Isla's POV
I'm going to throw up.
My hand trembles as Marcus helps me out of the black limousine, and I pray he doesn't notice. The International Business Summit towers before us like a glass mountain, all sharp edges and cold lights. Inside that building is a man I hoped to never see again.
"Breathe, Isla," Marcus whispers, his warm hand squeezing mine. "You're the most talented woman I know. These people should be nervous to meet you."
I force a smile, but my heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. Six years. Six years of hiding, of rebuilding myself from broken pieces, of raising my son alone. And now I'm walking straight back into the lion's den wearing a red dress that costs more than my first apartment.
The dress was Marcus's idea. "Make them remember you," he'd said. "Not as the girl who disappeared, but as the woman who conquered."
I smooth down the silk fabric one last time and lift my chin. Marcus is right. I'm not that scared twenty-two-year-old anymore. I'm Isla Chen, creative director, mother, survivor.
I can do this.
The moment we step through the grand entrance, conversations stop. Heads turn. Eyes follow us across the marble floor like searchlights. I feel exposed, like everyone can see through my elegant dress to the terrified girl underneath.
"Is that Isla Chen?" someone whispers.
"I thought she was dead."
"Who's the man with her?"
"That's Marcus Langford. They're engaged."
The whispers chase us as we move deeper into the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls. Hundreds of business leaders in expensive suits cluster around cocktail tables, making deals that could change lives with a handshake.
Somewhere in this crowd is Dominic Ashford.
My stomach twists. What if he's angry I came back? What if he tries to hurt me again? What if—
"Champagne?" A waiter appears beside us with a tray of sparkling glasses.
"Yes, thank you." I grab one, needing something to do with my shaking hands.
Marcus leans close, his breath tickling my ear. "You're doing great. Just a few hours, then we can leave."
I nod, not trusting my voice. We begin to mingle, and Marcus is perfect—charming, protective, steering me away from anyone who looks too curious about my past. He introduces me to investors and executives, and I slip into my professional mask. I smile. I laugh at boring jokes. I talk about market trends and creative strategies.
But the whole time, I'm searching the crowd. Where is he? Is he here? Will I see him before he sees me?
Then, across the room near the floor-to-ceiling windows, I spot him.
Dominic Ashford.
My breath catches. He looks exactly the same—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that's slightly too long to be proper. He's surrounded by important-looking men in suits, talking with sharp hand gestures. Even from this distance, he commands attention. People lean toward him when he speaks, like flowers turning toward the sun.
He's the man who destroyed me. The man who called me a liar when I needed him most. The man whose son is probably building block towers with my best friend right now, three hundred miles away.
The man I once thought I could love.
My hands clench around my champagne glass. Old anger rises in my chest, hot and bitter. How dare he stand there looking powerful and successful while I spent six years struggling alone? While I cried myself to sleep wondering how to afford diapers? While I gave birth to his son without anyone to hold my hand?
I should leave. This was a mistake. I'm not ready to—
Dominic turns his head.
Our eyes meet across the crowded ballroom.
Time stops.
His face goes completely white, like he's seen a ghost. The glass in his hand tilts dangerously. One of the men talking to him reaches out to steady it, but Dominic doesn't seem to notice. He's frozen, staring at me with those silver-gray eyes that used to haunt my nightmares.
The same eyes my son inherited.
I can't look away. Six years of hurt and anger and loneliness crash over me like a wave. I want to scream at him. I want to run away. I want to demand why he didn't believe me.
But I do none of those things. Instead, I lift my chin higher and look him straight in the eye, letting him see that I survived. That I'm stronger now. That he didn't break me, not completely.
A man in a suit—tall, with kind eyes and neat black hair—appears next to Dominic. He follows Dominic's gaze to me, then says something I can't hear. His lips move in what looks like: "Sir, are you alright?"
Dominic doesn't answer. He just keeps staring.
Marcus's arm tightens around my waist. "Isla? What's wrong?"
"He's here," I whisper.
"Who's—" Marcus follows my gaze and goes very still. "Ashford."
The name hangs between us like a curse.
Dominic starts moving. He pushes through the crowd, his eyes locked on me, and panic explodes in my chest. He's coming over here. He's going to talk to me. I'm not ready, I can't do this, I need to leave—
My phone buzzes in my clutch purse. I grab it desperately, needing any excuse to look away from those approaching silver eyes.
It's a text from Lily, my best friend watching Ethan.
My blood turns to ice.
The message says: "Isla, call me NOW. Someone just tried to take Ethan from the park. We're okay but you need to know—the man who tried to grab him said he was sent by someone at your summit. He knew your name. He knew EVERYTHING."
The phone slips from my numb fingers.
Marcus catches it, reads the message, and his face goes hard. "We're leaving. Now."
But I can't move. I can't breathe. Someone tried to take my son. My baby. And they knew where I was, knew about the summit, knew everything.
I look up, and Dominic Ashford is standing ten feet away, pushing through the last cluster of people between us. His face shows shock, confusion, and something else—something that looks almost like hope.
He doesn't know. He has no idea that in three seconds, I'm going to realize that coming here just put my son in danger.
And as our eyes lock again across those final few feet, one terrifying question burns through my mind:
Who knew I would be here tonight—and why do they want my child?