Chapter 18
Six months later, in a seaside town in southern Italy, a quaint little cake shop was closing for the
evening.
Sloane pulled off her apron, neatly packed away the leftover baking ingredients from the day, then
locked the front door behind her and began her usual walk home along the coast.
Unlike Riverstone back in the States, this place wasn’t soaked in endless rain. The skies were often
bright and sunny. Lemon trees lined the streets, and even the ocean breeze here seemed warmer.
She had been here for half a year now. Her eyesight had fully recovered. She’d adapted to the
Mediterranean pace of life and taken a job as a pastry chef.
About a month ago, her boss had hinted at selling the shop. She and a coworker went in together
and bought it out–making her now a part–owner.
Life had settled into a steady, quiet rhythm.
But that evening, on her way home, her phone buzzed with a message from Devlin, who was in
Riverstone. “Sloane, you might want to prepare yourself. Declan hired a top investigator overseas.
There’s a good chance he’s closing in.”
She’d always known this day would come.
That fleeting glimpse on the pier six months ago had convinced Declan she was still alive. Since then, he’d been relentlessly searching for her.
Still stunned by the message, she didn’t notice the intersection ahead–and a convertible came barreling straight toward her.
In that split second, before impact, a powerful force slammed into her from the side–arms
wrapping around her and pulling her to the ground.
“Sloane, look out!”
The voice was achingly familiar. It froze her in place. The two of them hit the pavement hard.
The car never even slowed, speeding off into the night.
Protected by the body shielding her, Sloane was unharmed–but she could feel a few warm drops
land on her forehead. Someone else’s blood.
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Before she could react, arms tightened around her, holding her close like they’d never let go.
“Sloane… it’s really you. Thank God. You’re alive…”
The man’s voice cracked–grief, relief, and desperation tangled together. His tears were cold as
they slid down her neck.
Declan.
Just as Devlin warned… he’d found her.
Sloane froze, her heart thundering against her ribs.
She drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady the storm breaking inside her.
Then, without hesitation, she raised her hand–and shoved him away.
“Don’t touch me!”
The words cut cold and deep. Declan stumbled back, catching himself with a palm against the
ground. His forehead, already bloodied from protecting her, was now streaked with crimson
dripping down his jawline.
“Sloane, it’s me, I—”
His voice faltered. Because she didn’t even look at him. Instead, she got up and walked away
without a word.
But footsteps followed–rushed, desperate. Then arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
“Please don’t do this to me. Since the day you disappeared, I’ve been living in hell. It was all my fault–I was blind, selfish, and wrong. I didn’t see the truth, Sloane. Please… forgive me.”
“Just… look at me. Once. That’s all I’m asking.”
The pleading in his voice was raw and pitiful. But in that moment, Sloane felt utterly calm.
If he had truly wanted to find her, this day would’ve come sooner or later.
There was no escaping this confrontation. If he wanted answers, she’d give him clarity.
“Mr. Hawthorne, you know the law better than I do. If you don’t let go of me right now, I’ll have no
choice but to call the police and report you for harassment.”
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Chapter 18
3
Her voice cold. Slowly, his arms dropped away. Only then did she turn to face him.
But the look in her eyes… was empty. Detached. Like she was staring at a stranger on the street. “There’s nothing left to say between us. We’re divorced. Whatever existed between us–it’s over.”
Declan’s throat tightened, his eyes burning. “No, Sloane. Everything that happened–every horrible thing–it was all a misunderstanding. I didn’t know what Vivienne was really doing. I didn’t know you truly meant it when you said you wanted a divorce. If I had known, I’d rather have died than sign that paper…”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she cut him off sharply. “The past is the past. Don’t come looking for me again. Don’t show up in my life. We are done, Declan.”
Then she turned and walked away. Every step full of finality.
Declan stood frozen on the sidewalk, overwhelmed and hollow.
That night, when she returned to the apartment, her roommate Mia was waiting by the window with popcorn–level enthusiasm.
Mia had once been an international student here. They met while working at the same cake shop, and after graduation, she’d stayed in the city. Eventually, they partnered to take over the shop together. They’d grown close–two expats trying to build a life far from home.
“Sloane! That guy downstairs… the one chasing you? You know him?”
Mia rushed to the window again, tugging Sloane along.
“Look! He followed you all the way back. He’s been standing there for ages. Oh my God he just got on his knees. He’s kneeling! Outside our building!”
Sloane frowned and yanked the curtains closed.
“I don’t want to see him. He looks pathetic… it’s disgusting.”
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