Epilogue
~ Five Years Ago ~
Christian Evans was never the type of man to dwell on emotions.
He buried them deep, locked them away where they couldn’t touch him. But today was different. Today, his demons clawed their way to the surface, dragging him back to the memory that haunted him for decades.
The snow fell in thick, silent sheets, blanketing the city in an unforgiving white. The cold was biting, seeping through the thin fabric of his white button-down, numbing his skin until he could barely feel his own body.
His hands trembled slightly as he flicked open the empty pack of cigarettes. He scowled at it, crushing the carton in his fist before shoving it deep into his pocket. The nicotine haze had kept him company for most of the night, masking the suffocating weight of his thoughts. But now that the last cigarette was gone, his mind was loud—too loud.
His breath came out in short puffs of steam, his jaw clenched so tightly that it ached. He had spent the entire night wandering aimlessly, letting the frigid air bite into him, hoping it would freeze the memories out of his mind.
But nothing could erase that day.
A small boy, barely five, left alone in the middle of a crowded street, watching his mother walk away. His small, numb fingers clutching at the hem of her coat, his tiny voice calling out for her. She hadn’t turned back. Not once. She had just kept walking, disappearing into the faceless crowd, leaving him there—cold, hungry, abandoned.
A deep, sharp pang of something unnameable shot through his chest. Every year, on this exact day, it happened—an ache that never faded. He could still see it, still feel it, like a phantom pain that never quite healed.
His boots sank into the fresh layer of snow with every restless step, the crunching sound barely registering in his ears. He paced in front of a small café, his breath misting in the air, his pulse an erratic rhythm against his ribs. Inside, the world was warm—soft golden lights bathed the space in an inviting glow, the rich scent of coffee curled through the air, and the sound of clinking cups and murmured laughter wove together in a comforting hum.
He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, his fingers stiff and aching from the cold, but the sting barely cut through the deeper emptiness lodged in his chest. The kind of cold that no amount of heat could chase away.
His gaze flicked across the street, drawn to the quiet movement of a woman and a child. The woman walked briskly, her coat flaring slightly as she moved, her focus elsewhere. Behind her, a small boy struggled to keep up, his tiny boots slipping slightly on the icy pavement.
Christian stopped breathing.
The boy’s breath came in rapid white puffs, his little legs moving as fast as they could, his arms reaching out desperately—trying to grasp something, someone. His mother. His safety.
Christian’s stomach twisted violently. His pulse slammed against his ribs, hard and fast, like a trapped bird beating against its cage.
The mother wasn’t abandoning him—she was just distracted, moving too fast. The child wasn’t crying, just trying to keep up. Trying to hold on.
But Christian wasn’t standing on this street anymore.
The present shattered, the world around him darkening at the edges as a memory, raw and vicious, pulled him under.
Snow-covered pavement blurred into something else—something harsher, colder, lonelier. A different street, a different winter. His small frame shivering violently, his breath coming in broken gasps, his heart pounding with the same desperate rhythm. His tiny fingers, numb from the cold, outstretched toward the fading figure ahead.
"Mom—"
His throat burned, but the word barely made a sound, swallowed by the unforgiving winter air. His legs ached, but he kept running, kept reaching, kept trying—until his little body couldn’t take it anymore, until his knees hit the frozen ground, until the cold seeped into his bones, stealing his breath, stealing everything.
The past and present bled together in a dizzying wave, crashing over him so forcefully that his vision wavered. His fingers twitched, curling into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms, but he barely felt it. His breathing became shallow. His body locked up, stiff with anxiety. His fingers twitched, curling into tight fists as the air around him seemed to close in. His vision darkened at the edges. He had to fight to stay standing. His legs felt weak, his body unsteady, as if at any moment, he would collapse onto the frozen pavement.
Trapped.
Distantly, he heard a car door open. The woman across the street had stopped. She turned, noticing her child, and without hesitation, she reached for him. She lifted him into her arms, murmuring something softly before placing him in the backseat of a car, buckling him in, securing him.
Christian’s chest rose on a sharp inhale. The panic clawing at Christian’s throat loosened, but only slightly.
His gaze lingered on the mother and child as they drove away, their taillights disappearing down the snow-covered road.
The cold still bit at his skin. The ache in his chest hadn’t faded.
And yet, for a moment, he could breathe again.
He tore his gaze away, his entire body trembling from the effort of holding himself together. His breath was ragged, uneven. His fingers, ice-cold and rigid, pressed against his temples as he fought to steady himself.
And then, a soft gasp pulled him back to reality. His head snapped up.
A woman stood at the entrance of the café, her large, expressive eyes locked onto him. There was something delicate about her—something soft. Her features were gentle, her lips slightly parted, her brows knitted together in concern. The golden glow from inside the café framed her, casting her in a warm light, making her look almost unreal against the cold, stark backdrop of the street.
Christian froze. Even through his haze of exhaustion, grief, and self-loathing, he noticed the effect she had on him. Something shifted inside him, something small but undeniable.
She hesitated for only a moment before disappearing back into the café. He blinked, startled, his body tensing as he prepared himself to be alone again. But then—
She returned.
In her hands, she carried a steaming cup of coffee and a small cake. She walked toward him, hesitantly but determined, and held them out.
“I thought you might need this,” she said softly, offering a small, uncertain smile.
Christian stared at her. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He simply watched her, his head slightly tilted, as if trying to decide whether she was real or a hallucination brought on by the cold and his sleepless night.
The scent of the coffee cut through his fog—the rich, bitter aroma mixed with the subtle sweetness of vanilla. And then, her scent. Something delicate, warm. Something that seeped into his bones, melting the ice he had carefully built around himself.
His fingers twitched. Slowly, he reached out. Their hands brushed as he took the cup from her. A small, fleeting touch.
Relief.
That was the only way to describe what he felt in that moment. A deep, unexplainable relief that settled in his chest, easing the unbearable ache he had carried all night.
But before he could say a word, before he could even think of what to do next, she stepped away. And walked away.
Christian’s eyes stayed glued to her figure, following every graceful movement as she crossed the street. His body was still frozen, unable to react, until he saw her climbing onto a bus.
Then, something inside him snapped.
He lurched forward, nearly spilling his coffee. His pulse roared in his ears as he ran toward the bus, his boots crunching against the fresh snow. His muscles burned from the sudden movement, but he didn’t care. He needed to be close to her. He needed more of whatever strange, unexpected comfort she had just given him.
But he was too late.
The doors closed. The bus pulled away, taking her with it.
Christian stood there, panting, his breath coming in sharp bursts. His hands clenched around the coffee cup, his knuckles white.
He had never wanted anything more in his life.
***
The office was suffocating that day. The usual chatter of employees, the clacking of keyboards, and the constant hum of ringing phones all blurred into a monotonous, mind-numbing buzz. Christian sat at his desk, his fingers curled into a tight fist against the mahogany surface, his mind far from the numbers flashing on his computer screen.
His jaw was locked, his thoughts tangled in a loop of frustration and longing. No matter how much he tried to shake it off, she remained imprinted in his memory—the girl with the kind eyes, the delicate hands that had brushed against his when she handed him that steaming cup of coffee. A simple moment, yet it had left a mark deep in his soul, an imprint he couldn’t erase no matter how much he willed himself to move on.
Across the desk, Sawyer leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze never missing a thing. His closest friend, his best friend, and perhaps the only person in this entire world who could speak to him without fear of repercussions. Sawyer had spent enough time around Christian to notice when something was off. And today, something was definitely off.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sawyer commented, arching a brow as he took a sip of his coffee. His voice was light, teasing, but his eyes held curiosity.
Christian exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as if he could force the ache from his head. “I need to find out who she is.”
Sawyer blinked, setting his coffee down. “Who?”
Christian’s jaw ticked. His throat felt tight, as if saying the words would somehow make his obsession more real. But there was no avoiding it. He had already surrendered to this need.
“The girl.”
Sawyer’s brows furrowed. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, man. You meet a lot of girls.”
Christian shot him a glare, sharp and unamused. “The one from the cafe. The one who gave me coffee.”
There was a pause. Then, Sawyer let out a low chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, you’re serious.”
Christian’s grip tightened on the pen in his hand, his patience wearing thin.
Sawyer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Look, man, I don’t want to be that guy, but do you hear yourself? You don’t even know her name, and you’re out here trying to track her down like some kind of romantic vigilante.” He shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “If you go digging into some random woman’s life, it’s going to come off as creepy. You’re the CEO of a billion-dollar company, not some lovesick teenager.”
Christian clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking in irritation. He knew Sawyer had a point. He wasn’t the type to chase after women. In fact, he barely let himself get involved beyond business-level relationships. And yet, this was different.
This woman had managed to unravel something inside him with a single stare. He hadn’t even thanked her. He had just stood there, frozen, watching her disappear.
Days passed. Then a week.
He told himself to let it go. To forget about the girl with the warm eyes and the soft voice. But she lingered. In the scent of coffee wafting through the office, in the flickering memory of her concerned gaze. It was maddening. He was losing sleep, staring at the ceiling every night, wondering if he’d ever see her again.
Then fate intervened.
A thick folder landed on his desk one morning, a dull thud against the polished wood.
Christian barely glanced at it. These things weren’t his concern—Samuel handled the approval of interns. Normally, Christian wouldn’t have even bothered flipping through it. But today, boredom, or maybe something else, something restless and unshakable, had him reaching for the folder.
His fingers brushed over the crisp edges of the pages as he absentmindedly flipped through them, skimming past names and faces he didn’t recognize, faces that didn’t matter.
And then—
His breath stalled.
His hand froze mid-turn, his grip tightening on the sheet as his gaze locked onto a single photograph.
Everything around him—the quiet hum of the office, the distant murmurs of his employees, the steady ticking of the clock on the wall—faded into nothing.
The world shrank to the image in front of him.
A woman.
Her eyes held an unmistakable warmth, but there was something in them, something guarded, something hauntingly familiar. Her soft features stirred a memory buried deep in his chest, one he had never been able to shake. The shape of her lips, the delicate curve of her jaw, the way her hair fell over her shoulders—it hit him like a fist to the gut.
His pulse slammed against his ribs.
No. It couldn’t be.
His breathing grew shallow as his gaze darted to the text beneath the image. His heart pounded so violently it drowned out every other sound as he read the name written there.
Ivy Watson.
The name rolled through his mind, foreign and yet—familiar. Like a delicate whisper.
His fingers clenched around the paper, his knuckles turning white.
It was her.
A sharp scrape echoed through the office as his chair shot back against the floor. The abrupt movement jolted Sawyer, who had been sitting across from him, flipping through his own paperwork.
“The hell—” Sawyer started, blinking in confusion.
But Christian wasn’t listening. His body moved on instinct, his muscles coiled tight with a need he hadn’t felt in years. He snatched his coat from the back of his chair, his movements sharp, purposeful.
Sawyer frowned, his gaze flicking to the folder still open on Christian’s desk. “Where are you going?”
Christian barely spared him a glance.
“To find my future wife.”
***
He thought he could forget her—now he can’t stop chasing her.
"I don’t like you enough to marry you, but you’re good enough to be kept as my mistress."
Sienna Donovan spent five years of her life with Adrian Vaughn, only to be tossed aside like she meant nothing. So, she did the unthinkable—she walked away first and married her best friend.
Theo Montgomery became the perfect husband, giving her everything Adrian never did: private jets, villas, fancy cars, his fortune, and vacations in paradise. Their love was the envy of all, their perfect life the hottest gossip in the country.
And watching it all drives Adrian insane with jealousy.
His arrogance cost him the one woman who loved him unconditionally, and now, watching her with another man is eating him alive.
"I’ll destroy everything that stands between us—even your husband."
Adrian crashes back into Sienna’s life—seducing her, begging for a second chance, surrendering to her every command. He’s willing to become her slave, her servant, her worshipper. He’ll sacrifice everything he has, even his pride and sanity.
There’s only one thing he wants: for her to love him again.