Knowing Gideon had a child with my mother's adopted daughter, I called off the engagement and left for France. At the boarding gate, my phone vibrated like crazy, the screen flooded with Gideon's messages. "It's not what you think. Listen to me." "Stop making a scene. The engagement is still on." "Pick up the phone, I'm begging you." He refused to even touch me, yet he turned around and got that woman pregnant. The child was already four years old. I stared at the screen. It was the first time I had ever seen this perpetually cold man type the word "beg." My fingertip hovered over the power button for a full forty seconds. Finally, I powered off the phone, popped out the SIM card, and snapped it in half. I didn't set foot in this city again until six years later, when my mother fell critically ill. I had just dragged my suitcase out of the arrivals hall when my path was completely blocked. Six years unseen, Gideon had lost a lot of weight. The hostility at the corners of his eyes was heavier than before. His impeccably tailored black suit accentuated his sharp, cold shoulder lines, and under the hall's lights, the wedding ring on his knuckle stung my eyes. They really did get married. The second that realization set in, my heart didn't even ripple. He stood right in the middle of the exit. His presence was so oppressive that the people behind him barely dared to breathe—a row of bodyguards in black suits lined up all the way from the hall to the driveway outside. Seeing me walk out, he swallowed hard, his voice dropping very low. "Ivy." I didn't answer. I just dragged my suitcase and walked straight around him. Suddenly, someone grabbed my wrist. His palm was shockingly hot, the grip so strong it nearly crushed my wrist bones. "The car is waiting outside," his voice was hoarse. "I'll take you to St. Agnes Hospital." I lowered my eyes and glanced at that wedding ring. It gave off a cold, dark gleam under the lights. I pulled at the corners of my mouth and looked up at him. "There's no need, Mr. Locke. I called a ride-share." The moment the words "Mr. Locke" landed, his knuckles tightened abruptly. The pain almost made me frown. "Ivy." He kept his voice extremely low, wrapped in a layer of exhaustion that sounded like it was about to shatter. "It's been six years. You hid from me for six years, isn't that enough?" I looked straight into his eyes. I had looked at this face for a full twenty years. From running behind him through the old streets, to him blocking every guy who tried to hit on me in our teens, to the night of my debutante ball when I turned eighteen and our families finalized the engagement. He had said he would protect me for the rest of his life. I fell for him at twelve, hid my feelings at sixteen, waited to marry him at twenty-two, and ultimately ended up waiting until he and my mother's adopted daughter had a child together. "Not enough." I pulled my hand back expressionlessly. "Hiding for a lifetime wouldn't be enough." His face went pale for a second. He tried to speak again. I cut him off directly. "Move out of the way. The hospital is still waiting for me to go back and sign. My name is on my mother's medical authorization documents, and that stack of papers needs my signature." He stiffened abruptly, as if just realizing the reason I had returned to the States. "I've arranged everything for your mother," he immediately replied. "I had people expedite the matching report from the transplant center, and I coordinated with specialists from another hospital for a consultation next week. The car is right outside. I'll take you there." I stood there for five seconds. Ultimately, I bent down and got into his car.