Chapter 1: At the Airport

At the airport.

Sheila Jensen stared up at the massive billboard, her eyes catching the name of her ex-boyfriend: Edmond Halley. It took her a moment to realize that this very airport was one of the Halley family's many properties.

Three years ago, standing right in front of all his friends, she had looked at him and said, "It was just a fling. I never took any of it seriously."

And just like that, they had broken up.

They hadn't seen each other since. For the past three years, Sheila had thrown herself entirely into laboratory work both locally and abroad, virtually completely cutting herself off from the outside world—and from any news regarding Edmond.

As a result, it felt like a cruel twist of fate when she stepped out of the terminal today and saw him in the underground parking garage. Born into wealth and privilege, his aristocratic aura naturally set him apart from everyone else.

Sheila found herself staring at his face—a face she had lovingly studied more times than she could ever count. He truly was excessively handsome, with eyes so deep they seemed bottomless.

When his gaze swept her way, his eyes were as unreadable as still, dark water: cold, detached, completely aloof.

Their eyes locked. In that split second, the air between them seemingly froze solid. Barely twenty feet separated them. Yet the ghosts of their shared past, woven from love and bitterness, trapped them in an invisible net they could neither fight nor escape.

"Daddy!"

The sweet, ringing voice crashed through the heavy silence like thunder, shattering the spell and shocking Sheila's muddled brain back to reality.

A chubby, stumbling little toddler barreled toward Edmond. The towering man looked down, and that famously cold, stoic face melted into a breathtaking display of pure, tender affection that almost no one had ever witnessed.

He leaned down, scooping the little figure up into his strong arms. The child enthusiastically called him Daddy several more times.

Sheila swayed on her feet, the concrete floor spinning wildly beneath her.

Edmond... was a father?

Back then, he had sworn to her that he never wanted to get married and had absolutely no desire for children.

But three years was a long time. People change, and evidently, anything was possible.

Stumbling in her panic, Sheila practically fled the scene. It was only when she was safely inside her car that she realized her palms and back were drenched in a cold sweat.

Deep inside her chest, something ached so sharply she felt she might crack wide open. It was the exact same agonizing heartbreak she had endured three years ago.

Sitting in the driver's seat, she squeezed her eyes shut as hot tears instantly blurred her vision. Her hands shook uncontrollably against the leather steering wheel.

She was in no condition to drive. Just like the very first time she had heard that soul-crushing news three years ago, she was drowning in a wave of pain she couldn't contain.

Her phone rang, and she fumbled blindly to answer it.

The party hosting her dinner was pressing her to hurry up. She couldn't afford to be late.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sheila abandoned her car and flagged down a cab to make her escape.

...

Night eventually fell over the city.

Inside a luxurious private dining room at the Varendon Hotel, Edmond sat at the head of the table. He had been out of the country for a month-long business trip, and tonight, his friends were throwing him a welcome-back dinner.

Thurston Golding, sitting right beside him, leaned over. "Mr. Ladd is in the next room. You want to head over and say hi?"

Without uttering a single word, Edmond stood up, his glass in hand.

Thurston trailed after him into the corridor. "What happened on this trip? You look terrifying. It's creeping me out."

Edmond hadn't been known to smile much over the last few years, normally wearing an impassive mask—but tonight, he looked positively lethal.

"I'm fine."

Even his voice was ice.

Thurston opened his mouth to press the issue but stopped short when Edmond suddenly froze, his sharp brows knitting together, his deep eyes frosting over completely.

Who on earth had the power to make the unflappable Edmond Halley look like he was ready to commit murder?

Following his friend's intense glare, Thurston spotted Sheila.

So it was her. The heartless woman who had used Edmond and kicked him to the curb three years ago!

Ever since she walked away, none of them had seen Edmond offer a genuine smile. His entire inner circle hated her with a burning passion.

Meanwhile, Sheila never could have guessed that a mere hour after leaving the airport, she would be slamming right into him again.

At the airport, they had only shared a distant stare. Now, they were face-to-face in a narrow hallway.

The roaring in her ears returned, bringing with it the crushing weight of the heartbreak that hadn't even begun to subside from their earlier encounter. That tiny, cheerful voice shouting 'Daddy' kept dropping like a hammer against her bruised heart.

"Well, well, if it isn't Ms. Jensen," Thurston drawled, his voice dripping with venom. "What a charming coincidence."Edmond stood completely rigid, remaining dead silent. His pitch-black eyes were locked fiercely onto Sheila. But she wasn't alone; a clean-cut, handsome man stood right beside her.

Taking a shaky, silent breath, Sheila hooked her arm through her companion's.

Caught off guard, Simon Sinclair glanced down at her grip but wisely held his tongue.

"It really is a coincidence," Sheila finally answered, managing a painfully tight smile. "Mr. Halley, Mr. Golding. It's been a while."

"Honestly, I could go the rest of my life without running into you, and I wouldn't lose a wink of sleep," Thurston scoffed. "Come on, Edmond, let's go."

Yet the man seemed cemented to the floor, glaring down at her with a fathomless, oceanic intensity that could drag someone under.

Catching the unspoken tension, Thurston pivoted back. "And your plus-one, Ms. Jensen? Aren't you going to introduce us?"

She reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smiled lightly. "This is my boyfriend."

The hallway plunged into an unbearable silence.

Simon barely blinked before throwing himself fully into the act, offering a confident, easygoing grin. "Nice to meet you both. I'm Sheila's boyfriend, Simon Sinclair."

Pulling his arm free, he wrapped it securely around her waist, tucking her close.

A sharp crack pierced the silence.

Thurston gasped in absolute horror. "Edmond!"

The expensive glass in Edmond's hand had just shattered, fragments of crystal raining silently onto the plush carpet.

"Your hand!"

"I'm fine," Edmond ground out, his tone glacial. "I just wasn't expecting... to see someone I utterly despise."

Shooting a venomous glare in Sheila's direction, Thurston forcibly grabbed his friend's uninjured arm, marching him away as quickly as possible.

Once the two men were out of sight, Sheila's legs instantly gave out. Simon scrambled to catch her. "Sheila!"

She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to him until the terrifying wave of dizziness finally passed. Gently, she pushed him away. "I'm okay."

Glancing down the empty hallway where the imposing figure had vanished, Simon asked, "Was that him? Was that Edmond Halley?"

"Let's just go," she whispered. Breathing itself felt like broken glass.

Tonight's networking dinner had been entirely organized by her mentor, York Preston. Their critical lab project had dragged on for over three years, burning through cash. With funding dried up, York had been forced to step away from the research itself to hustle up corporate investors.

Sheila was his star protégé and absolute favorite student. Incredibly bright and gifted with a rare, natural intuition for electronics research, York had banked heavily on her future.

But his own history was complicated. York had abandoned the National Science Institute years ago over fundamental creative differences with a fellow colleague. Walking away meant forfeiting access to limitless government funding, leaving him to build his private operation from scratch through sheer grit. Even through the struggles, he stubbornly refused to abandon his specific research parameters.

The guests invited tonight were heavy hitters looking to pour cash into the Institute. It had taken York calling in major personal favors to even score a meeting with them.

...

By the time the agonizingly tense dinner wrapped, it was past ten.

Simon politely dropped York off at his home first before taking Sheila back to her place.

She had stayed terrifyingly quiet the entire ride. Sinking into the leather passenger seat, her empty gaze watched the blurred city lights streak past the window.

"Let me give you some solid advice. An ex is an ex. Treat him like he's dead," Simon stated firmly as he finally pulled up to her building. "Go up there and get a good night's sleep."

"Yeah. Okay."

Stepping out of the car, her movements were stiff, like she was walking on clouds.

"Sheila."

She paused in her tracks but didn't look back.

"He has a child now. It's time to let it go," Simon's tone shifted, hardening slightly with brotherly protective authority. "You deserve so much better."

He was right. The man had a child. What was there left to hold onto?

No. Even if he hadn't become a father, they were a closed chapter! He had never taken her seriously; it had just been a game.

Sheila somehow made it up to her apartment, crashing onto the mattress while her mind kept relentlessly spiraling.

Even after three grueling years apart, she hadn't anticipated that he would still possess the ability to obliterate her defenses like this.

Sometime later, her phone loudly buzzed in the darkness. Snatching it blindly, she heard a frantic coworker screaming through the receiver. "Sheila, get down here right now! Simon is getting the life beat out of him!"

"The guy hitting him... I think it's your ex-boyfriend."By the time Sheila finally sprinted into the bar, the atmosphere remained terrifyingly volatile. Her coworker was physically holding back a battered Simon, while on the opposing side, Thurston was grappling to restrain Edmond.

Simon was staring literal daggers at the other man, looking eager to tear the man apart barehanded.

Edmond's devastatingly handsome features were tightly twisted with fierce, chaotic frustration.

This was a man who usually operated with unshakable composure. Back when they had actually been together, she had rarely ever witnessed him lose control. The singular time he had—when some drunken patron had aggressively harassed her—Edmond had completely lost it, breaking the guy's nose in a single blow.

At the time, naive and deeply in love, she had foolishly believed his violent need to protect her proved she held a profound place in his heart. But it had all just been her desperately wishing for a lie to be true.

The flood of agonizing nostalgia cut deeply into her wounded chest. She furiously resented herself for being so utterly pathetic, yet she couldn't erase the terrifying truth that she had freely surrendered her entire heart to him.

"Sheila!" her coworker practically sobbed with relief, waving her down frantically. "Get over here!"

He was quickly losing his grip on the thrashing Simon.

"Simon!" Ignoring Edmond's existence entirely, she immediately rushed to his side. "Are you alright?"

His lip was split, bleeding heavily, and his normally pristine hair was chaotic and thoroughly disheveled.

Across the room, Thurston refused to let go of his friend's collar. Having grown up beside Edmond, he understood the titan better than anyone alive. The rest of the world might only see an imposing wall of ice. But Thurston could visibly read the intense, agonizing fury bleeding through his eyes.

He had stepped out of their private booth slightly late, entirely missing whatever sparked the blowout. Evidently, something unforgivable had been said, because by the time he arrived, his elegant, controlled friend was engaged in a vicious physical brawl with the stranger.

Never in his wildest dreams did Thurston expect someone so disciplined and strictly proper to brawl in a dingy nightclub like a thug.

Any proximity to this woman—or any man who touched her—flipped a psychotic switch inside of him.

Pulling firmly at his sleeve, Thurston commanded, "We are leaving. Now."

Except, he was met with the horrifying reality that Edmond wouldn't budge a single inch.

"He threw the first punch!" Simon furiously yelled, pointing an accusatory finger. "Sheila, I'm telling you, this guy has serious violence issues! Thank God you're not with him anymore!"

After meticulously confirming Simon had no critical injuries, she finally turned, dragging her piercingly cold stare across the room to land squarely on her ex-boyfriend.

"Apologize," she demanded with venomous precision.

Their gazes furiously clashed in the dim lights, stripped clean of the obsessive passion they once shared, leaving absolutely nothing but a volatile void neither could dare vocalize.

"Hey! Who the hell do you think you're ordering around?" Thurston aggressively snapped. "You think you have the right to—"

"Thurston!"

Edmond's voice was an aggressively low growl, packed tight with a suffocating, lethal suppression.

The threat choked off whatever insult Thurston was about to spit. He aggressively stared back in complete and total bewilderment.

Was he actually about to apologize to her? This ruthless powerhouse—a man literally born to sit at the absolute pinnacle of their cutthroat society—submitting?

Edmond's blazing stare hadn't strayed from her face. It was the exact same frozen, deadened look she had brutally aimed at him three years ago when she tore out his heart. Except her vibrant face no longer carried that infectious warmth she had exclusively reserved for him.

This was the woman who had spent hours tangled up in his sheets, only to mercilessly blindside him without a singular word of genuine explanation.

It was just a fling.

That was her entire justification.

For the past three godforsaken years, trapped alone on countless sleepless nights, those poisonous words had continued to violently echo through his hollow chest.