The airplane hummed beneath me as I settled into my assigned seat, 7A. Seven years. It had been seven years since I'd last set foot in the United States. Seven years since I'd walked away from the wreckage of my life here. Seven years of careful rebuilding, piece by broken piece.

I pulled out my passport and citizenship paperwork, reviewing the final documents that would officially make me a resident of Country S. Quinn had insisted on handling most of the legal work, but I needed to sign these papers in person. Just a quick trip, I'd told him. In and out. No complications.

"Rebecca?"

The voice hit me like a physical blow. I knew it instantly, though it sounded rougher than I remembered. My fingers froze on the passport page as I looked up.

Jack Alexander stood in the aisle, his carry-on bag dangling forgotten from his hand. His eyes—those piercing blue eyes that once made my heart race—widened as they locked onto mine. The years hadn't been kind to him. Deep lines etched the corners of his mouth, and his once-immaculate suit hung slightly loose on his frame, as if he'd lost weight rapidly.

My chest tightened involuntarily, my fingers instinctively moving to press against my sternum. The artificial heart beneath my skin beat steadily, mechanically—a constant reminder of what I'd lost.

"You're..." His voice cracked. "You're alive."

I turned my face toward the window, pretending to be interested in the airport terminal below. "Apparently."

"Rebecca." He dropped into the seat beside me—my seatmate. Of course. The universe had a cruel sense of humor. "I've been searching for you for seven years. Do you have any idea what I've been through? What I've done to find you?"

The flight attendants began their pre-flight announcements, their cheerful voices a jarring contrast to the tension crackling between us.

"Why did you disappear?" Jack's words tumbled out faster now, desperate and raw. "I looked everywhere. I hired private investigators. I contacted every hospital, every doctor. I even checked morgues."

"Maybe you should have tried looking in a mirror," I said quietly.

His hand reached for mine, but I pulled away before he could touch me. "Rebecca, please. I need to know what happened to you after..."

"After you chose to save Kennedy instead of me?" The words escaped before I could stop them.

Jack flinched as if I'd struck him. "I didn't know—"

"You didn't know I was still alive?" I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "Or you didn't know that shrapnel would tear through my chest when that bomb exploded?"

The plane began to taxi down the runway, but Jack's eyes never left my face. "What bomb? Rebecca, what are you talking about?"

The question triggered something inside me—a floodgate of memories I'd spent years trying to dam up.

*The warehouse. Kennedy's terrified scream. Jack's arm around her shoulders as he carried her to safety.*

*The explosion. The deafening roar. The searing pain as something tore through my chest.*

*The darkness. The cold. The beeping machines.*

*"Ms. Duncan, you're awake." Dr. Martinez's face hovering above me, her expression grave. "You're lucky to be alive. The shrapnel missed your heart by millimeters, but the damage was extensive. We've implanted an artificial heart. It will extend your life, but there are... limitations."*

*"Will I be able to love again?"*

*Dr. Martinez's pause. "The emotional triggers that cause your heart to race might be problematic. I wouldn't recommend intense emotional connections."*

"Rebecca!" Jack's voice cut through the flashback. His face was inches from mine, panic etched across his features. "You're white as a sheet. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I managed, forcing myself back to the present. The plane had leveled off, cruising above the clouds now. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You haven't been fine for seven years." His voice dropped lower. "Neither have I."

The plane touched down at Sea-Tac with a gentle bump that seemed to echo through my chest cavity. Jack reached for my overhead bag, but I stood abruptly, stepping into the aisle.

"I can manage," I said coldly.

"Rebecca, wait." He followed me down the jetway, his desperation palpable. "We need to talk. Please. Just give me five minutes—"

"Here!" A familiar voice cut through the airport noise. Naya waved frantically from beyond the security barrier, her dark curls bouncing as she jumped up and down. My best friend. My anchor.

I turned to Jack, allowing my left hand to swing forward as I reached for my luggage cart. The diamond wedding band caught the fluorescent light.

"I'm married now," I said simply.

The color drained from Jack's face as he stared at the ring. For a moment, he looked like he might collapse.

"Rebecca..." His voice was barely audible above the airport announcements.

I didn't wait for him to finish. With Naya's arms already wrapped around me in a fierce hug, I walked away without looking back.

But I could feel his eyes on me—the weight of his gaze, the crushing pressure of his regret—as I stepped into my new life and left the wreckage of the old one behind.

Naya's apartment smelled like lavender and old books—a comforting combination that had always felt like home. I sat cross-legged on her couch, the small cardboard box balanced on my knees. My fingers trembled slightly as I lifted the lid.

"I can't believe you still have these," Naya said, settling beside me with two cups of tea. Her dark eyes watched me carefully, the way they had ever since I'd called her from the airport.

"These were the first ones," I explained, lifting out a yellowed medical bill. "The ones that started everything."

My father's name was printed at the top, followed by a series of medical codes and charges that had once seemed insurmountable. Twenty thousand dollars for emergency surgery. Another fifteen for the ICU stay. The numbers blurred as I stared at them.

"Jack paid these without hesitation," I said quietly. "I was working three jobs, about to drop out of college. He just... appeared. Like some kind of guardian angel."

Naya's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "And then became your worst nightmare."

I nodded, setting the bills aside and pulling out a small photograph—Jack and me at our engagement party. His arm was around my waist, his smile bright and possessive. I looked happy. Naive.

"Becca," Naya's voice dropped lower. "You know Kennedy froze your accounts right after this was taken, right? She made sure you couldn't access a single penny while she was orchestrating your father's—"

"Don't." I held up my hand. "I know what she did."

The memory of those days crashed over me—the sudden inability to pay for my father's ongoing care, the accusations from the hospital billing department, the look of confusion and then anger in my father's eyes as he realized his daughter had apparently abandoned him.

"She framed me perfectly," I said, my voice hollow. "Made it look like I'd stolen the money and run. By the time I could prove otherwise..."

My father was gone. The aneurysm had struck while he was alone, calling my name.

Naya's apartment suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. I stood abruptly, moving to the window. "I need to finish my paperwork tomorrow and get back to Quinn."

"Quinn would understand if you needed more time," she said gently.

I shook my head. "I don't want to be here longer than necessary. This isn't my home anymore."

---

The cemetery was quiet in the early morning light. Dew clung to the grass, soaking the hem of my jeans as I made my way through the rows of headstones. My father's grave was simple—a flat marker with his name and dates. I'd been unable to afford anything more elaborate at the time.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, kneeling to place the small bouquet of white lilies against the stone. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

The wind rustled through the nearby trees, carrying the scent of pine and earth. For a moment, I felt a strange sense of peace. This place held no ghosts for me—just memories of a man who had loved me completely.

"Rebecca."

The voice shattered my solitude like glass. I didn't need to turn to know who it belonged to.

"Please," Jack said, stepping from behind the nearby mausoleum. "Just five minutes."

I rose slowly, clutching my purse strap so tightly my knuckles whitened. "How did you find me?"

"I've had investigators looking for you for seven years." He moved closer, his eyes red-rimmed. "When I heard you were back in town..."

"You've been watching me." It wasn't a question.

"I've been searching for you," he corrected. "Every day since I thought you died. Do you have any idea what that's like? To lose someone you love and then find out they're still alive?"

Something cold and hard settled in my chest. "No, Jack. I don't."

His expression crumpled. "I've changed. I've spent every day trying to become someone worthy of asking for your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" The word tasted bitter on my tongue.

"For what happened at the warehouse. For choosing Kennedy when—"

"When you thought I was already dead?" I stepped back, my hand moving instinctively to my chest. "Or for this?"

I pulled open my jacket, revealing the thin scar that ran down my sternum—the permanent reminder of what his choice had cost me.

"I have an artificial heart, Jack," I said flatly. "The shrapnel missed my real one by millimeters. Dr. Martinez said I was lucky to survive."

His face drained of color. "What?"

"And that's not all." My voice grew steadier with each word. "Remember when you kicked me? When I told you I was pregnant and you accused me of lying?"

Jack's mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

"I lost our child that day," I continued. "Before the warehouse. Before you chose Kennedy over me. I was already broken when that bomb went off."

A tear slid down his cheek. "Rebecca..."

"I'm married now," I said, turning away from him. "To Quinn Spencer. We have a son."

Behind me, I heard a sound like a wounded animal—raw and broken. When I glanced back, Jack was on his knees beside my father's grave, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

I walked away without looking back again.

The first delivery arrived at my hotel room at precisely 8 AM.

"Ms. Duncan?" The concierge's voice came through the phone. "There's a floral arrangement for you at the front desk."

I frowned, confused. "I didn't order any flowers."

"They're from Mr. Alexander," he explained. "He's arranged for them to be delivered to your suite."

My stomach twisted. "Send them back."

"Ma'am, there are seventeen arrangements. The entire lobby is filled with them."

I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temple. "Just... leave them there."

By noon, the hotel manager called again. "Ms. Duncan, Mr. Alexander has requested to purchase the restaurant for this evening. He's offering to compensate all guests who have reservations."

"This is ridiculous," I snapped. "Tell him I won't be there."

But Jack didn't give up. My phone rang every thirty minutes. Each time, I declined the call, but he left increasingly desperate voicemails.

"Rebecca, please," his voice cracked on the fifth message. "Just one dinner. Like we used to do at Canlis. Remember how you loved the salmon?"

I deleted the message without listening to the rest.

"He's losing it," Naya observed, watching me from the edge of the bed. "This isn't normal behavior."

"No," I agreed, my hand unconsciously moving to my chest. "It's not."

By the third day, Jack had escalated to sending hourly text messages with photos of places we'd visited together—the waterfront park where he'd first kissed me, the art gallery where we'd spent rainy Sunday afternoons, the mountain overlook where he'd proposed.

*We were happy once*, one message read. *We can be again.*

I blocked his number.

---

"Jack's been acting strange lately," Kennedy's voice drifted from her luxurious penthouse as she spoke on the phone. "Yes, more erratic than usual."

She paced across the marble floor, her silk robe flowing behind her. On the coffee table lay Jack's phone—which she'd "borrowed" earlier that morning.

"I'm telling you, Marcus, something's wrong. He's making huge withdrawals from the accounts."

She paused, listening to her caller. "No, not for business. Something personal."

Kennedy's perfectly manicured nails tapped against the phone as she opened Jack's messages. Her eyes narrowed as she scrolled through the exchanges.

"Rebecca Duncan," she whispered, the name like poison on her tongue.

She switched to Jack's call log, finding numerous calls to the same hotel. With practiced ease, she hacked into the hotel's reservation system.

"Ms. Rebecca Spencer," she read aloud. "Room 1724."

A slow, calculated smile spread across Kennedy's face. "Marcus, I think I know what's going on."

She ended the call and immediately began drafting a new plan. Seven years ago, she'd destroyed Rebecca Duncan's life with careful precision. She could do it again.

"Time to welcome you back properly," Kennedy murmured, typing furiously on her laptop.

---

"Naya, do you think this looks okay?" I held up a navy dress, studying it in the boutique's mirror.

"It's perfect," she assured me. "Quinn will love it."

The boutique was one of Seattle's most exclusive, with private fitting rooms and personalized service. Naya had insisted on this shopping trip—a way to distract me from Jack's obsessive behavior.

"Maybe I should try something more conservative," I suggested, eyeing another dress.

"Rebecca Duncan."

The voice froze me in place. Kennedy Alexander stood in the doorway, immaculate in a white designer suit, her blonde hair styled in perfect waves.

"Hello, Kennedy," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.

She stepped into the boutique, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Shopping for your new husband? How... quaint."

Naya moved protectively closer to me. "We don't want any trouble."

"Trouble?" Kennedy's laugh was brittle. "I'm just here to shop. Unless you're afraid of a little competition?"

Before I could respond, she turned to the boutique assistant. "I'll take that dress she's holding. And the one she was looking at earlier."

The assistant hesitated, glancing between us.

"My credit card has no limit," Kennedy added sweetly.

I set the dress down carefully. "We were just leaving."

"No!" Kennedy's voice rose dramatically. "Don't run away! Not when we have so much to discuss!"

Other shoppers turned to stare as Kennedy's voice carried through the boutique.

"Tell them, Rebecca," she demanded, pointing at the growing audience. "Tell them how you abandoned Jack when he needed you most."

My chest tightened, the familiar pressure building behind my artificial heart.

"Tell them how you left him broken and alone while you ran off to marry someone else!"

Naya grabbed my arm. "Rebecca, don't engage."

But Kennedy was already pulling out her phone, showing a photo of herself and Jack to anyone who would look.

"See? He chose me in the end. Always chooses me." Her smile was venomous. "Your little marriage? Just a pathetic attempt to replace what you threw away."

The boutique had fallen silent, all eyes on us.

"Your husband probably doesn't even know what you really are," Kennedy continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Does he know about your... condition?"

My fingers moved instinctively to my chest.