The air in the arrival terminal didn't smell like the tropical humidity Kaelen remembered; it smelled like sterile air conditioning and recycled regret. Five years. Five years of sleepless nights spent building an empire of fortitude, a life so insulated that the memory of her heartbreak had been reduced to a dull, manageable ache. Yet, the moment the jet touched down on familiar soil, the ache sharpened into a spike of pure, debilitating anxiety.
Kaelen Vance adjusted the strap of her leather duffel bag, the designer leather cool against her racing pulse. She didn't need to look down to know her tiny security detail was in place. Silas, the quiet one, gripped her left hand with surprising strength, his face screwed up in concentration as he navigated the crowd. Seth, the boisterous counterpart, was attached to her right, his voice a steady, joyful stream of babble about the brightly lit advertisements flashing across the walls.
"Mommy, look at the big plane! Can we fly on it right now?" Seth bounced, his whole body radiating four-year-old excitement.
"Not right now, sweetie. We're going home." Home. The word felt foreign and fragile, like a glass bird she was afraid to crush.
She had returned a different woman. No longer the naive college student Elias Thorne had publicly and cruelly abandoned, Kaelen was now a partner in a burgeoning international design firm. She hadn't just survived; she had flourished. And she had certainly not returned alone.
"Da," Seth whined suddenly, pulling Kaelen's sleeve tighter, "Is the grumpy man still here?"
Kaelen's breath hitched. Grumpy man. The twins had no concept of Elias Thorne, or of shattered trusts, or of the agonizing emotional fallout of choosing money over love. They only knew the instinct to be wary of strangers who drew too much attention. But Seth's question, voiced with the innocent clarity of a child, cut straight to the core of her fear.
He wouldn't know I was coming. He couldn't.
She forced a calm smile and squeezed Seth's hand reassuringly. "There are no grumpy men here, sweetie. Just our ride."
A low, deep voice rumbled just behind Kaelen, cool and steady—a constant anchor in her turbulent world.
"Make sure of it, Kaelen."
Rhys Alden stood sentinel, a granite wall in a tailored suit. Rhys wasn't just her business partner; he was a silent, imposing fortress, a figure whose sheer, contained power discouraged anyone from getting too close to Kaelen or the boys. He had been their constant, protective presence for the past four years, the reason Kaelen finally felt secure enough to step back onto this land and face her demons. He was a walking reminder that not all powerful men were cruel or weak-willed.
Kaelen glanced back at him, offering a quick, grateful nod that Rhys returned with a barely perceptible tightening around his eyes. She turned back toward the exit, her focus locked on the baggage claim sign. Just keep moving. Get the luggage. Go home. Don't look back, and certainly, don't look for the ghost.
She was almost past the final barrier when the low, murmuring crowd noise suddenly fractured. A wave of silence swept through the terminal, pushing people apart as if an unseen force had moved them.
And then, she saw him.
The crowd had parted to reveal the ghost of her shame and the architect of her destruction: Elias Thorne.
He was older, harder, and impossibly more devastatingly handsome than the image she desperately clung to in her nightmares. He was radiating an energy that silenced the terminal, but he wasn't subtle. Elias was holding a ridiculously oversized, gaudy banner that read in shimmering, arrogant letters: "WELCOME HOME, MY LOVE, MARRY ME."
And clutched in his other hand, a devastating prop: a towering, magnificent bouquet of ninety-nine perfect, crimson roses.
Kaelen froze, the five years of carefully constructed solitude shattering like cheap glass. Elias's eyes, those familiar, piercing blue eyes, were wide with a mix of triumph and desperation. His face was a mask of relief—until his gaze finally swept past Kaelen's face.
Elias's smile vanished completely as his eyes landed, not on the roses, not on the banner, but on the two small figures clinging to Kaelen's legs. He saw the rare, defiant shock of silver-streaked hair—an unmistakable Thorne family trait—and the startling intensity of their shared blue eyes. The triumphant Alpha fell silent, his face shifting instantly from anticipation to pure, devastating shock.