The business lounge smells like expensive coffee and quiet desperation. I find a corner seat away from the other travelers and dial Zachary's number before I can talk myself out of it.
He answers on the first ring. "Adison."
"I need you to handle something." I keep my voice low, professional. "If anyone asks where I am, I'm on a business trip. Scouting potential investment properties in the Southwest."
"Investment properties." He repeats the words slowly, and I can hear him processing the lie I'm asking him to tell. "That's the story you want me to give?"
"That's the story that protects the company." I watch a family pass by the lounge entrance, their luggage bright with vacation stickers. "A grieving CEO disappearing to visit a ranch would raise questions. A strategic business trip makes sense."
"Of course." His agreement comes too fast. Too smooth. "Whatever you need."
Something in his tone makes my stomach tighten. That undercurrent of disappointment he thinks he's hiding. The concern that sounds more like ownership.
"The board won't question it?" I press. "Gideon's already looking for weaknesses."
"I'll handle Gideon." Zachary's voice firms with purpose. "But Adison—are you sure about this? Leaving so soon after assuming the position? The timing seems..."
"Seems what?"
"Concerning." He pauses. "You've only been CEO for days. People will notice your absence."
"That's why I have you." The deflection rolls off my tongue, hollow but effective. "You wanted to be my right-hand man. Here's your chance to prove it."
"I wanted to be more than that." The words slip out before he catches himself. "I mean—I wanted to support you in every capacity."
I close my eyes. Count to three. "Everything will be fine, Zachary. Two weeks. Maybe less."
"And if I need to reach you?"
"You have my number." I stand, gathering my carry-on. "I will work remotely. We will even organize Google Meet meetings."
I end the call before he can respond. Before the weight of his expectations can settle any deeper into my chest.
"There you are."
The voice comes from behind me—young, confident, carrying the particular edge of someone who knows exactly how beautiful they are.
I turn and find Violet Snyder watching me with eyes that could cut glass.
The transformation is stunning. The last time I saw Victoria's daughter, she was fifteen and sulking at a charity dinner, all gangly limbs and teenage resentment. The woman standing before me now is something else entirely.
Nineteen. Arresting in ways that command attention and know it. Dark hair cascading past shoulders that carry the confidence of someone who's never been ignored in her life.
Behind her, a blonde girl with softer features hovers uncertainly. Paige, I assume. The friend Victoria mentioned.
"Adison Ward." Violet's gaze travels over me with cutting precision—the shadows under my eyes, the pallor I couldn't quite conceal with makeup, the exhaustion carved into every line of my face. "You look terrible."
"Violet." I don't flinch from the assessment. "Good to see you too."
"Why are you here?" She crosses her arms, stance widening like she's preparing for battle. "Mom said this was supposed to be our trip. Two weeks of fresh air and cowboys. She didn't mention anything about a chaperone."
"I'm not your chaperone." I adjust the strap of my bag, buying time. "I needed to get away from the city."
"Right." Violet's laugh carries no warmth. "The grieving daughter escaping condolences. How convenient."
"Violet." Paige touches her friend's arm, voice gentle. "Her father just died. Maybe don't—"
"It's fine." I cut her off, meeting Violet's skepticism head-on. "Your mother offered me a chance to visit my father's oldest friend. I took it. The timing works for everyone."
"Does it?" Violet tilts her head, studying me like I'm a puzzle she's already solved. "Because it seems like you're running from something. Or toward something. I haven't decided which."
The accuracy of her observation lands harder than it should. I hold her gaze without wavering.
"Think whatever you want. We have a plane to catch."
* * *
The flight feels endless.
I take a window seat, hoping the physical distance will create a buffer. It doesn't. Violet and Paige settle two rows behind me, and their whispered conversations carry just enough for me to catch fragments.
Laughter. The kind that sounds pointed even when it probably isn't.
I stare out the window at clouds that look like cotton stretched thin. Try not to think about what's waiting in Texas. Or who's waiting.
The pregnancy test result burns in my memory like a brand.
Halfway through the flight, I glance back to ask about drink preferences. Violet is watching me. Not casually—deliberately. Those sharp eyes cataloging something she plans to use later.
A problem brewing. I recognize the signs because I used to be that girl. The one who saw everything and wielded observations like weapons.
I turn back to the window and say nothing.
By the end of the flight, I am lost in my thoughts. The landing was smooth. And here it is, dear Texas.
Its heat hits me the moment we step off the plane. Familiar. Suffocating. The air tastes like dust and memory and choices I can't unmake.
The airport is small—barely more than a regional hub—and the handful of people waiting for arrivals cluster near the exit doors.
I see him immediately.
Jake stands exactly where he stood almost a year ago, when I arrived as a reluctant exile with designer luggage and an attitude sharp enough to draw blood. Same posture. Same cowboy hat shadowing his features. Same presence that makes the air around him feel different somehow.
He hasn't seen me yet. His eyes scan the arriving passengers, looking for two teenage girls and whatever trouble Victoria warned him about.
Then his gaze finds mine.
His expression fractures.
Shock bleeds through the careful control he wears like armor. His jaw tightens. His shoulders go rigid. Something raw and unguarded flashes across his face before he can lock it down.
The air between us turns heavy. Weighted with everything unspoken—the phone calls I ignored, the text I never answered, the life growing inside me that he knows nothing about.
I stop walking. Can't seem to make my legs carry me forward.
Two lines. His child. My secret.
The distance between us feels like miles instead of feet.
Then Violet steps deliberately into the space between us. Her body blocks my view of Jake, her smile transforming into something honeyed and sweet.
"You must be Jake." Her voice drops to a register I recognize too well. Calculated. Flirtatious. "Mom told me so much about you."
She touches his arm. Let her fingers linger.
"Would you mind helping with my bags? They're absolutely enormous."
I watch her work—the performance, the confidence, the way she's already staking territory in a game I didn't know we were playing.
Jake's eyes find mine over her shoulder. The question in them is clear.
What are you doing here?
I have no answer that won't destroy us both.