It’s been too long,” she said, squeezing tight.

I chuckled, hugging her back. “You haven’t changed a bit, Lola.”

She grinned. “Please, I’ve had a kid. That alone added five years to my soul.”

I looked down to find a little boy clinging shyly to her leg. “And you must be Crew.”

He peeked up with wide eyes. “Mama says you live far away.”

“I did,” I said, crouching. “But I came back. And I might’ve brought presents.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“Maybe,” I teased, straightening. “Depends if you’re nice to me.”

Lola laughed. “Don’t you dare spoil him. He already runs this house.”

“Then he’s definitely a Castillo,” I said, earning a mock glare from her.

“Still a charmer,” she muttered.

From the staircase, a familiar voice called down, syrup-sweet and edged with steel.

“Well, look who finally remembered he has a family.”

Isabella, the eldest. She looked perfect, polished to the point of cruelty, her diamond earrings catching the light like tiny daggers.

“Still charming as ever, Isa,” I said evenly.

Her lips curved, not quite a smile. “We all have our roles.”

Behind her came Xavier, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face, followed by Carmen, glued to her tablet, her expression one of polite impatience—the kind that came from a full inbox. The twins, Esmeralda and Emilia, trailed close behind, whispering to each other and grinning when they saw me.

Xavier clasped my shoulder. “Welcome back, hermano. London treating you well?”

“As well as it could,” I said.

Carmen gave me a polite nod before returning to her screen. “I assume you’re here for good this time?”

I shrugged. “We’ll see.”

The twins reached me next, all smiles and warmth.

“Christian!” Esmeralda said. “You look serious as always.”

“Still too quiet,” Emilia added.

“Someone has to balance the noise in this family,” I replied, and they both laughed.

The tension that had been creeping up eased. For all our differences, this house still knew how to feel like home.

And then came a voice I hadn’t heard in years but could have recognized anywhere.

“Oh, sweet heavens, is that my Chris?”

Martha.

She bustled in, apron dusted with flour, cheeks flushed, eyes gleaming with joy. She didn’t hesitate—she cupped my face between her palms, as if I were still that boy sneaking cookies from her kitchen.

“Still too thin,” she scolded. “Do they not feed you in London?”

A reluctant laugh escaped me. “Hello, Martha.”

“Oh, don’t you ‘hello’ me. You’ve been gone far too long. Sit. I’ll make you something proper—arroz con pollo, just like your mother used to.”

Her words landed softly but deep, tugging at something raw. And for a second, I couldn’t speak.

“Thank you,” I managed.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, bustling off. “You’re eating seconds.”

The laughter resumed once she disappeared. Crew was driving toy cars across the hallway floor, the twins cheering him on. Isabella was talking business with Xavier. Lola was telling Abuelo about Crew’s new obsession with dinosaurs.

And for a rare moment, I let myself breathe.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

The chandelier glimmered above, light bouncing off marble and memory.

And then, just as suddenly, my thoughts wandered back to Eclipse.

Back to the woman with the ginger hair and the sharp green eyes. The one who moaned into my mouth and then disappeared like a ghost before I could even get her name.

A nameless stranger who had no right living rent-free in my head.

I’d been with more women than I could count. Models, heiresses, women who wanted the Castillo name for what it could give them. None had ever left me looking for someone in every crowd. None had ever made me want to remember the sound of their laugh.

But she had.

And the worst part? I had a feeling I hadn’t seen the last of her.

“Christian?” Abuelo’s voice pulled me back. “You were a million miles away, hijo.”

“Just jet lag,” I said lightly.

He studied me with that same sharp gaze that had always seen through me. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

Before I could reply, footsteps sounded in the hall.

A woman stepped into the doorway. Ginger hair. Green eyes.

The world tilted.

Abuelo smiled. “Ah, good. Christian, meet Abigail Davenport—my new caregiver.”

And just like that, the ghost from Eclipse had a name.