Chapter 2

The air in the airport was a familiar mix of stale air conditioning and hurried footsteps.

William was finalizing our transportation, his low, calm voice a soothing presence. I gently rested a hand on my growing belly, feeling the gentle flutter of life inside me. I was content.

"Excuse me, are you picking up a passenger?" a voice asked.

I turned slightly, expecting an airport employee.

"The designated waiting area is over there. The executives from the Beaumont Corporation have their own private exit."

The voice was arrogant, dripping with a sense of minor authority. It was also painfully familiar.

I turned fully and my breath caught in my chest.

It was Brandon Hayes.

He was wearing a cheap, ill-fitting suit with a small, laminated ID badge clipped to his pocket. It read "Beaumont Corporation - Ground Transportation Assistant."

He hadn't recognized me. Not at first. He just saw a woman standing where she wasn't supposed to be.

Then, his eyes focused on my face. His condescending smirk faltered, replaced by a look of complete shock.

"Abby?" he whispered, his eyes wide. "Abigail Turner?"

I remained silent, my calm exterior a fortress against the sudden flood of memories.

"What... what are you doing here?" he stammered, his gaze sweeping over me. He took in my simple but clearly expensive cashmere coat, the designer handbag, the quiet confidence in my posture. His eyes lingered for a moment on my lack of a wedding ring on my left hand-a European custom William and I both preferred, wearing our rings on our right hands instead. His mind clearly jumped to the wrong conclusion.

He thought I was single.

"Are you... are you here to see me?" A smug, self-satisfied smile began to creep back onto his face. The shock was wearing off, replaced by his signature arrogance. He believed I had come back for him.

"I knew you couldn't stay away," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that made my skin crawl. "Five years is a long time, but I told you to wait for me, didn't I?"

Before I could even process the audacity of his words, another voice chimed in, sharp and grating.

"Brandon, darling, who is this?"

Seraphina Vance-now Seraphina Hayes-glided to his side, linking her arm through his. She was dressed in a flashy, brand-name outfit that looked a size too small, her makeup thick and aggressive. She looked at me with open hostility, her eyes narrowing as she recognized me.

"Oh," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "It's you. My cousin, Abby."

She said my old name like it was a bad taste in her mouth.

"I almost didn't recognize you. You look... different," she continued, her eyes raking over me critically. "A little tired. Life must have been hard for you these past few years, all alone."

I felt a surge of cold anger, but I held it in check. I was Ava Beaumont now. These people had no power over me.

I simply looked at them, my expression neutral.

In my mind, I saw the man I almost married. The man who shattered my heart on our wedding day. The man who told me to wait for him while he married my cousin to break a fake curse. He stood before me now, a low-level employee for my husband's family, completely oblivious to the new reality.

He thought I was a heartbroken spinster who had crawled back from obscurity, still pining for him.

The irony was so thick I could almost taste it.

"Abby, look," Brandon said, puffing out his chest. "I'm doing really well now. I'm an assistant manager here at the Beaumont Corporation's New York branch. It's a very important position."

An assistant in the ground transportation department was what his badge said. Not a manager.

"I know you probably came back hoping for a second chance," he went on, completely wrapped up in his own delusion. "And I can't say I blame you. But things are complicated now. I'm a married man."

He squeezed Seraphina's arm, and she preened under his touch.

"However," he said, leaning in closer, "since you've come all this way, maybe I can help you out. I could probably get you a job here. Maybe in the cleaning crew? Or the cafeteria? It would be a good, stable job for someone like you."

He delivered the offer like he was bestowing a great honor, a king offering a crust of bread to a beggar. He genuinely believed he was being generous.

He thought he could control me, that I would be grateful for any scrap of attention he threw my way.

He had no idea who he was talking to.