Caleb
“Ineed to go to Vancouver Island for work,” I lied to Tatiana.
“But it’s the weekend,” she said, irritation flashing across her face. “We have the Vogue Fashion Party to attend, and we have to make an appearance at the Middletons’ house. Plus, we have an appointment with the caterers this afternoon.”
“Can we reschedule that for tomorrow?”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively in the air.
Another party.
I was sick of it.
There had been a time when I enjoyed that lifestyle, but now the endless parties and attention felt exhausting instead of exciting.
Tatiana still thrived in that world, loving the spotlight and everything that came with it.
When I was younger, I had fit into it too, but somewhere along the way, my priorities had changed.
I kept hoping that after our engagement, hers eventually would as well.
“I’m sorry, but this is important.” I walked to her.
“How come it’s become more important than me… than our wedding?” she asked, her lips pressed together.
“It’s not more important than you or the wedding. But you know I don’t like attending these events. I only go because I know you enjoy them.”
“I go and hang out with your family every week. You don’t hear me complain, do you?” She pouted, folding her arms across her chest.
“Do you not like my family?” I asked.
“It’s not that.” She sighed heavily. “It’s just that I don’t want to do it every week.”
“We don’t. We always alternate between yours and mine, and we don’t do it every week. It’s probably once or twice a month because you want to go out on weekends.”
Tatiana rarely complained openly, but I knew family time was not something she enjoyed. She valued her independence and preferred nightlife and social gatherings.
I could not even remember the last time we had shared a quiet dinner alone at her apartment or mine.
I had cooked for her several times because I genuinely enjoyed it, but she had never cooked for me.
It did not really matter, though sometimes I wished she had wanted to.
Instead, she always suggested going out to restaurants.
Right then, I had no interest in dragging the conversation out any further. I was already running late for Lucas’s birthday party, and after Liam mentioned it during the meeting, I had decided I was going.
I did not want to miss it.
“You know how important work is to me,” I said, meeting Tatiana’s eyes. “This new project has been taking up a lot of my time.”
“Fine,” she said, sighing loudly. “But can you promise me something?”
I wanted to end the discussion quickly. I would agree to whatever she asked, but I also needed to be careful not to raise suspicion about where I was really going.
“Yes, anything, sweetheart.”
“Next weekend, you’re all mine,” she said firmly.
“I promise. I’ll be all yours next weekend.”
I leaned forward, kissed her, and hurried out the door before she could ask any more questions.
Driving toward Jiya’s place, I realized that the last few visits there had left me feeling lighter than I had in a long time. The knot that had sat permanently in my chest during the past year and a half with Tatiana seemed to loosen whenever I was around Jiya and the children.
I still had so many unanswered questions, but I could not deny how much I enjoyed spending time with her and the children. Her home felt warm, genuine, and alive in a way that my own life had not felt for a long time.
Even knowing there had only been one man after me did little to ease the bitterness that surfaced whenever I thought about him. That one man had become important enough for her to marry. Important enough to build a family with. Important enough for her to have Emma.
My jaw locked at the thought.
I remembered how quickly sympathy had disappeared the night she mentioned my nieces. One second, I had been listening to her, and the next, heat had surged through me so fast it had felt impossible to control.
It was easy for her to say she had never meant to put the girls in danger, but at the end of the day, she had joined hands with Jeremy to extort money from them. She had then taken the same money and created her little empire… or had that happened after she met her rich husband?
The thought should have satisfied the version of events I had believed for years.
Instead, my mind kept returning to her face that night.
The shock in her eyes had not looked forced. Neither had the panic in her voice when I told her about the girls needing therapy.
She had looked genuinely horrified.
My fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel.
Why?
If she had known everything Jeremy planned, why had she reacted like that?
The memory of her trembling hands and uneven breathing replayed itself in my head.
I had been shot because of her.
That fact had been burned into my memory.
But watching her apologize that night had stirred another question I could not shake.
Had she been hurt too?
Most of my memories from that time still felt fractured and incomplete. I remembered flashes of pain, the hospital, voices around me, and then waking up to learn she had already been discharged. I had gone straight to her apartment afterward, desperate for answers, only to find the place empty.
She had vanished from my life within days.
Then there was the letter.
Just thinking about it made my pulse jump harder against my throat.
That letter had been the foundation beneath every ounce of anger I had carried for years, yet her reaction that night had not matched the woman I had convinced myself she was.
I remembered sitting back down on the couch and forcing myself to calm down because rage was getting me nowhere. Losing control would only drive her further away and bury the truth deeper.
So I had forced myself to stay calm and listen.
I had watched her carefully, hoping she might reveal something new.
I had waited, but she didn’t say anything further.
Even now, driving toward her house again, my mind kept circling the same thought.
She had sworn on her children.
No mother would do that.
No mother would risk something so sacred unless she was telling the truth.
Would she?
The familiar road came into view, and I loosened one hand from the steering wheel long enough to rub at the tension gathering along my jaw.
I still had not told my parents or siblings that I was working with Jiya again. I knew that conversation was inevitable, but for now, I wanted to keep this separate from the rest of my life, without inviting complications.
The letter in my pocket served as a constant reminder of why I should have stayed away from her entirely.
Yet, something inside me had begun to shift.
Working with her, seeing her regularly at the office and in her home, had forced me to reconsider everything I thought I knew. There were too many contradictions.
Nothing aligned cleanly anymore.
The more time I spent with her, the more convinced I became that something else must have happened all those years ago… something I had not seen, something I had not understood, something that had changed everything before she disappeared from my life.
And I intended to uncover the truth, no matter where it led and what it cost me.