Chapter 3

Alice's POV

My hands wouldn't stop shaking on the steering wheel. I gripped it tighter, trying to focus on the road.

"Mommy, that uncle was so nice! Can we see him again?" Rosie's voice floated up from the backseat.

"He's just a stranger, baby." I barely recognized my own voice. "He'll probably leave town soon."

"But he had the same eyes as me! Did you see?"

Of course I saw. Those gray-blue eyes were burned into my memory. I'd spent three years trying to forget them, and here they were again, staring at me across a flower market like no time had passed at all.

"That's just a coincidence, sweetheart."

Please, Rosie. Please stop talking about him.

By the time we pulled into the driveway, I felt like I was going to throw up. I practically shoved Rosie at Maria, mumbling something about a headache, and locked myself in the bedroom before anyone could ask questions.

I sank onto the edge of the bed and pressed my hands against my face. The tears came whether I wanted them to or not.

He found me. After three years of running, of hiding, of building this tiny safe life for me and Rosie, Adrian fucking Smith had walked back into my world like he had every right to be there.

And God, the worst part was how my body had reacted when I saw him. My heart had jumped. My breath had caught. For one stupid second, I'd forgotten why I left.

No. Stop it. You left for a reason. Remember why you ran.

The memories I'd been shoving down for three years came rushing back, and I couldn't stop them.

*Those three years in the penthouse. I'd thought I was so lucky at first. Moving from that cramped studio with the leaky faucet into Adrian's gorgeous apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. I'd felt like some kind of modern-day Cinderella, except the prince never actually proposed.

I'd play house every night. Make dinner, wait for him to come home from work, eat across from him at that massive dining table. We'd talk about nothing important. He'd ask about the flower shop, I'd ask about his day. Sometimes he'd help me with the dishes.

He was good to me in his own way. He remembered I took my coffee with extra foam. When the sink at the shop broke, he came over himself to fix it instead of calling someone. The night I had that terrible flu, he drove me to the emergency room at two in the morning and didn't leave until the doctor said I was fine.

But he never told me he loved me. Not once in three years.

I kept telling myself it didn't matter. That I was being greedy, wanting words when he was showing me through his actions. That I should be grateful for what I had instead of asking for more.

Then came that Christmas party, and I realized how stupid I'd been.

I'd been so excited when Adrian said he was bringing me. It felt like progress, like maybe he was finally ready to show me off as more than just the girl who lived in his apartment. I wore this silver dress that made me feel beautiful, and for once I thought maybe we looked like a real couple.

Then I went to the bathroom and heard them talking.

"She looks exactly like Isabelle, doesn't she?"

"I know, right? Same hair, same eyes. Poor thing probably has no idea she's just filling in."

"Give it time. The second Isabelle comes back from Paris, this one's gone."

I'd stood there in that bathroom stall, frozen, while these women I'd never met laughed about how pathetic I was. When I finally got myself together enough to leave, I found Adrian by the bar and asked him straight out if I was a replacement for his ex.

He went so quiet. Then he said, "You're you."

That was it. Not "I love you." Not "You're nothing like her." Just this vague non-answer that basically confirmed everything.

I should have left right then. Should have packed my stuff and walked out the next morning. But I didn't, because I was in love with him and I kept thinking maybe if I tried harder, maybe if I was patient enough, he'd eventually feel the same way.

What a joke.

Three months later, I missed my period. Then another week went by, and another, and I finally bought a pregnancy test on my way home from the shop.

I sat in the tiny bathroom at the back of the store, watching those two lines appear, and I genuinely didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Part of me was terrified. The other part kept thinking maybe this would change things. Maybe Adrian would be happy. Maybe a baby would make us into a real family instead of whatever we'd been pretending to be.

I bought these little yellow baby shoes with ducks on them. His birthday was coming up, and I thought I'd surprise him. I imagined his face when he opened the box, imagined him pulling me close and saying he was happy, that we'd figure it out together.

But a week before his birthday, I stopped by the penthouse to grab my keys, and I heard him on the phone in his office.

His mother's voice was loud enough that I could make out most of it even from the hallway. "Isabelle's finally agreed to come back to the States. The board is very pleased about the engagement prospects."

I'd pressed myself against the wall, my hand already on my stomach without realizing it.

"I'm not marrying someone for business reasons, Mother."

There was this pause, and then Eleanor's voice turned cold. "What about that girl you're keeping? I'm warning you, Adrian. I will not allow some nobody to give birth to the first Smith heir. If she gets pregnant, you know what has to be done."

The silence that followed felt like it lasted forever. I stood there, barely breathing, waiting for him to say he'd protect me, that he'd never let anyone hurt me or our baby.

Instead, he said, "I know, Mother."*