OLIVIA

It was almost midnight, and I still couldn't sleep. My conversation with Grace kept replaying in my head like a jammed old tape recorder.

I slipped out of bed quietly and picked up the old phone as I walked into the living room. Even though I'd changed my number long ago, this battered flip phone still mattered to me-it was the only way my grandmother insisted on contacting me. She lived in a nursing home on the outskirts of Georgia. Whenever she couldn't reach my new number, she stubbornly left repeated voicemails on this old one.

I turned on the phone and opened the nearly abandoned WhatsApp account.

112 unread messages.

All of them were from a group chat called "EHS 10-Year Reunion"-the alumni group for Eagle Heights School, my private high school in San Francisco.

The first thing I did was turn off read receipts.

Let them keep thinking I was dead.

I scrolled to the pinned message from the group admin, William Anderson. Just as Grace had said, he'd posted the full details of the reunion scheduled for this Saturday night, to be held at a seaside villa in Sausalito.

Emma, if you're going through any difficulties in life, you can always tell us. We'd be happy to help.

I snorted, not even bothering to lift my eyelids.

William Anderson. Third generation of the Anderson family. His father was one of California's earliest private senior-housing developers, and William himself was now the nominal director of the Anderson Trust Foundation-and a notorious playboy in social circles.

Him offering to "help" me?

Only if he'd lost a round of truth-or-dare while drunk.

I gripped the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white. I'd heard plenty of hollow words over the years, but this one deserved a trophy. These people had never truly seen me-let alone reached out when I was at my lowest. They didn't want to see me. They just wanted to see what kind of joke the "fat nerd" had turned into.

I didn't reply to a single message.

Just as I'd always believed-Emma Cooper had been "dead" for a long time.

I kept scrolling through the chat. As expected, no one mentioned me. Nearly every conversation revolved around one person.

Noah Morgan.

Someone said he'd returned after completing a combined MD/PhD at Columbia University and was now working at St. Gabriel Medical Center on Manhattan's Upper East Side-one of the youngest cardiothoracic consultants there. Someone else commented that he'd "been winning at life since his all-boys-school days." Another person posted a recent photo of him, muscles clearly visible beneath his white coat.

The comments flooded in:

"Is it even fair that our asshole heartthrob turned into a doctor and got even hotter?"

I stared at the photo for a long time, my heartbeat slowing as if it had skipped a beat.

Friday finally arrived.

It was the day our team had been counting down to. We were all gathered in the conference room, and the client had arrived as well.

Because this was a major account, Matthew Caldwell was also present. As the CEO of Brightwave Media and the chairman's eldest son, Matthew carried enormous influence in San Francisco's advertising and media circles. A Wharton graduate, he'd returned to the Bay Area to take over the company, implementing data-driven strategies and segmented luxury branding-earning widespread industry praise.

I had already spoken to him about his sister's interference. He'd shaken his head and apologized on her behalf.

Isabel Caldwell was his half-sister and the company's creative director. Her mother had been the former editor-in-chief of Elegance, a well-known fashion magazine. Isabel inherited her mother's taste and ambition-but not her practical ability. Her position came largely from nepotism. She grew up in Los Angeles and only moved to San Francisco to live with their father after Matthew graduated high school.

We presented our original proposal first. The client was clearly pleased. I felt a rush of relief-I knew the deal was very likely to close.

Then we presented Isabel's alternative proposal.

The client's feedback was exactly what I'd told Isabel it would be.

Our team struggled not to smile-especially when we saw Isabel's reaction. She tried to defend her idea, but Matthew shut her down. In family matters, he never hid his authority. He indulged her verbally, but never spared her incompetence.

We closed the deal successfully. The client chose our original proposal.

The team was ecstatic.

Isabel was not.

"Congratulations, everyone. Excellent work, as always," Matthew said with a smile, his tone lightly teasing. "I know you all put a lot into this project-especially Isabel, with the additional proposal."

It was his way of saving face for his sister.

We exchanged knowing looks and thanked him.

"This calls for a celebration!" Matthew announced enthusiastically. "Let's head to Battery Park tomorrow night!"

Battery Park was a waterfront leisure area in southern downtown San Francisco, near the financial district and startup hubs. Employees from advertising, creative, and finance firms often gathered there on weekends to celebrate or unwind. Brightwave's office was in SOMA-less than a twenty-minute walk away.

I hadn't planned on going.

I needed to take care of Hannah.

But work socializing was practically encoded in Manhattan DNA. I needed this job-and I needed the commission. So I decided I'd go.

Just not for long.

Something about the park's location nagged at me-it felt oddly familiar. But I quickly pushed the unease aside.

All I could see was the incoming commission and Hannah's surgery.

Noah

I'd just finished surgery and arrived near Battery Park later than planned.

Mostly because Manhattan traffic is a goddamn nightmare.

I shouldn't have come.

But the thought of seeing Emma made me go anyway.

The moment I stepped into the private room, William walked straight over and punched my chest lightly, grinning like an asshole.

"Hey, guys-" he scanned the room and raised his voice. "New York's sexiest doctor is here! Who was asking to see his abs? Now's your chance."

Laughter exploded around the room. A few old classmates even clapped. Someone whistled.

I frowned and scanned the room.

She wasn't there.

No Emma.

I forced myself to stay composed and turned to William. "I can't drink. I might get a call from the hospital at any moment."

He shrugged, about to respond, when a tall woman stepped closer. Perfume washed over me.

Charlotte.

"Noah," she said with a smile, lightly touching my chest. "Do you have a girlfriend now?"

"Yeah, Noah," she added boldly. "We haven't seen you in years... but we're all curious. Do you have a girlfriend?"

She'd been sitting with William's group, practically leaning against him. I only vaguely remembered her from high school. She'd always been popular, always surrounded by admirers.

Just not me.

I glanced at her, my tone cool. "I've been busy with my MD and PhD abroad. No time for dating. Even now, my schedule's packed-I barely have time for family, let alone a relationship."

Charlotte didn't seem bothered by my indifference. She shifted closer, her fingers brushing my shirt as she spoke.

"I heard you're a heart specialist. Does that mean you're really good at taking care of hearts?"

As she spoke, her hand settled boldly on my chest.

Instinctively, I raised my hand and pushed hers away.

The group burst into laughter. They all knew exactly what she was doing.

Charlotte shot me an angry look and moved aside.

William swooped in at just the right moment, handing me a glass. "I know you don't drink anymore, so I ordered you fresh orange juice."

He was right. Since becoming a doctor, I'd stopped drinking altogether.

"Thanks," I said quietly.

After that, although I could still feel curious glances drifting my way, no one tried to get too close.

I sipped my drink, my eyes constantly flicking toward the door.

Every time it opened, my heart jumped.

Every time, I was disappointed.

I wanted to see her again.

Seven years had passed, and I still couldn't forget her. I knew she'd liked me-especially after that night together. I'd felt it in every touch, every kiss. Her emotions had been woven into every moment.

So how could she erase me from her life so easily?

A loud voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Megan, what happened to you? You got fat!" someone joked cruelly.

I looked up immediately.

"That's normal after having a baby, you idiot!" Megan snapped back.

Laughter erupted. Glasses clinked. Music swallowed the moment.

"Speaking of weight gain," William said casually, "has anyone heard from Emma Cooper? I've messaged her a few times-no response. I even asked Grace, but she hasn't heard anything either."

At the sound of her name, my entire body went rigid.

I forced my expression neutral, fighting to keep my reaction hidden.

"Haven't you heard the rumor about Emma?" someone asked.

"What rumor?" William leaned forward, intrigued.

"Emma... is dead."

The words hung heavily in the air.

The room fell silent.

I nearly dropped my glass.

My heart clenched violently.

That couldn't be true. It couldn't.

I wanted to shout-but I didn't. I swallowed the storm threatening to consume me.

"Is that really true?" Charlotte asked in disbelief. "Is that why she cut off contact? Why she never came to any reunions?"

"It makes sense," William said thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why Grace couldn't tell me anything. But how did she die? Does anyone know?"

"I heard someone from our class saw her in a hospital," Athena said.

"That was me," Evelyn spoke up, raising her hand.

Everyone turned to her.

Evelyn sighed, her voice tinged with sadness. "It was six years ago. I took my grandmother to the hospital-she was very sick. I saw Emma there. She'd lost a lot of weight, but her stomach was swollen... like a tumor."

"That's terrible," someone murmured.

"Noah," William said, looking straight at me, "since you're a doctor, maybe you can explain that tumor. Was it terminal? I remember her family wasn't well-off. Maybe they couldn't afford treatment, and that's why she didn't make it."

All eyes turned to me.

Waiting.

My heart felt like it had been shot.

I couldn't speak.

I turned abruptly and stormed out of the room.

And then-

A woman crashed into my chest.

I instinctively caught her by the waist, pulling her close.

That familiar scent hit me.

My eyes widened-

OLIVIA

I looked at the man in front of me. He wasn't wearing a white coat this time, just a simple black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. My body was pressed close to his, and I could clearly feel the definition of his muscles beneath the fabric.

Up close, he was even more handsome-especially those deep blue eyes and his firm, square jaw. His hot breath brushed against my skin like fire, and I felt a sharp, unmistakable ache between my legs.

I swallowed.

Then suddenly, my phone rang.

The sound jolted me back to my senses. I immediately pushed him away.

"Mr. Morgan... thank you," I said softly.

"Ms. Evans? You're here?" Noah said in a low voice. Then something seemed to click in his mind, and he added quickly, "Are you here for the high school reunion?"

His tone sounded almost as if he wanted me to say yes.

My heart sank. Cold sweat seeped out across my back. I bit my lower lip as anxiety surged through me.

Did he recognize me?

No wonder this place had felt so familiar-this was where our high school reunions were usually held.

"A reunion?" I asked, forcing myself to sound clueless, though my voice trembled slightly.

"Yes, our high school reunion. Aren't you here for that?" he pressed again.

I shook my head quickly. "No. I'm here for a company celebration," I replied coldly.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, doubt still lacing his voice.

I felt irritation flare instantly-like just because I was a single mother, because I was struggling financially, I somehow didn't even have the right to come out for a drink.

I'd lived in that kind of environment for too long. I was used to being judged. It made me react faster, sharper.

"Mr. Morgan," my voice tightened as I deliberately lifted my chin, "if you're trying to confirm whether I came to the wrong place, or whether you think I shouldn't be here at all, rest assured-I'm not here to network, and I don't need your permission."

"I understand. There's no need to be tense, ma'am," he said, confused. "I was just asking. Why are you so upset?"

I bit my lip again.

Was I overreacting? Had he noticed something?

"If I offended you, I apologize," his tone softened. "You just look... a bit familiar."

"Mr. Morgan, we met three days ago," I snapped.

Noah's jaw loosened slightly, and he nodded. "That's not what I meant. Don't take it the wrong way. How is Hannah doing?"

I replied to Jessica's message, paused for a moment, then typed back, Yes, Dr. Morgan. Thank you for your concern. I will make sure Hannah's medical expenses are covered.

"That's good," Noah said, visibly relieved. Then he added, "If you need help, maybe I could-"

Damn it.

I was sick of that condescending, charitable tone of his. Why was he suddenly so invested in his patient?

"Dr. Morgan," I said coldly, "don't you think you're crossing the boundaries of a doctor–patient relationship? Are you this attentive with all your patients?"

"What?" Noah said angrily. "No. Ms. Evans, are you always this sharp? It's like I've done something to wrong you. I was just making conversation-"

That was enough to set me off. He had hurt me before-like a complete asshole.

I cut him off. "Dr. Morgan, you don't need to worry. And I don't need it. I have colleagues waiting for me. Have a pleasant evening."

I walked away quickly.

For both Noah and me, the best choice was to remain strangers-to pass by each other without memory or longing.

In my hand, I was still holding a button that had fallen off his clothes when he caught me earlier. I'd meant to throw it away-but instead, I slipped it into my bag.

Whatever. It didn't take up much space.

I headed toward the private room where my team was waiting. Everyone gathered around quickly. We chatted and sang. I drank some juice, then told Matthew I was heading out.

He nodded in understanding.

Later that night, after showering, I lay in bed, staring at the cufflink I'd picked up earlier.

I traced it lightly with my fingers.

"His taste hasn't changed," I murmured to myself.

I remembered-he had always worn clothes from this brand. Memories of secretly watching him came rushing back.

My phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Hi, Grandma," I answered softly.

"Olivia, why did you send me money again?" my grandmother complained, though I could hear the worry beneath her words. "I stay at home all day. I have nowhere to spend it."

I smiled. I knew she wasn't asking for money because of Hannah-she knew I needed it.

"Then save it for me, Grandma," I said calmly.

I'd planned to take Hannah back home before the school term started, but work had been overwhelming, and I hadn't found the time. Maybe after Hannah's surgery, once my finances stabilized, I could bring Grandma over for a few days-to spend time with Hannah.

We talked for a while, until her voice grew hesitant.

"Olivia... your uncle..." she said softly. "Even though he... he's still your uncle. He came by earlier and asked about you."

Her voice trailed off, as if she wanted to say more but ultimately didn't.

My uncle.

I shook my head. I didn't want Grandma worrying about any of that. I wouldn't tell her those things.

My parents divorced when I was two. My mother left and never came back-even after her father, my grandfather, passed away. My father was a gambler. When he won, he took me out to eat. When he lost, he disappeared and left me with my grandparents.

They raised me.

They were the only family I truly acknowledged.

"Yes, Grandma. I understand," I said gently.

We ended the call.

Even though we lived in the same city, I had never once considered contacting my uncle or aunt.

I took Hannah to the hospital for her weekly checkup and deliberately avoided Noah's clinic hours. I'd checked his schedule at the front desk-he only saw patients on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So I made sure to bring Hannah in on Mondays or Wednesdays.

I knew that even then, I might still run into him. He worked at the hospital, after all.

But I would do everything I could to avoid-or at least minimize-contact.

"Dr. Morgan," a nurse called out.

At the sound of his name, I nearly jumped out of my seat. My heart raced. As Noah walked past us toward his office, I gripped Hannah's hand tightly. We were waiting outside Exam Room 6-right next to his.

"Mom, your hand is sweaty," Hannah said, pulling her hand free.

I looked down at her. She was wiping her palm with a handkerchief.

I smiled at her.

Every time I saw Noah, I couldn't help feeling tense-even though I knew he wouldn't recognize me.

After Hannah's appointment, we went to the reception desk and returned Noah's cufflink.

That night, I went to check on Hannah. She was already asleep, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit.

She looked so much like Noah-from her eyebrows, to her eyes, to the shape of her nose.

After tucking her in, I returned to my room and sat at the vanity, studying my reflection in the mirror.

A slim, well-proportioned figure. Fair, luminous skin. Long wavy hair cascading over my shoulders. High cheekbones, a defined jawline, and light brown eyes framed by thick brows. Naturally full lips, softly pink.

No one would ever guess that I was the overweight girl from seven years ago.

NOAH

Emma was dead.

Those three words felt like they blew a hole straight through my chest-leaving behind an icy emptiness.

I went back to the Atherton house for dinner. It wasn't part of the plan. I should have returned to my penthouse in Menlo Park-the place I used as a fortress to shut out the world, where not even my personal assistant was allowed inside.

But tonight, I needed someone nearby. Even if we sat under the same roof in silence. Because I couldn't bear another night alone, staring at white walls, thinking I should've told her sooner that I had feelings for her.

I fucking should have told her.

But I didn't.

I was terrified back then-terrified that the moment I admitted it, I'd lose control. And control was the only thing I was ever good at in this world.

The news about Emma hollowed me out completely. What I couldn't accept even more was that night-at the reunion, at the hospital-every time she walked in and out with that child in her arms, she-no, Ms. Evans-kept denying she was Emma. She looked at me with something close to disgust, as if I'd done something unforgivable to her.

Maybe I had.

I didn't know why she reacted so strongly. But I could feel it-I had become her trigger. Whether in the hospital hallway or that night she called a "company celebration," the way she looked at me was the way you look at an asshole.

I was not that kind of person. At least, I hoped I was not.

So I didn't go back to the penthouse. That place was too empty-just like my heart right now.

I went back to the Atherton house-my parents' place. I rarely returned there, for various reasons. We had money, yes, but our family was still broken.

Morgan Holdings was a leading force in U.S. real estate and construction and was expanding into Europe. As the only legitimate son in the family, many assumed I would become CEO. But because I chose a different career path, Lucas became CEO, and Madison took the role of COO.

Lucas Morgan was my parents' adopted son. He was the child of my mother's best friend, who died tragically in a plane crash. At the time, my parents were unable to conceive, so they adopted Lucas. His original name was Lucas Rockefeller.

When my mother was thirty-three, she finally became pregnant and gave birth to my sister, Madison. She was already close to menopause when she had me and my twin brother, Elijah.

Yes-I had a twin brother.

Twenty years ago, Elijah and I were kidnapped. It was one of the worst moments of my life. I survived.

My brother didn't.

I saw my mother's eyes turn red. That was one of the reasons I preferred staying in my penthouse. I knew that every time she looked at me, she couldn't help but think of Elijah.

When I caught her wiping away tears, I knew I'd been right.

My mother was usually cheerful-except when it came to pressuring me into the blind dates she arranged. That was when she turned ruthless.

"Noah, why didn't you go meet Isabel last Wednesday?" she asked.

"Mm..." I muttered, not bothering to respond properly.

"What does that 'mm' mean?" she snapped, rubbing her temples.

"I already told you-Isabel is a beautiful woman. She used to come over when you were a child. Her grandfather and your grandfather were best friends. Even if you don't like her, for your grandfather's sake you should meet her! And Noah-you're almost thirty! It's time to settle down!"

She went on and on.

I sighed and nodded. "Fine. I'll see her."

"Really? You're not lying to me?" she asked.

"Yes, Mom. I promise. Okay? Can I go upstairs now?" I said, hoping to end the interrogation.

She smiled brightly. "Of course, son. Go on."

I smiled back and headed for the study.

I was looking for a few books to take back to my penthouse when the hospital called with an emergency. I grabbed the books and my car keys and rushed out.

As I went downstairs, I overheard my family still talking about me.

"He's just like you," my mother whispered to my father. "Almost thirty and still single. He barely comes home-he spends all his time at the hospital."

"People his age are either engaged, married, or already have kids!" she added, clearly frustrated.

"Our son is just doing his duty as a doctor," my father said in my defense. "I don't see anything wrong with that."

I was surprised to hear him defend me. I knew how furious he'd been when I told him I wanted to be a doctor instead of taking over the family business.

I knew my mother meant well. But I couldn't start dating anyone right now-especially with the rumors about Emma. I still refused to believe she was gone.

"Mom, remember-I got called in. I really have to go," I said.

She widened her eyes in disbelief. "See? Your son cares about nothing but the hospital. He's been home less than an hour, and he's already rushing out again like that's the only thing that matters to him."

I scratched my head. "It's an emergency. I'll make it up to you, okay?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Just let him be himself," my father said again. "He's saving lives."

"Oh really? Then don't come to our bedroom tonight," my mother snapped and stormed off.

My siblings chuckled softly. My father scratched his head.

By the time I finally reached my penthouse, it was already 11:30 p.m. The emergency surgery had drained me completely-but it was worth it. We'd saved a life.

I sat down on the couch when a long-haired, snow-white golden retriever walked over and rubbed his face against mine. I reached out and stroked Milo.

He was a stray dog I used to see all the time in college-always with Emma. She'd wanted to adopt him, but dorm rules wouldn't allow it. I could tell how much Milo meant to her, so I adopted him myself.

"Emma, if you were here, Milo would be so happy to see you," I murmured.

I stood up slowly, a heavy pressure weighing on my chest, and carried the books into the study.

For days now, I'd been poring over medical literature, trying to find some explanation for the mysterious condition Emma supposedly had. There were countless possible causes for severe abdominal swelling-each more confusing and unsettling than the last.

My head started to ache. I was probably exhausted from surgery. I took off my glasses and leaned back in my chair for a moment.

I glanced at my phone and saw a message from William.

"I asked Emma's high school best friend, Grace, if they were still in touch," he wrote. "She said she hasn't been able to reach Emma either."

I sighed and rubbed my temples.

Even her best friend couldn't reach her? Was that true? Was she really gone?

I opened WhatsApp and scrolled through every conversation we'd had before she blocked me. I'd planned to delete the chat once I realized I'd been blocked-but I never could. Thank God I didn't.

After surgery, Martin and I realized we'd missed lunch. He'd assisted me during the procedure. He was a close friend from my time in the UK, and we'd both received offers from Palo Alto Medical Center. We worked together often-sometimes I assisted him.

We decided to eat in the staff lounge, reheating the meals we'd ordered earlier.

I glanced at my phone again, rereading my chats with Emma, debating whether I should add her using a new WhatsApp account. I couldn't believe she was gone. A sliver of hope still clung to my heart-that she was alive.

"Noah, you've been staring at your phone all day," Martin teased. "Waiting for a girlfriend's text?"

I looked up. Other doctors and nurses were watching, waiting for my response-most of them women.

It was no secret that I'd received countless confessions at the hospital. Even the director's daughter had confessed to me. I'd rejected them all.

I just shook my head. Martin chuckled.

Later that night, back at the penthouse, I opened my phone again and finally decided to register a new account. I even bought a new number for it.

At first, I considered using my real name-but then I thought better of it. Emma had blocked me once. If she knew it was me, she might block me again.

I bit my lip and typed in the name Benjamin Thomas.

I almost laughed at myself.

Benjamin Thomas was Emma's high school crush.

Yes-I wasn't her first love.

I'd seen it with my own eyes-Emma and her best friend Grace slipping a love letter into Benjamin's locker, giggling with flushed cheeks.

I'd never forget how red they were, how hard they tried not to laugh.

"Tch... it's just a letter. What are you even laughing about?" I muttered bitterly at the memory.

"This is insane," I thought.

But if this was the only way to find out whether Emma was still alive, I'd do it. Ever since I returned to the U.S., she'd been haunting my dreams.

I couldn't figure out why Emma had blocked me. We were happy that night. It had been her first time-I'd made sure to be gentle. I wanted her to cherish it the way I did.

We'd talked and held each other afterward, sharing so much. She wouldn't have blocked me just because I was going for my doctorate-she'd always supported my dreams. She'd even said she couldn't wait to see me in a white coat, being called Dr. Morgan.

Was it because I gave her a fifty-thousand-dollar gift card?

Did that make her angry?

I remembered that moment clearly.

"What does this card mean?" she'd asked, half-joking. "Are you treating me like a prostitute?"

"Of course not!" I said quickly. "I just wanted you to come to my birthday party. You could use the money to buy a dress. I don't like it when people humiliate you just because they can afford expensive clothes."

She laughed softly. "They don't humiliate me because of what I wear. They do it because I'm ugly and fat."

I turned to her, serious. "You're not ugly. You're beautiful, Emma." I kissed her gently.

She smiled.

It wasn't about the money.

She never used it. She sent it back.

When I went home on holiday, my sister told me there was a package waiting-sent six months earlier. It was from Emma. Inside were everything I'd ever given her, from high school onward. Even the stuffed animal I'd won for her at the arcade-the one she'd worked so hard to get herself.

She returned everything.

Including the food I'd bought her.

Including the fifty thousand dollars.

It was as if she were telling me she wanted me erased from her life completely.

I still didn't know what happened.

Damn it.