Chapter 2

Ruby POV

The paper burned against my palm like it had been pulled from a fire.

I stood frozen in the corridor, the muted sounds of footsteps and conversation fading around me. My vision narrowed until there was nothing left but the sharp black ink and the brutal simplicity of the sentence that had just rewritten the last seven years of my life.

My daughter is alive.

My firstborn.

I reread the words a third time, as though the letters might rearrange themselves into something less catastrophic if I stared at them long enough.

Someone had written Ruby Bell.

Not Jane Campbell—the careful identity I had spent years building. Someone had walked into Blackwood Global, found me, and used the name I had buried seven years ago.

That realization cut deeper than the claim about my daughter. I had changed everything—my name, my city, the way I walked, the way I spoke, the way I looked at people. I had built a life designed to keep Ruby Bell buried.

And still, someone had found me.

I scanned the corridor. The elevators hummed quietly at the far end. A distant phone rang and went unanswered. No one lingered near the glass walls or the potted plants meant to soften the corporate severity of the floor. Whoever had delivered the envelope had already vanished. He hadn’t needed to approach me directly. He had known exactly who to approach, what to give him, and how to make sure it reached me.

Paranoia settled over me like a second skin. Donovan. Catherine. Dominic. Any one of them—or someone working for them—could have arranged this. Or it could be someone else entirely. A rival pack. An old enemy who had finally tracked the right trail. An investigator who had pieced together fragments I thought I had erased.

The list was long enough to make my pulse hammer against my throat.

Silas stood close, eyes fixed on me. “Is something wrong?” he asked quietly.

I looked at him. “The man who gave you this,” I said. “Did you see him clearly?”

Silas’s eyes flicked toward the direction the stranger had gone. “Middle-aged. Average height. The kind of face you forget five minutes after looking at it. He carried himself like he’d been coming and going from this floor for years.”

The description was almost worse than if the man had been distinctive. Nondescript meant deliberate. Forgettable meant professional. If Silas was right about the man's confidence, he either knew the building well or was very good at making himself look like he belonged.

Silas’s expression tightened. “Do you want me to pull the footage?”

“No.” The answer came too fast, sharp with the instinct to protect whatever fragile thread this message had offered. “Not yet. Whoever sent this already knows more than they should. If we pull the footage now, we might alert them that I’m looking into the message. I want time to study what they gave me first.”

I folded the letter carefully and slipped it into the interior pocket of my coat.

The drive home blurred. City lights slid past the windows in long, liquid streaks while I sat in the back seat and unfolded the documents with hands that still refused to steady.

There was nothing in them that could give me certainty. No photograph. No proof. Only the same impossible claim and a precise appointment in Ashbourne.

I understood what that meant. Whoever had sent the message wanted me there. Whether they were offering me the truth or setting a trap, I couldn't know yet.

Any rational version of myself would have burned the papers and refused to play.

But rationality had never stood a chance against the possibility that my daughter was breathing somewhere in the world.

Ethan was in the living room when I stepped through the front door. The moment he saw me, his face lit up with pure excitement.

“Mom, you’re back!”

He scrambled off the couch and ran straight into me, arms wrapping tightly around my waist. I buried my face against the top of his head for a second longer than necessary. I used the solid warmth of him, the familiar scent of his shampoo, and the steady beat of his heart against my ribs to steady the sharp, rising fear of what I had just learned about the daughter I had been told was dead.

When I finally eased back, he was still smiling up at me.

“I started that movie you said we should watch together,” he said, tipping his head toward the paused screen. “The one with the talking motorcycles. It’s actually really good so far. You have to see it.”

I managed a real smile this time. “Then I’ll come join you. Just let me get out of these clothes and change into something comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay. Hurry,” he said, already turning back toward the couch with easy trust.

I ruffled his hair once and climbed the stairs. In the bedroom I changed quickly into a soft sweater and loose pants before I went back downstairs.

Ethan made space for me on the couch without a word. I sank down beside him and let him lean against my side as the movie resumed. On the screen, animated motorcycles raced through neon cities and delivered clumsy jokes. Ethan laughed at all the right places. I watched the colors shift across his face and felt almost none of it. My mind kept circling the same impossible sentence, the appointment in Ashbourne, the quiet certainty that someone out there knew who I really was. Every few minutes I forced my attention back to the screen so he wouldn’t notice how far away I had drifted.

By the time the credits rolled, the sky outside had gone dark. Dinner was simple—pasta and garlic bread. We ate at the dining table while Ethan reenacted his favorite scenes for Silas, complete with sound effects. I nodded and smiled in the right places, letting the ordinary rhythm of the evening hold me together.

Afterward, Silas rose from his chair. “I’ve got him,” he said softly. “Hot bath, then bed.”

Ethan groaned theatrically but didn’t put up a real fight. He hugged me one more time before letting Silas lead him upstairs. Only when the house settled into that particular hush that meant he was finally asleep did I climb the stairs myself.

In the quiet of my bedroom, I took out my phone and stared at the number I hadn't needed to contact in months.

Theo's contact was saved simply as "T."

I had met him years ago while working for his father. He was one of the few people who knew enough about my past to understand why I had disappeared and why I couldn't afford to trust easily. Brilliant with technology and relentless when it came to uncovering buried information, he'd become more like family over the years. He'd quietly helped me investigate the Blackwood family whenever I needed information I couldn't obtain myself.

But I hadn't needed him in months. I'd wanted to handle the rest on my own.

Until tonight.

I typed quickly, keeping the message clear.

Ruby: I thought I could handle this myself, but it’s gotten more complicated. I need your help. Look into everything you can find about the night the twins were born—the hospital records, the delivery, everyone involved. Someone is claiming my daughter survived. I don't know if it's a lie, a trap, or the truth, but I need answers. Please keep this completely confidential. It's urgent.

The reply came almost instantly:

Theo: I'm on it. Don't do anything reckless. I'll have something by morning.

I exhaled, shoulders dropping a fraction. At least one move was made. But the relief was razor-thin. The paper still sat there, burning through every layer of logic I had. It had to be a trap, something designed to throw me off balance, and yet… every second felt like sand slipping through my fingers.

***

I was dressed and ready by 7:30 a.m. in the morning, dark jeans, a simple blouse, and comfortable heels. My hair was pulled back tightly, makeup minimal to hide the shadows under my eyes. I looked like a woman in control. Inside, I wasn’t.

Ethan was still asleep when I peeked in on him, his small chest rising and falling peacefully. I brushed his hair back, my hand lingering for a moment longer than it should have. If anything happened to him because I made the wrong move today…

Losing to this threat wasn’t an option.

My phone buzzed violently against my palm.

I flinched and looked down. Theo.

Theo: Found something odd. All of your prenatal medical records—every ultrasound, every checkup—document only one fetus. No mention of twins anywhere in the official trail. Someone went to great lengths to make sure your pregnancy appeared to involve only one baby. Tracks covered extremely well. I need a few more hours to dig deeper.

One baby.

The words landed like a fracture.

For seven years I had lived with a single, clean truth: one child lived, one did not. That truth had been handed to me by the same man who had cut me open. Dr. Robert Varga. The surgeon who had stood over me on the operating table. The man who had sat beside my bed when I finally woke and told me that my daughter was gone.

He had been the only constant through all of it.

And now the official record claimed there had only ever been one child to begin with.

Something cold and precise settled in my chest. If someone had erased the second baby from every file, the person with the clearest access was the man who had delivered the news.

My pulse hammered as I typed back.

Jane: I can’t wait. Anonymous message last night—they want me at the Grand Hotel in Ashbourne at nine. Alone. They claim my daughter is alive. If I’m late, I might lose her.

Theo: This smells like a trap. Don't throw away everything you've built by walking into it blind. Let me trace it first.

Jane: No time. If there’s even a chance she’s alive… I’m going. If this goes wrong, get Ethan out. Promise me.

A long pause. Then:

Theo: I’ve got him. Watch your back.

I took one last steadying breath and left the room. 

Silas was already in the dining room when I came downstairs, coffee prepared, tablet in hand.

“I have a private matter to handle this morning,” I said. “I’ll take one of the cars. No security detail.”

His expression did not change, but I saw the faint tightening around his eyes. “Location?”

“I’ll check in by eleven. If you don't hear from me by then, contact Theo. He knows what to do.”

He held my gaze for a moment, then gave a short nod.

I was halfway to the private garage when my phone vibrated.

Silas’s name on the screen.

I answered on the second ring. “Yes?”

“Blackwood Global just sent an urgent request. They need your signature on a preliminary audit authorization related to the redevelopment. The document is time-sensitive. Dominic Blackwood is handling it personally. He’s already en route to Ashbourne for a meeting concerning the redevelopment this morning and can meet you there if you’re available.”

The name landed like a stone dropped into still water.

Dominic.

I closed my eyes for half a second. Of all mornings. Of all places. The one day I needed to move unseen, the universe had decided to place him on the same road.

I nearly refused. Nearly told Silas to handle it himself or delay the signature until the afternoon. But the redevelopment audit was not something I could dismiss without drawing attention, and attention was the last thing I could afford.

“Tell them I’ll be in Ashbourne in thirty minutes,” I said finally. “I’m sending you the location now. I’ll sign it before I leave.”

I ended the call before Silas could respond and slid into the driver’s seat of the black sedan.

The road to Ashbourne wound through long stretches of trees and open land, the kind of quiet that usually settled my thoughts. Today it did the opposite. Every mile carried me closer to the hotel and the stranger who claimed to know where my daughter was. Every mile also carried the knowledge that Dominic Blackwood was somewhere ahead of me, moving through the same morning for reasons that had nothing to do with the message in my pocket and everything to do with the life I had spent seven years trying to keep separate from him.

I was less than a mile from the heart of Ashbourne when the first barrier came into view—temporary metal fencing, a pair of security vehicles, and a small cluster of men in dark jackets directing traffic away from the main route.

A local event. Or a site assessment. Or both.

I slowed, then stopped as a uniformed man raised a hand. Traffic was already backing up behind me. I waited several seconds, watching the line inch forward, then killed the engine and stepped out. If I couldn't get through, I needed to know why.

A few yards ahead stood a man in a dark suit, a tablet tucked beneath one arm, trying to get the road reopened

I barely noticed him.

That was when I saw Dominic.

He stood several meters away, speaking with one of the security personnel, his profile cut clean against the morning light. Seven years collapsed into a single, brutal second. The man whose portrait I had destroyed only yesterday was suddenly real and solid and close enough that I could have crossed the distance in under ten strides.

Something primal inside me reacted before I could stop it—not with the sharp pull of attraction I had once known, but with something older and more fundamental. Recognition. A deep, instinctive awareness that the man standing there was still, in some irreparable way, tied to the part of me I had spent years trying to bury. My pulse jumped hard against my ribs, heat pricking along the back of my neck.

I looked at my phone.

8:47 a.m.

Thirteen minutes.

Dominic turned, his gaze locking on me almost immediately. Surprise crossed his face, and he started toward me without hesitation.

“Jane?”

I forced my expression neutral even as my pulse kicked against my throat. “Mr. Blackwood.”

He stopped a few feet away, studying me with an intensity that made the air feel thinner. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Neither did I.” I kept my voice steady. “I understand you have the authorization that needs signing. If we could handle it quickly—I’m already late for another meeting.”

He held my gaze a moment longer, then gave a short nod and retrieved a slim folder from the black SUV nearby. I took it without letting our fingers brush and signed where the tabs indicated. The entire time I felt his eyes on me—steady, assessing, far too focused for a simple business transaction. Something inside me stirred at his presence, recognizing what my mind refused to acknowledge.

“You look familiar,” he said quietly while I was still writing. “Have we met before?”

I finished the last signature, closed the folder, and handed it back with a polite smile that felt like glass.

“I don’t believe so. This is our first meeting.”

He didn’t look away. His gaze moved across my face as if searching for something he couldn’t quite place. The weight of it made it harder to breathe evenly. Another thread of the life I’d built felt like it was starting to fray.

“I really do have to go,” I said, already stepping back. “Excuse me.”

I turned.

His voice stopped me.

“What’s that mark behind your ear?”

I froze. For half a second the morning air felt too thin. I hadn’t realized my hair had shifted when the wind caught it.

The mark.

Thirteen minutes had become less.