Bound By Blood, Saved By Love

Jace Pov

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The silver elevator doors were already sliding apart when Jace Van Driscoll stepped forward.

He wasn’t in a hurry. Just wanted to get out of the damned building. But the second he moved, someone came flying out of the elevator—fast, clumsy, and completely unaware of him.

She hit his chest with a soft thud.

Her bag slipped off her shoulder. It hit the floor, spilling papers, a compact, two pens, and a packet of tissues. She stumbled back a step.

“Ouch, oh my God, I’m sorry!” she apologised.

Then crouched on the ground, hurriedly picking up things that had scattered everywhere. She moved fast, like she was in a rush.

Jace let out a quiet breath and crouched beside her, reaching to help. He didn’t usually bend down for anyone. But this time… he did.

And when their eyes met—he forgot everything.

She was beautiful.

Not in a way that demanded attention. Not in a way that begged to be looked at. She had soft eyes, sharp cheekbones, and something about her expression… like she carried more weight than she let on. Like life had worn her down but hadn’t broken her.

By the time he realized he hadn’t moved, she had already gathered most of her items and shoved them into her bag. Only her ID card remained near his foot.

He picked it up slowly, standing back to his feet.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you. I wasn’t looking,” she added with a small, nervous smile.

Jace blinked.

It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Soft. Warm. Real. His heart trembled in a way he didn’t understand.

“Sir?” she called again, this time sounding awkward and confused.

Jace snapped out of it. He’d been staring at her, completely lost.

“It’s okay,” he said, clearing his throat and turning to leave.

“My... my ID, please,” she said, stopping him.

Her voice was calm. Polite. Nothing in it showed she noticed his stare. She stretched her hand out gently.

Jace looked at his own hand.

He was still holding her ID card.

He glanced at it. Her name was printed clearly: Sarah Bennett. But something else caught his eye—the logo stamped at the corner:

Van Driscoll Global.

She works there?

His eyes narrowed a bit. Then he handed it over wordlessly.

She took it, nodded in thanks, and turned around. Then she ran—like she had somewhere else to be. Like this moment didn’t mean anything at all.

The elevator doors closed behind him. But Jace remained still, hands buried in his pockets, eyes fixed on the steel wall in front of him.

As he was about to walk toward the exit door, his stomach growled.

Jace exhaled sharply.

“Of course,” he muttered.

Without a second thought, he turned and headed straight for the hotel’s restaurant.

The place wasn’t full, which was good. He didn’t feel like being stared at. The staff led him to a quiet table by the window, and he ordered something light—just enough to calm the hunger clawing at his gut.

He started eating. Slowly. Minding his manners like he always did. His phone kept vibrating beside his tray, but he didn’t care.

Just as he raised his head to call the waitress, he froze.

There she was.

The same girl from the elevator.

Sitting far across the room, eating like she hadn’t eaten for days.

She wasn’t even paying attention to her surroundings. She was simply… devouring the meal in front of her. Eating so fast, so clumsily, that some of the food kept falling from her spoon onto the plate.

Jace frowned in displeasure.

Was she starving?

He stopped eating. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and just watched her.

She paused to tie her hair up—it was falling into her face while she ate.

He kept staring at her.

No one had ever caught his attention like this before.

He found himself curious. What kind of woman bumped into a man, ran off like she was late for her own funeral, then showed up ten minutes later in the hotel restaurant… eating like the world was ending?

There was something about her. Something he couldn’t name.

Then her phone rang.

She jumped. The fork slipped from her hand.

She scrambled for her phone and answered, barely chewing what was in her mouth. She coughed once, reached for her glass of water, drank it too fast, and then stood—grabbing her bag in a rush.

She ran again.

Same as before. But this time, her panic was louder. Her steps quicker. She rushed out of the restaurant, almost bumping into someone again.

Jace’s eyes followed her out.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Only when she was out of sight did he glance back at her table. Her plate was still half full. She hadn’t even finished her food.

"What kind of call makes someone leave in the middle of a meal?"

Before he could answer that, his own phone rang.

He glanced down at it.

"Mr. Edwards."

Jace sighed heavily and tilted his head back.

They’d been calling for a while now. Pestering him about the will. About the reading. About the family name and legacy and everything else he didn’t want to be part of.

“Can’t they just go ahead and read the will without me? I’m clearly not interested,” he mumbled.

He let the phone ring until it stopped. Then he shoved it into his pocket and stood slowly.

But just as he was about to leave the restaurant, something caught his eye.

A piece of cloth on the table the girl was at.

He walked over.

It was a small handkerchief. Neatly folded. Floral embroidery at the corner. Probably nothing important… but it was hers.

He picked it up. Held it in his hand a moment longer than necessary. Then he turned and left the restaurant.

The black car was already waiting at the hotel entrance.

The driver opened the door without asking. Jace slid inside, still holding the handkerchief.

He looked out the window once, then closed his eyes and exhaled.

“Take me to the mansion,” he said.

---

The car pulled to a stop at the front of the Van Driscoll mansion.

Jace looked out the window, silent.

The mansion hadn’t changed much.

It was grand, wide, and intimidating. Made of pale stone that glowed faintly under the sun. Tall windows lined the upper floors. Ivy crawled along the sides like it had claimed the house for itself. A row of trimmed hedges ran across the driveway, and the large iron gates still stood like guards.

The place whispered money. Old money. The kind that didn’t need to announce itself because everyone already knew.

He stepped out of the car, slowly. The scent of flowers hit him first—too perfect, too arranged. It reminded him of those days.

He hadn’t been here since he was seven.

Back then, the house felt too big. Cold. Like it didn’t want children in it. Especially not the kind born from scandal and secrets.

A quiet voice pulled him back.

“Welcome, sir,” a housemaid said gently.

She gave a respectful nod and gestured for him to follow.

He didn’t ask questions. Just walked behind her in silence, the soles of his shoes brushing softly against polished marble.

They passed through a hallway of framed portraits and dead-eyed statues. The same walls his father once walked. The same rooms he was never allowed to enter without permission.

The maid stopped at a set of tall double doors.

“They’re waiting inside,” she said and stepped aside.

Jace nodded once, pushed open the door, and walked in.

Every head in the room turned.

“Well,” Mr. Edwards said, rising slightly from his seat. “He’s finally here.”

Four people sat in the living room waiting.

The first one Jace noticed was Leo Van Driscoll.

He hadn’t changed much. Clean-cut. Composed. Dressed in a dark navy suit with his tie perfectly knotted and not a strand of hair out of place.

His aura alone could give someone a heart attack. He looked like someone who could kill with just one glare. Cold. Dangerous.

He didn’t hide his anger. His whole body looked tense, as if he was ready to explode.

Still, his handsomeness couldn’t be ignored. No matter how scary he looked, he was striking.

Leo was always the one who never questioned the rules. Never disobeyed the old man. He was the first son of the late Robert Van Driscoll—Jace’s half-brother.

Across from him, lounging with careless ease, was Luca Van Driscoll. The youngest son.

He wore a black T-shirt. A chain hung loosely around his neck. One hand rested lazily on the arm of the couch, and his legs bounced slightly as he chewed his gum loudly, like it was the only thing keeping him from losing his temper.

Luca had always been the wild one. The reckless one. His smirk was dangerous, and his eyes held no respect for anyone.

Jace didn’t need a second glance to know Luca hated being here just as much as he did.

By the corner sat Mr. Edwards, the family lawyer. Tall, balding, and far too serious for someone who spent his life reading out the wishes of the dead. Next to him sat a woman, early thirties maybe. Blonde. Dressed in gray. Probably his assistant. She kept her eyes down and her notepad ready.

Jace exhaled slowly.

He hated being here.

But his mother had insisted.

"Go, Jace. You’re his son too. Don’t let them write you out like you don’t exist."

He never cared about the money, the properties, or the power. He had built his life in New York, far away from this name, this family, this blood. But fate… it always had a way of dragging people back.

He didn’t want to fight. Just hear the will and leave.

“You kept us waiting long enough,” Luca snapped, pushing forward in his seat. “Think time revolves around you?”.

“Luca...” Mr. Edwards tried to interrupt.

“Don't Luca me old man” Luca barked. “This isn’t a damn hotel. We’ve been sitting here like fools...”

Jace’s eyes locked on Luca with one cold, unbroken stare. A full sentence in silence. Sharp, steady, final.

Luca’s voice died in his throat.

He knew better than to mess with Jace. He might look calm, but he wasn’t Leo—and he definitely wasn’t someone Luca could disrespect and walk away from.

Jace walked to the nearest chair and sat down slowly, legs crossed. His back relaxed, his expression unreadable. He was the second son of the late Robert Van Driscoll.

“Now that everyone is here,” Mr. Edwards said, clearing his throat and opening a folder, “we shall begin the reading of the will.”