She Said the Baby Is Her Secretary's

The city outline beyond the plane window grew clearer and clearer.

Alestin. The city that had held a year of my humble, lovesick devotion and the final, crushing humiliation. A year later, it came into view again.

My fingers unconsciously traced the understated yet priceless wedding band on my left ring finger.

The cool touch settled my tangled thoughts.

Nicole Cooper was my wife. She was a gentle and kind woman who treasured me like something precious. She was stuck in an overseas video conference and couldn't get away, so she'd specifically arranged for someone from the domestic branch to pick me up and make sure I arrived at the gala safely.

"Sir, we're about to land. Please fasten your seatbelt," the flight attendant said gently.

I nodded and took a deep breath.

…

I pushed my simple luggage through the VIP exit.

I instinctively scanned the crowd of people waiting for arrivals, looking for a sign with my middle name, "Kent."

Nicole knew I didn't like a big production, so she'd specifically asked to keep things low-key.

My eyes swept across the area and quickly locked onto one spot.

A few sharply dressed, arrogant-looking men and women stood together. One of them was holding a sign that read, "Kent."

But when I saw the face holding the sign, I stopped short. My blood seemed to freeze on the spot.

Tiffany Blake.

She was wearing a designer gown, her hair perfectly styled. She looked even more like a mother than she had a year ago.

Chad Miller had his arm around her shoulder.

Tiffany was wearing a loose-fitting dress, but you could still tell her post-baby body had recovered extremely well. Her face had that smug look of someone being pampered.

A few other familiar faces were there too—all of Tiffany's old friends from back in the day, led by Mark Lynch.

They craned their necks, eagerly scanning the exit, clearly waiting for the legendary "Kent."

He was the actual controlling shareholder of the world's largest publicly traded group, RKS Group.

But all these years, it had been my wife Nicole running things publicly.

I had never shown my face. No one knew what I looked like.

I pushed down the turmoil in my chest, straightened my back, and wheeled my luggage cart straight toward them.

The sharp sound of high heels clicking on the floor caught their attention.

"Hey, Tiffany, look! Isn't that your ex-fiancé, Ryan?" Mark was the first to spot me. His voice was neither loud nor quiet, dripping with undisguised mockery and surprise.

Everyone's eyes locked onto me.

When Tiffany saw me, she froze for a second, then frowned. A flicker of something complicated showed in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by the same habitual, condescending indifference.

She looked me up and down. There was judgment in her gaze, along with a hint of something hard to notice... disappointment?

Probably because my simple, comfortable cashmere sweater and jeans were a far cry from the Ryan in her memory—the one who always dressed to the nines just to see her.

"Heh," she let out a short laugh. The corner of her mouth curled into a knowing, almost pitying smirk. "I knew it. You were bound to come back eventually. Couldn't make it out there on your own?"