Po porodzie przyprowadziłam dziecko na spotkanie z dziadkiem, który mnie wychował — ale w chwili, gdy zobaczył jej twarz, wybuchnął płaczem i powiedział: “To niemożliwe. Nie masz pojęcia, co zrobiłeś.”

From Sterling Holdings.

To an account belonging to Ethan Vale.

I looked at Elena.

“Was Ethan working for them?”

“No.”

“Then why did they pay him?”

“They weren’t paying him.”

She pointed to the transaction.

“That was Ethan’s money.”

“What?”

“He inherited part of Daniel’s estate.”

Samuel stared at the paper.

“Daniel left him money?”

“And evidence.”

I looked at the amount.

Nearly eighteen million dollars.

My head spun.

“Ethan had all this?”

“Yes.”

“Then why was he living like an ordinary man?”

“Because he didn’t want anyone to know.”

I remembered our first date.

The tiny coffee shop.

The old car.

The apartment with secondhand furniture.

He had never acted wealthy.

He had never bragged.

He had always said he wanted a quiet life.

And suddenly I understood why.

A quiet life was probably the only thing he had ever wanted.

Elena reached into the folder again.

“There is one more thing.”

She handed me an envelope.

My name was written on it.

Mara.

My hands shook as I opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

Ethan’s handwriting.

Mara,

If you’re reading this, I’m sorry.

I know you hate me.

You should.

I disappeared because I believed the only way to keep you alive was to make you hate me enough to forget me.

I failed.

I never stopped loving you.

I never stopped watching over you.

And when I found out about the baby, I wanted more than anything to come back.

But I couldn’t.

Not until I knew who was behind the threats.

I found out.

It’s Arthur Sterling.

He isn’t dead.

He has been living under another name for years.

And he knows about our daughter.

My heart stopped.

The letter continued.

He knows about her eyes.

He knows what they mean.