Caleb
Isat in the back seat of the car and told the chauffeur to head back to the hotel.
Little did I know how the ride into the city in the morning would change my life forever. I could not focus on anything except Nyah’s picture in the gallery from the weekend. I had kept studying it, searching for some hidden meaning, some explanation that would make sense of what I was seeing.
The painting captured a moment between two people who shared an intimacy. I kept wondering who had painted her like that—who had looked at her with such devotion—as if he had known her in ways I once had. That alone made me want to punch a hole in the wall.
I had doubted myself at the restaurant. I had blamed alcohol then, but there was no doubt seeing her today. She was not a figment of my imagination, and there was no alcohol involved.
Now, looking out the window, my thoughts spiralled in every direction. I could not hold on to a single clear idea. Seeing her again after all these years had cracked something open inside me.
Her face refused to leave me.
Her voice echoed in my ears.
Her eyes followed me wherever I turned.
Watching her present the project earlier, I could not deny how passionate she seemed. Her face lit up as she spoke, her brown eyes had sparkled.
For more than three and a half years, I had searched for her everywhere and found nothing, chasing leads that vanished like smoke the moment I reached for them.
But as I sat in the conference room, I was stunned that she was real, standing only a few feet away from me, breathing the same air and occupying the same space.
Questions crowded my mind like a relentless drumbeat. How had she ended up here? How had she built a new life so easily, slipping into another identity as though the past had never existed? And how had she managed to marry into this family without anyone seeing through her constructed lies?
I had seen her expression change when our eyes had met, but I wasn’t sure if she had been uncomfortable or shocked seeing me there, frozen in the moment of recognition.
I couldn’t read her, and that uncertainty gnawed at me like a persistent itch I could not scratch.
Then again, she was a good actress, and she always had been one, capable of wearing masks so convincing that even the sharpest observer could be fooled.
She had tricked me into falling in love with her, only to take the money at the end with the fake story that she had made up, leaving behind nothing but betrayal and unanswered questions.
Her alliance with Jeremy—her foster father, or so she claimed—had been proven when I saw the pictures of her taking the money from the driver at her apartment, the evidence laid out in front of me like a verdict I could not challenge.
My father’s eyes had bulged when he saw the proof himself, as the truth shattered the image he had built of her.
He used to sing her praises constantly as an employee and a mother, defending her character with unwavering confidence, never imagining that the woman he trusted could deceive us all.
Nyah had even used Lucas to achieve her goal, pulling at my heart in ways that still stung whenever his name crossed my mind.
The boy I missed and loved like my own son had become collateral damage in a scheme I never saw coming.
I remembered picking him up from school, dropping him off in the mornings, and attending his social events with Nyah, standing proudly beside them as though we were a real family.
Everything had been snatched away from me in a single ruthless act of duplicity, leaving behind a hollow space where those memories used to live.
Had she done the same thing here? Had she scammed this family too, slipping into their lives with the same calculated charm she had once used on me while waiting for the perfect moment to strike again?
The thought settled heavily in my chest.
I had watched Liam praise her. I had seen the respect in the way he spoke to her, the trust between them obvious even from across the room.
Years ago, I had trusted her too.
Had she somehow convinced this family to believe in her the same way I once had? Had she built herself another life behind another carefully crafted story?
I didn't know, but I intended to find out and warn them, because accusations without proof would only make me look like a bitter man chasing ghosts from the past. I had learned that lesson the hard way, and I was not going to make the same mistake twice.
There was no doubt that I was going to be the investor for this project. I would outbid anyone who tried to stand in my way, no matter the cost or the consequences. I didn’t care how much money it took or how many competitors I had to push aside, because this was no longer just business.
Even though I had to check with my brother and sisters first, I already knew I didn’t want to waste any more time.
I wasn’t about to give her the chance to slip away again.
I didn’t know how many other people she had pitched this project to, but I was determined to win this.
No matter what obstacles stood in my way, I would secure my place in this project.
And that’s exactly what I did when she finished her presentation.
Liam had confirmed that he would send the contract over shortly, and we sealed the deal with a handshake, polite smiles, and professional courtesy.
When the meeting ended, and our hands touched again, a spark ran through me, like a live wire snapping against bare skin. My pulse reacted before my mind could stop it, betraying emotions I had no intention of acknowledging.
This was not over.
Not by a long shot.
By the time I reached the hotel, my pulse was still racing. I went straight to Greg and told him everything that had happened at the meeting, the words spilling out of me faster than I could control them.
Through Canada411, I tracked her down and managed to get her address and phone number.
“I’ve got to find out everything I can about her,” I told him, pacing the room like a caged animal.
“This is crazy, Caleb,” Greg said, blinking rapidly and growing still, watching me. “You’re getting married in three months. This is not healthy.”
“I know it’s not healthy,” I shot back, dragging my hand through my hair. “But this happening right before my wedding feels like… I don’t know… a sign. Fate. Destiny. Something.”
The words sounded irrational even to my own ears.
“I’m not saying I’m getting back with her,” I continued, my voice rising as anger pushed its way forward. “I hate her. I hate what she did to me. To my family.”
Memories rushed in, slicing through whatever control I had left. Every lie she had told. Every story she had spun. Every moment that had collapsed beneath the weight of treachery.
“I need to make her pay,” I said. “I need to make her feel pain. I need to get this out of my system before I get married.”
Greg stepped closer and placed his hand on my shoulder, like someone trying to hold back a man standing too close to the edge of a cliff.
“Are you sure this is what will make you happy?” he asked quietly. “Will you walk away and feel better after you get your revenge?”
“Yes,” I answered immediately, the certainty in my voice surprising even me. “I know I will. I know that everything inside me—all the anger, all the hurt, all the darkness—will finally disappear once she feels what I felt.” What I still feel…
“You’re wrong, Caleb,” Greg said, shaking his head slowly. “You’ll only end up hurting yourself. Don’t do this.”
“Cancel the rest of the bachelor party,” I said, my tone rising before I could stop it. “You guys can go home tomorrow, or tonight, for all I care.”
I looked straight at him, daring him to challenge me.
“If you can’t support me and help me, then you can leave too. I’ll be here until the end of the week.”
Greg stared for a long time and then broke eye contact. He lowered his head, sighing heavily. “Fine,” he said at last, before turning and walking away.
The sound of the door closing behind him echoed through the room, leaving me alone with the fire building inside me.
It took a while for my anger to cool, though it never truly disappeared. Greg’s words haunted my mind, circling like vultures waiting for the right moment to land.
I was going to be working with her.
Nyah…
Jiya…
Whatever her name was now.
I did not even know what to call her anymore, and that irritated me.
That night, I tossed and turned in bed, the sheets twisting around my legs. The ceiling above me felt too close, the room too quiet, my thoughts too loud.
Finally, unable to take it any longer, I reached for my phone and pulled up the picture of the painting.
Her face appeared on the screen.
She looked the same… the same eyes… the same expression… the same pull that had once drawn me toward her without effort.
My chest constricted as I stared at the image.
She was so close. Her house was only minutes from the hotel. The distance between us had shrunk from years to streets, from memories to reality.
Was she thinking about me the way I was thinking about her? Was she lying in bed beside her husband, wrapped in his arms, without a single trace of guilt? Had she built a new life so easily while I was still carrying the wreckage of the old one?
The questions kept multiplying, each one feeding the next, until my mind felt like a maze with no exit.
How had she ended up working in this field? Was she working in her husband’s office before marrying him? Had she moved from one man to another before finally settling down with her husband because of his wealth?
The next morning, while having breakfast, I noticed that only Greg had shown up.
“Where are the other two?” I asked, my voice low.
“I told them that work had come up and that you would have to cut this trip short,” Greg replied.
I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing just enough to keep me from snapping again.
I knew it was not his fault. I had taken my frustration out on him when he had done nothing to deserve it. The person responsible for my anger was somewhere in this village, living her life as if nothing had ever happened.
“I’m sorry for my words yesterday,” I said, lowering my eyes briefly. “I was rude. I was angry. I was completely caught off guard, and I just needed to vent.” I looked back up at him. “I just want to understand why she did what she did.”
“I understand,” he said. “But let go of your anger and talk to her. Find out everything from her side before you take things to another level.” He sighed. “Don’t turn this into a revenge trip.”
“Fine,” I replied. “I’m going to be working with her anyway. Let’s see how that goes.”
The truth was simple.
My anger had not disappeared. It had only stepped back, waiting for the right moment to strike again.
The question was not whether it would return.
The question was when.
That night, I sat alone in my hotel room and began researching the company online. I searched through their website, business listings, and public records, scrolling through page after page.
There was no mention of her name anywhere, not in the leadership profiles, not in the employee listings, and not in the archived press releases.
Every search led back to the same person.
Cole Harris.
A photograph of him appeared on the screen.
He was a good-looking man, confident in the way he stood, with the kind of smile that suggested certainty and control, as though he had never doubted his place in the world.
The short biography beneath the picture mentioned his wife, Eva, and their daughter, Chloe, presenting them as the perfect family, the kind of image that belonged in glossy magazines and corporate brochures.
The words blurred in front of me.
If the names and information on the website were true, then where did Nyah… Jiya… fit into all of this?
Cole and Eva seemed like intensely private people, which explained why very little information about either of them could be found online. Just like Jiya, they had guarded their personal lives carefully.
I kept digging anyway, my jaw clenching as I tried to piece the truth together while each new page revealed absolutely nothing useful.
And then it struck me.
The answer appeared so suddenly that it felt obvious.
The painting.
The way she had looked in it.
The softness in her eyes.
The intimacy the artist had captured so effortlessly.
That portrait wasn't the work of someone observing from a distance. It had been painted by someone who knew her. Someone who cared about her deeply.
My stomach tightened.
Was that it?
Had she been involved with Cole Harris while he was still married?
I leaned back in my chair, staring at his photograph again as the pieces began falling into place inside my head.
It would explain the painting. It would explain why she had disappeared. It would explain why she had built an entirely new life in Cowichan Bay without ever looking back.
The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became.
Maybe the woman who had judged me so harshly all those years ago wasn't nearly as innocent as she had pretended to be.
She must have come between him and his family, just like she had accused me of doing.
She had been furious with me over Caroline—over something that had never even happened—and now here she was, married to a man who already had a wife and child, living a life built on deception while pretending to stand on higher ground.
The irony twisted inside me, bitter and metallic against my tongue.
A bitter laugh escaped me.
So much for her being the innocent one. So much for her being the victim.
She never failed to surprise me.
Not anymore.