Harlow pushed through the terminal doors. The humid night air was a physical blow. Nausea rolled through her again. She stumbled to a concrete pillar, bending over as her stomach convulsed. Empty.

She straightened, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and flagged down the first yellow cab she saw. She threw her suitcase into the back and climbed in, needing to be away from here. Away from JFK.

As her taxi pulled away, a line of black Cadillac Escalades slid silently into the space it had just vacated. Doors opened in unison. Men in dark suits and earpieces emerged, creating an immediate, invisible perimeter.

Alistair Sterling—Vanderbilt IV stepped out of the lead vehicle. He was tall, built with the lean, powerful lines of a man who commanded boardrooms. His suit was immaculate, but his tie was slightly loosened. On the knuckles of his right hand, a thin, fresh scratch was beginning to scab.

He glanced up at the terminal, his jaw a hard line. The security lockdown had been a colossal failure. He had been trying to help a woman knocked down in the crush of the crowd, pulling her into the nearest room for safety. But the emergency system had plunged them into darkness. In the confusion, he had lost control.

A grave mistake.

Last night, after eating something unclean, he was chased by people. In his desperation, he ruined a girl’s innocence.

After that, fearing that the enemy might pursue him here and put the girl in danger, he left first. He only returned after the danger was removed.

That was a girl’s maiden night.

He said last night that he would definitely take responsibility for her and make her the happiest and most respected woman in the world!

He keeps his word.

"Find her," he said to Finn Sullivan, his aide. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "Use every resource. I need to make this right."

He slid into the Escalade, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This trip home was supposed to be about an acquisition and dissolving his ridiculous, two—year—old sham of a marriage. Now, there was a third, more urgent priority.

"Sir," Finn said, sliding in opposite him and handing over a tablet. "We have the final report on your wife, Harlow Rowe."

Alistair took it. The screen displayed a series of grainy, long—lens photographs. A woman with a passing resemblance to the file photo he’d once seen, entering and leaving hotels with different men.

"These were taken over the last few years," Finn explained, his tone carefully neutral. "Our investigators report that her personal life has been... active."

The air in the car grew still. Alistair's jaw tightened. He had never felt anything for this stranger.

That wife was forced upon him by the his family two years ago, as a way to suppress his power. He never even met her once. He didn’t even return on their wedding day. She was a name on a contract. But the contract had rules.

He needs to take good care of this woman. So over the years, he’s done his best to provide her with a comfortable life.

Now that the situation has stabilized and he holds all the power, he’s no longer bound by any restrictions. So, the first thing he did upon returning was to divorce his wife.

It’s not that he’s heartless—it’s that there’s no affection between them at all!

Divorce was a good thing for her, a relief.

To make up for the two years of her youth that she missed, he gave her plenty in compensation: a mansion, luxury cars, and a check for a billion.

He stared at the photos, his knuckles white against the edge of the tablet. The woman in the pictures wasn't just an opportunist. She was a cheat.

He never thought she’d be such a dishonest and manipulative woman!

In that case, she doesn’t deserve his compensation.

This was simple. A clean transaction gone wrong. It was nothing like the messy, unsettling memory of the woman in the lounge—the faint scent of lavender, the feel of her trembling against him. One woman, he had wronged and needed to find. The other, his wife, had wronged him and needed to be erased.

"Inform Martha to proceed," he commanded, his voice flat and cold. "Initiate the divorce protocol. And change the terms."

He swiped to a new screen.

"Cite Article 7. The infidelity clause. She gets nothing."

He needed to be unattached, his life clean, for when he found the woman from the airport. He would offer her anything to atone for what had happened. He couldn't do that while legally bound to a faithless wife.

"Sir," Finn said carefully, "the standard procedure is to offer a small initial sum to ensure a quick signature."

Alistair shook his head, his eyes glinting. "No."

His voice was quiet, final.

"I won't reward a whore with my family's money."

He leaned back and closed his eyes, but the image that came to him was not of the woman in the photographs. It was of a trembling silhouette in the dark.

"The airport security footage was corrupted during the lockdown," Finn reported quietly. "And there were no cameras inside the lounge. Finding her will be difficult."

Alistair's eyes snapped open. "Then make it easy. Check every hotel registry, every flight manifest, every car service record out of this airport for the next twenty—four hours. I don't care what it costs. I will find her."

He repeated it, more to himself than to Finn, a vow spoken into the insulated silence of the car.

"I must find her."

The convoy of black SUVs pulled away, melting into the New York night, chasing two different phantoms of the same woman.

Six years later.

A flight from the West Coast touched down at LaGuardia. A woman with tired but determined eyes walked into the terminal. She held the hands of two small boys, while a third trailed closely behind, his small fingers clutching the hem of her coat.

Harlow Rowe was back.

The grand concourse of Grand Central Station was a roaring ocean of sound. Three small boys with identical blond hair and startlingly blue eyes stood close to their mother, a tiny island in the current of commuters.

"Mommy, there are so many people," whispered Julian, the youngest, his hand tightening its grip on Harlow's jeans.

"I know, sweetie." She stroked his hair, her own heart pounding a nervous rhythm against her ribs. Six years.

The marble floor beneath her feet was the same.

Back then, Alistair Sterling’s remark about her “immoral behavior” pushed her into the center of controversy.

A month later, she found out she was pregnant, confirming Alistair Sterling’s claims. The rumors and gossip almost destroyed her.

She remembered her adoptive parents, the Parkers, standing here, shoving a one—way ticket and a check into her hand. Their faces were tight with disgust. The Sterling—Vanderbilt lawyers had contacted them, accusing Harlow of infidelity.

She had become a liability.

She knew the child was from that strange man. She considered having an abortion, but after thinking it over for a long time, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

That’s also her own flesh and blood!

When a child finds her as their mother, it’s fate. No matter how difficult it is, she must give birth to the child and raise them.

"Get out of New York," her adoptive father had hissed. "And don't ever come back."

Fearing that her reputation would affect her child’s future, she left this city and went to live in the countryside.

When she’d called the Parkers, desperate and scared, they had unleashed a torrent of abuse. She had lost her value. She was nothing to them now but a source of shame.

Alone and pregnant, she had boarded a bus heading west, ending up in Montana.

The pregnancy was difficult.It’s really difficult for a pregnant woman to live on her own. Finding a job is the biggest challenge. Many employers refuse to hire her because she’s pregnant.

But she has to work; she needs money.

She needs to eat, go to the hospital to give birth, and also pay for formula and school expenses for her child…

Later, she finally managed to get a job at a restaurant. Afraid of getting fired, she worked harder than anyone else and never took time off from work.

This also led to malnutrition and excessive fatigue in her.

In the final trimester, her car broke down in a blizzard. She had tried to walk for help, collapsing in the snow.

She woke up in a small, warm cabin. An old man with kind eyes named Caleb Stone had found her. A recluse who had turned his back on the world, but not on her. In that cabin, with Caleb's steady hands assisting, she had brought three tiny, perfect boys into the world.

For the next five years, that mountain had been their sanctuary. A hard life, but a happy one.

Harlow looked down at her sons. Leo, her serious, watchful eldest. Max, her fiery, protective middle child. And Julian, her sweet, sensitive youngest. They were school—aged now. They deserved a future.

For that, she had to return to the city that had broken her.

She didn’t want to go to that city at all. She still hadn’t forgotten what happened there six years ago.

Who would have thought that when she went to register the children’s births, she’d accidentally discover that she was still married.

Her first stop had been a city office to apply for their social security numbers. The clerk had looked at her paperwork, then at her, with a confused frown. The process was complicated, she was told, because according to the state of New York, Harlow Rowe was still a married woman.

The divorce had never been finalized. Because she had fled, because she had never been served papers, the legal bond to Alistair Sterling—Vanderbilt IV remained.

To give her sons a legal identity, she had to do the one thing she had spent six years avoiding. She had to find her husband.

Her primary mission was clear: find the man who was a myth and sever the tie for good.

The pure, undiluted hatred, she saved for someone else. The anonymous bastard at JFK who had assaulted her. The man who was the biological father of her children.

It’s true that men’s mouths are full of lies. Not a bit wrong.

Back then, that wild man kept saying that he would make her the happiest and most noble woman in the world. But what happened in reality?

Heh!

She was devastated by him!

Thinking about all those grievances… she just wanted to kill him!For years, she thought he had ruined her life. But then she would look at Leo, Max, and Julian, and a confusing mix of gratitude and rage would war within her.

She made a silent vow. First, the divorce. Then, she would find him. And she would make him pay.

"Mom," Leo's calm voice broke through her reverie. He tugged on her sleeve. "You're thinking about sad things again. We should go."

Harlow blinked and forced a smile. "You're right."

Max puffed out his little chest. "Don't worry, Mom! Leo and I will protect you!"

The chill of her memories receded. She had her three little knights.

"Okay, my brave protectors," she said, her voice firm with renewed purpose. She took their hands. "Let's go find a place to stay."