Chapter 19

The bitter wind howled, sending dead leaves swirling through the air. Vivian Lancaster stood beside her car, tightening her beige trench coat around herself. A black mask covered half her face, but the exhaustion in her eyes was unmistakable—dark circles shadowed her lower lids like bruises.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before walking toward her as if nothing were amiss.

"What do you want?"

She always found me—that much was certain. With her connections, tracking down an address was child’s play. But in the past, she couldn’t be bothered to spare me a second thought.

"I want to talk," she said, her voice hoarse, as if she hadn’t fully recovered from a cold. "Get in the car. I’d like to see your new place too."

"No need." I took half a step back. "Say what you have to say right here."

Her lashes fluttered, but unlike before, she didn’t snap at me. Instead, she silently pulled a stack of documents from her briefcase and held them out.

"Compensation."

The papers rustled in the wind. She took a deep breath. "These past ten years… I owe you."

I took the documents. Line after line detailed every withheld bonus, stolen proposal, and baseless penalty—all repaid in double. At the top was a bank card, the PIN set to my birthday.

"What’s this supposed to mean?" I pinched the card between my fingers, smirking coldly.

"An ending." She met my gaze squarely. "I keep my word."

The autumn wind lifted the loose strands of hair at her temples, revealing the sharp angles of her gaunt face. That was when I noticed—the wedding band was gone from her ring finger.

"Fine." I shoved the papers into my bag. This was mine to begin with. Taking it would finally make her give up.

Sure enough, pain flickered in her eyes before she schooled her expression back to neutrality.

"Can I see your place now?" She forced a smile. "Just… for my peace of mind."

I knew she was lying. She just wanted to see for herself whether I was doing well without her. Stubborn woman—she never quit until she got her way.

"Suit yourself." I turned toward the parking lot.

Suddenly, rapid footsteps sounded behind me. She cut in front and pointed in the opposite direction. "Take my car. Your leg injury hasn’t healed yet."

I froze. She even knew about that. In the past, that kind of attention would have made my eyes burn with emotion. But now…

The moment the passenger door opened, my breath caught. A plush toy sat buckled into the seat, the safety belt snug around its round belly. The tag swayed in the breeze, my name glaring back at me in bold letters:

[Ethan Winslow]