Chapter 6: The Man I Tried to Forget

Alessia

The plane touched down with a quiet thud, and I felt my breath catch in my chest.

Caleb was fast asleep, his cheek resting on my shoulder, one arm draped across my lap like he was still holding on even in sleep. I brushed a hand through his curls, trying not to let the chaos outside the window get to me.

Paris.

I told myself it was just another city.

Another gallery. Another room filled with strangers admiring fabric they’d never wear but liked to look at. Another chance to prove I existed beyond someone’s discarded wife.

But the moment the wheels hit the ground, I knew I was lying to myself.

Paris wasn’t just another city.

It was the last city I’d been in where my name still meant Alessia Volkov.

We made it through customs with little fuss, and I held Caleb’s hand tightly as we stepped out into the crisp air beyond the terminal. The sky was pale, like it hadn’t decided whether to rain or shine, and the city felt heavier than I remembered. Like it had been holding its breath, waiting for me to return.

The cab ride was quiet. Caleb pressed his face against the window as we passed block after block of soft beige buildings and crooked balconies.

“Mommy, is this our new house?” he asked, his voice small and hopeful.

I looked out with him, then back at his wide eyes. “No, baby. Just for a few nights.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed. Then, “Can we live here one day?”

I didn’t answer right away.

“We’ll see,” I murmured, softly enough that I wasn’t sure if I meant it or not.

Claire’s team had arranged a short-stay apartment just above a pastry shop in the 5th arrondissement. It was modest but charming—creaky hardwood floors, linen curtains that fluttered in the breeze, and a tiny kitchen that smelled faintly of sugar and cinnamon. The kind of place where I could almost pretend the past never happened.

Caleb ran in first, claiming the bedroom near the window. I let him. I didn’t need much. Just a door that locked and a night without ghosts knocking on it.

The next day, Claire met me at the gallery. She was in a navy trench coat and heels that clicked with every step.

“You’re glowing,” she said as she greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks. “The pieces look even better in this light. Everyone’s talking about them.”

I gave a small smile. I didn’t feel like I was glowing. I felt like I hadn’t slept in weeks. Like every cell in my body was bracing for something I couldn’t name.

Claire walked me inside. The gallery was beautiful—open spaces, high ceilings, light that filtered in through old glass panels. My silks were arranged near the back, draped across curved frames that mimicked windblown petals. For a second, I allowed myself to breathe.

Maybe this could be good.

Maybe I deserved this.

“Mommy, can I go look at the moon statue again?” Caleb asked, tugging on my hand.

“Okay,” I said. “But stay where I can see you.”

He nodded and ran off toward the installation near the center. His laughter echoed faintly, bouncing off marble floors and canvas-covered walls.

And then I heard it.

A voice.

Low. Sharp. So familiar that my entire body went still.

“No, I want the Volkov sculpture moved under the primary lighting. It’s the centerpiece. Not a damn afterthought.”

I froze.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

I turned slowly—heart hammering in my throat.

And there he was.

Adrian.

He hadn’t changed much. Maybe taller. Maybe colder. His jaw was still sharp, his posture still perfect, his presence still pulling the oxygen out of the room. He stood a few feet away, speaking to a coordinator like he owned the building. Which he probably did.

The same man who once kissed me with a mouth full of lies.

The man I had run from.

The man I had a child with—who didn’t know.

I looked toward Caleb.

He was crouched near the sculpture, one hand trailing the edge of a glowing moon.

Adrian hadn't seen him.

Not yet.

Not me either.

But if he turned—if he so much as blinked in our direction…

I rushed toward Caleb, heart in my throat.

“Sweetheart,” I said, crouching down beside him. “We need to go.”

“But I wanna stay,” he whined. “I didn’t get to see the other painting—”

“Now,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

He blinked at me, lips forming a small pout. But he nodded, sliding his hand into mine without another word.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t wait.

I walked out of the gallery with my son and didn’t breathe until the door shut behind us.

The apartment was silent when we returned. Caleb kicked off his shoes and flopped on the couch, completely unbothered.

I, on the other hand, sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor like it had answers.

Adrian Volkov was there.

At my exhibit.

The odds of that weren’t coincidence. They were cruel.

I had spent five years keeping my name off radar, off headlines, off everything that would tether me to that man.

But fate was persistent. And petty.

I rested my face in my hands and tried to quiet the panic rising in my chest.

He hadn’t seen me.

He hadn’t seen Caleb.

It was okay.

It had to be.

“Mommy?” Caleb peeked in from the other room. “Are you sad?”

I looked up, swallowing the thickness in my throat. “No, baby. Just tired.”

He came closer and hugged me without another word. I pulled him into my lap and kissed the top of his head.

That night, after I put him to bed, I sat at the small kitchen table with a cup of tea I didn’t drink and stared out the window for a long, long time.

I remembered how it felt the last time Adrian touched me. How broken I’d felt afterward. How alone.

I remembered the silence.

The way he never came after me.

The way he never even asked.

He didn’t deserve to know.

He didn’t get to unravel me again.

I wouldn’t let him.

I climbed into bed close to midnight, exhausted. My arms wrapped around Caleb as he slept. The warmth of his little body pressed against mine was the only thing that still grounded me.

I told myself it was just one more day.

One more event.

Then we’d go home. Back to the life I’d built. Away from the shadows that used to own me.

I must’ve finally fallen asleep around four.

When I opened my eyes again, the light was different—softer, golden, morning.

I stretched, blinking.

And then I reached for Caleb.

Nothing.

I shot upright.

The bed beside me was empty.

Cold.

“Caleb?”

No answer.

I climbed out of bed fast, heart thudding.

“Caleb!” Louder now.

No sound from the kitchen. No sound from the bathroom. His shoes were still near the door, but the front latch—

The door was unlocked.

Panic exploded in my chest.

I ran.