Chapter Three

Callan Sterling’s POV:

Loyalty is expensive. I had spent thirty-one years making mine look priceless.

The private elevator descended smoothly from the fifty-fourth floor while I adjusted my glasses and studied my reflection in the polished brass: calm, approachable, and trustworthy. That was the man everyone saw. Callan Sterling. Lachlan Vance’s oldest friend. His Executive Vice President. The man who had stood beside him through his father’s death, the collapse of Vance Green Energy, and the bitter years that followed.

Nobody knew what I really was. Nobody except me, and that was precisely how I liked it.

When the elevator opened, Lachlan was already waiting beside his car. He climbed behind the wheel. I opened the passenger door and slid in.

“Get out, Callan.”

“No.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re driving four hundred miles in a storm while you’re out of your mind with fury.”

“So?”

“So I’d rather not explain to the board why their brilliant CEO drove his car into a concrete barrier.”

He glared at me. I offered a faint, placid smile. “Drive.”

He slammed his foot on the accelerator. The car shot out of the parking garage and into the torrential downpour. Rain battered the windshield in sheets. For several miles, neither of us spoke.

Then Lachlan broke the silence, his voice tight. “She has a cottage.”

I looked straight ahead. “I know.”

“Byron Bay.”

“Yes.”

His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “She changed her name.”

“Archer.”

He nodded once. “Kirrily Archer.” His voice dropped into a strange, dangerous quiet. “The entity buying our shares is her.”

I allowed a calculated pause before answering. “It would explain a lot.”

His eyes flicked toward me. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it.” I leaned back against the headrest. “Four years ago, none of us understood how someone like her could have pulled off an internal leak of that scale.”

Lachlan’s jaw clenched. “She was smarter than she looked.”

“Exactly.” I sighed softly. “She could have spent four years preparing every single step.”

“She swore she didn’t leak those files.”

I turned toward him, letting a hint of disbelief enter my tone. “They always swear.”

He didn’t respond.

I pressed on. “She didn’t disappear, Lachlan. She rebuilt herself.”

His fingers dug deeper into the leather of the steering wheel. “She ruined me.”

There it was. The raw, festering wound beneath the anger.

“You loved her,” I said quietly.

His jaw flexed violently. “Don’t.”

“You loved her enough to trust her completely.”

“Stop.”

“And that’s why you hate her this much now.”

He slammed his foot down, making the engine roar as we surged forward. I looked away, hiding a quiet smile. Perfect. Hatred was so much easier for him to control than doubt.

“Whatever happens when we get there,” I said, keeping my voice level, “don’t let her manipulate you.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t listen to her excuses.”

“I won’t.”

“She’ll try to remind you of who she used to be.”

His eyes hardened into chips of ice. “She isn’t that woman anymore.”

I smiled faintly into the dark. “No. She certainly isn’t.”

The drive continued. Hours bled together. Eventually, the rain eased to a mist as we approached the outskirts of Byron Bay.

My phone vibrated in my coat pocket. I glanced down. A message from the operative watching Kirrily’s house. I opened the attached photograph.

My stomach plummeted straight to the floor.

Kirrily stood on the porch. And beside her was a child. A little boy. Four years old.

I stared at the photograph in absolute horror, then looked closer at his face.

Silver-gray eyes. Lachlan’s eyes.

My blood ran cold. No. It couldn’t be. But the timeline was undeniable. Four years. Pregnancy. Birth.

Toby. Lachlan’s son.

If Lachlan saw him, everything would change. He would start asking questions. He would question the past. He would question Kirrily.

He would question me. And I couldn’t allow that. Not after everything I had built.

“Callan?”

I snapped out of it, quickly locking the phone screen. “Yes?”

“We’re almost there.” I peered out at the winding coastal road. “Just past the headland.”

He nodded, his focus locked ahead.

My hand slipped back into my coat pocket. I pulled out my burner phone.

One message. One command.

⁠INTERCEPT THE CHILD. NOW.⁠

I hit send, praying the operatives moved faster than the ticking clock in the passenger seat beside me.