---- Chapter 10 Cash POV: The trip to Maine was another bust. A false alarm. A ghost. | returned to New York feeling the tendrils of a despair so profound it was almost physical. It was as if Eliza had been an illusion, a beautiful dream | had conjured for five years, only to wake up and find myself in this cold, empty reality. Catherine had been in the hospital for three months. Three months of forced bed rest, IV drips, and constant monitoring. The ordeal had stripped her of her polished, socialite glamour, leaving behind a gaunt, hollow-eyed woman | barely recognized. She had lost weight, her cheekbones sharp angles in her pale face. The only part of her that had grown was her belly, a taut, swollen sphere that seemed to be draining the very life from her. I'd visit, sit by her bed, and we' d exist in a strained silence. The woman | had known my whole life, the "habit" | had once found so comfortable, was now a stranger. Her entire existence had narrowed to a single, obsessive focus: the baby. It was a lifeline she clung to with a terrifying ferocity. One afternoon, | walked into her room to find it in chaos. A vase of lilies lay shattered on the floor, water and glass strewn across the tiles. Catherine was sitting bolt upright in ---- bed, clutching a small, cream-colored card, her body wracked with violent tremors. "Catherine? What's wrong?" | asked, rushing to her side. She didn't seem to hear me. Her eyes were wide with terror, fixed on the card in her hand. Then, she let out a guttural scream, a sound of pure, animalistic fear, and her hands flew to her stomach. "The baby," she gasped, her face contorting in agony. Doctors and nurses flooded the room. They barked orders, prepping her for an emergency C-section. She was bleeding. The baby was in distress. She grabbed my hand, her grip like a vice. "Don't leave me," she pleaded, her eyes wild with panic. "Cash, please." Just then, my phone rang. It was my PI. "| found her," he said, his voice urgent. "For real this time. She's at the airport in Portland. Flight to London. It leaves in ninety minutes." Eliza The world narrowed to that single name. She was there. She was real. | could get to her. "| have to go," | said, my voice hoarse. | gently pried Catherine's fingers from my arm. ---- "No," she sobbed, the sound tearing from her throat. "Cash, don't. Not now. Please." "I'm sorry," | whispered. It was all | could offer. It was all | had left. | turned and walked away, her screams following me down the hallway. "Are you going to her?" she shrieked, her voice cracking with a pain and rage that barely registered. "| hate you! | hope she rots in hell!" As | raced to the airport, | felt nothing. No guilt, no remorse Just a desperate, all-consuming need to see Eliza, to explain, to beg, to grovel. To get her back. From the plane, | looked down at the sprawling city of New York, at the hospital where my wife was fighting for our child's life, and | prayed. | prayed that Eliza would forgive me. Eliza POV: The airport was a blur of anonymous faces. Dane stood beside me, a worried frown on his face. "Are you sure about this, Eliza?" he asked. "This partnership in London... it's a big move. You don't have to run." "I'm not running," | said, my voice firm. "I'm seizing an opportunity. For the first time in five years, my career comes first." "Fair enough," he said, though he didn't look convinced. "Just ---- know... Cash has been turning the city upside down looking for you. He's not going to give up." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "His 'devotion' is about six years too late. It doesn't move me. It just makes me sick." The memory of his lies, of my mother's fall, of the cold emptiness of my hospital room-it was all still so raw. His frantic search wasn't a sign of love; it was the tantrum of a spoiled child who had finally had his favorite toy taken away. "Actually," | said, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face, "I'm the one who tipped off his PI about this flight." Dane stared at me, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "| wanted him to leave her," | explained, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "| wanted Catherine to be alone when she needed him most. | wanted her to feel just a fraction of the pain | felt." A jolt of vicious satisfaction, dark and thrilling, shot through me. It felt good. "Boarding for flight BA238 to London will now commence at Gate 24," a voice announced over the intercom. That was my cue. Cash POV: | sprinted through the terminal at Portland International Jetport, my eyes scanning the crowds, my heart hammering in ---- my chest. Then | saw her. A flash of dark, silky hair. The curve of her back in a familiar black coat. Her scent-lavender and something uniquely, achingly her-seemed to drift on the air. "Eliza!" | called out, my voice cracking. She didn't turn. She kept walking toward the international departures gate. | pushed through the crowd, shoving people aside, murmuring frantic apologies. "Eliza, wait!" But when | finally reached her, when my hand landed on her shoulder, it wasn't her. It was a stranger. A woman with the same color hair, the same coat, but with a confused and annoyed expression on her face. "I'm sorry," | stammered, my hand falling away. "I thought you were someone else." The hope that had been soaring in my chest crashed and burned. She was gone. Another ghost. Defeated, | turned and walked away, the hollow ache in my gut more profound than ever. Thirty feet away, on the other side of a concrete pillar, a ---- woman with dark, silky hair pulled a small suitcase toward Gate 24. She adjusted the collar of her black coat and, without a backward glance, disappeared down the jet bridge. We were in the same airport, at the same time, separated by nothing more than a few feet of concrete and an ocean of lies. And then our paths diverged, for good.