CHAPTER 47
CHRISTIAN'S POV
The call had come. The shipment had landed, the money was in. I stared at my screen like a man possessed. A feast for the eyes. Numbers stacked high, zeros bleeding into more zeros, the kind of sight that should have made me smile. And yet…my mind wasn't there.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down. The fat bank account was sweet—but nothing mattered. Nothing except Brenda. My heart twisted thinking of her, of our child. Seven months. Seven fucking months. Could she have had the baby already? Only if it had been premature. And what if she was hiding it? What if something had gone wrong?
I buried my face in my hands. "Fuck it," I hissed, voice hoarse even to my own ears. My chest heaved, each heartbeat like a drum of panic. My life had always been chaos, but this—this was personal. Dangerous in a way that made my blood run hot.
I grabbed my phone. Dialed Reginald. My fingers trembled against the screen.
"Hey. I know you know something about Brenda's whereabouts," I said, trying to keep it steady.
Silence. Then gulping. The bastard was probably drinking.
"Okay, look… I need to find her!" I pushed harder, my voice cracking with desperation.
"Why should I tell you where she is?" Reginald asked, calm, cold. His tone cut like a blade through me, unfeeling.
"I know I fucked up," I admitted, shame burning my throat, "and probably said shit I didn't mean. But I really…need to find her. For her. And…our child."
The words hit me like a slap in the face. Karma. A merciless bitch. I hoped—prayed—that it wouldn't steal Brenda from me. Or worse…my unborn child.
Click. Reginald hung up.
Then my phone buzzed. A picture. My chest seized before I even opened it. Brenda. Yellow sundress. Belly round and heavy with life. Her hair—cornrows, small and precise, braided to perfection. The sunlight kissed her skin, made her glow. Radiant. Happy. Alive. And she didn't need me.
A note: "I don't think she needs you. Don't even think she ever looked that happy with you."
I froze. My entire body screamed, but my mind, my gut, wouldn't let me look away. The picture had been taken at that exact moment, as we were speaking. And there she was…at the beach. The sand. The water. The sunlight falling across her like she owned the world. And she looked…untouchable.
I begged Reginald for her location. The way she moved. The smile on her face. The tiny details only someone watching would know.
He refused.
"You drove her out of your life," he spat through the line. "I won't bring her back. You'll have to look for her yourself, because I ain't telling you shit."
Fuck. My blood burned hotter than the summer sun. Rage. Guilt. Fear. All colliding in my chest. I had nothing. Nothing but this picture.
I studied it. Every detail. The angle of the sun. The people around her. And then…my eyes caught it. Something at the far left of the frame. A shadow. A clue.
Bingo.
BRENDA'S POV
Life in Hawaii had been a slow, sweet exhale, the kind of life that sneaks into your bones and refuses to leave. The island sun didn't just shine—it blazed, warming every inch of your skin, brushing your cheeks with golden heat, pulling out every shadow you'd tried to bury. The air tasted of salt and crushed flowers, thick with humidity that made your hair curl and your skin sticky in the best way. The ocean wasn't just water—it was a living, breathing beast, rolling and crashing with a force that demanded respect. I could feel it in my chest, a distant thunder of waves that reminded me life was beautiful, but it was also dangerous. And for the first time in forever, I belonged somewhere.
I had sold everything back in the States. Ninety percent of it went into a trust for my child. A tiny, perfect human I had yet to meet, and yet every thought of him made my chest ache with longing. I was building a sanctuary, a cocoon of sand, surf, and sunlight. Even the little apartment I had found was perfect in its simplicity—one bedroom, a parlor, a living room, and a bathroom. Fifteen steps from the sparkling blue sea, where the waves whispered secrets I pretended to understand.
Work at the restaurant was humbling, grounding. No one knew me. No one asked about my past. I was Akila, a server with a smile and an apron, and it was enough.
"You look nice, Akila!" Leila called out, her smile infectious as she carried a plate to a table.
I laughed, pulling at the loose fabric of my dress. "You know I look like a cow, right?"
"Oh, you know?" she teased, frowning in mock seriousness. I nudged her shoulder, and she burst out laughing.
Bright Jack, the manager, stepped in then, his presence filling the small restaurant. His eyes softened on me, worry lurking beneath the usual teasing.
"I thought I told you not to come in today. Brenda, I don't want you overworking yourself," he said, concern heavy in his voice.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a handkerchief, exhausted from the small, everyday labor that had felt like a blessing rather than a burden.
"See?" he said, pointing. "Not even hot, but you're sweating. Clear indication to take a break."
"I promise—today's my last day," I sighed, my hand resting over my swelling belly. "It gets lonely at the house."
His lips curved, gentle and teasing. "Watch people eat? Creepy." He rubbed my shoulder before leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. "I just want you—and your baby—to be safe."
And in that moment, I felt it—the overwhelming weight of love for my unborn child. I placed my hand on my stomach, feeling him shift, kicking, alive and ferocious. He was already strong, already demanding. Already reminding me that this life, no matter how far from chaos or danger, was mine to fight for.
I headed home, walking through soft sand that seemed to glow under the late afternoon sun. The ocean sparkled a thousand different shades of blue, each wave singing the same lullaby of freedom I craved. Paradise, yes—but a paradise I had earned with every sacrifice, every scar, every sleepless night spent planning, hiding, surviving.
I barely drifted off when the helicopter's roar dragged me from sleep. My eyes snapped open, heart hammering like a war drum. What the hell now?
Outside, men in black tuxedos moved with precision, their backs turned to me. My pulse spiked. Then one of the islanders—an anchor in the chaos—looked up, smiled, and pointed at me. In an instant, the men pivoted, their eyes locking onto mine. My baby kicked for the first time since the commotion, thrashing violently against my belly as if he knew the danger before I did.
Every nerve in my body screamed. The air became thick, cloying. My limbs felt disconnected, foreign, like I was no longer entirely myself. My chest tightened, every breath shallow, every heartbeat echoing in my skull. One of the men stepped forward, closer, and pain and panic collided inside me.
Before I could react, my body was lifted. Air replaced the ground beneath my feet, and darkness spread over my vision like ink spilling into water.
I landed on something impossibly soft, silky, unfamiliar. My back sank into it, warmth engulfing me, a stark contrast to the bracing sharpness of Hawaii's wind and sand. When had I last slept in a bed like this? When had I last allowed myself this luxury, this oblivion?
Slowly, my eyes opened. The first thing I saw was a chandelier dripping with crystal, scattering light across the room like shattered rainbows. My senses buzzed—sight, sound, smell—all alien, intoxicating. The salty ocean air, the familiar smell of flowers and sun-warmed sand…none of it was here. This wasn't Hawaii.
The doorknob turned. A tall figure entered. Not just anyone—the man whose presence had made my unborn child kick as though the world itself trembled. The man whose existence had already invaded my dreams before this moment, whose very proximity sent every instinct in me scrambling.
And just like that, the room held its breath. I held mine too.