Chapter 4

Anya POV:

The burner phone pulsed with a single word: "Confirmed." My heart hammered, a mix of fear and exhilarating hope.

I had to move. Now. Every second I stayed was a risk.

I packed a small bag, just essentials. The Juilliard diploma, still carefully rolled, went in first. It was the only tangible proof of a dream I' d fought for, independent of Grayson.

My hands brushed against the locket he' d given me. A small, silver heart, engraved with our initials. I hesitated, then ripped it off, tossing it into the waste bin without a second glance. No sentimental attachments. Not anymore.

My reflection in the hotel mirror showed a stranger. Pale, eyes shadowed, but with a new, steely glint. The girl who loved Grayson was gone.

I paid cash, leaving no trail. The anonymous taxi dropped me near the port, a place bustling with transient souls and fleeting connections. Perfect.

The network contact was waiting. He was a nondescript man in a dark suit, blending seamlessly with the shadows of the docks. He didn't speak, just gestured towards a sleek, private yacht.

I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. The escape.

As I stepped onto the gangplank, my burner phone, which I had reactivated just for this, buzzed one last time. It was an incoming call. Grayson.

My breath hitched. He was cutting his "trip" short. He was coming for me.

I gripped the phone, my thumb hovering over the "answer" button. A part of me, the old, foolish Anya, wanted to hear his voice, to have him explain, to beg.

But the new Anya, the one forged in betrayal, knew better.

I looked at the network contact. He met my gaze, his expression unreadable. "Ready?" he asked, his voice low.

"Ready," I whispered, and dropped the phone into the dark, churning water below.

The phone sank, its light blinking once, then swallowed by the depths. My last connection to Grayson, severed.

As the yacht pulled away from the dock, a faint car alarm wailed in the distance. His car? His men? It didn't matter. I was already gone.

The sea air whipped through my hair, cold but cleansing. I leaned against the railing, watching the city lights dim in the distance.

I was free. But the freedom felt raw, terrifying.

"We're heading to a private island in the Mediterranean," the contact said, his voice breaking the silence. "Your family has been waiting for you."

My family. The words were a soft balm on my wounded soul. A true family. Not a fabricated one.

I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing faces I couldn't quite remember, voices I' d only heard in fragmented dreams.

The journey was long, punctuated by moments of anxious alertness and bone-deep exhaustion. I slept little, haunted by vivid dreams of Grayson and Camilla, their laughter echoing in my mind.

But each sunrise brought a new sense of purpose. I was building a new life. Piece by painful piece.

When we finally docked at the private island, it was twilight. The air was warm, scented with unfamiliar flowers.

A tall, elegant man stood waiting on the pier, his face etched with a mixture of hope and trepidation. His eyes were the same shade of emerald as mine.

My heart leaped. Could it be?

He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over me, as if searching for something lost. "Anya?" His voice was thick with emotion.

"Yes," I breathed, tears finally welling in my eyes. "It's me."

He pulled me into a fierce embrace, crushing me against his chest. It was a familiar embrace, one I recognized from the hazy corners of childhood memories.

"My little sister. You're finally home," he whispered, his voice cracking.

Home. The word resonated deep within me, filling an aching void.

He introduced himself as Jace Nolan. My older brother.

Jace. The name felt right, familiar. He wasn't just my brother. He was my real fiancé, the one I had been betrothed to since childhood, before I was lost.

And the network I' d contacted? It wasn't just a heritage database. It was my family' s own discreet network, searching for me for years.

"We never gave up hope," Jace said, holding me at arm's length, his eyes shining. "Not for a single day."

He told me about our family, a powerful European dynasty. He told me about the betrothal, a tradition stretching back generations.

It wasn't a secret marriage born of manipulation. It was a bond of history, of family. A promise of a healthy, open future.

My past with Grayson, the secret weapon, the clandestine lover, felt impossibly distant. A nightmare receding with the dawn.

I was no longer just Anya Garza. I was Anya Nolan. And I was finally home.