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.

Noah

I lifted my foot and accidentally stepped on a pink plush rabbit-round and chubby, pale pink, with long floppy ears. I picked it up and put it back where it had been on the table.

I'd bought that toy for Emma back in college.

That day, I'd been wandering through the mall when I saw her growing visibly frustrated at a claw machine. I stopped and watched her for a while, saw how hard she was trying. She came so close so many times, but the toy always slipped and fell.

A faint smirk tugged at my mouth as I walked over to the token machine.

"Need some help?" I asked.

She turned around, eyes widening when she saw me.

"No," she said. "I'm just killing time."

I raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "All right. Mind if I give it a try?" I said casually.

She nodded. "Sure." Then she stepped aside to let me play.

I dropped in a token and won the plush toy she'd been chasing-with a single try.

"Wow!" she exclaimed.

I bent down, picked up the toy, and handed it to her. "It's ugly. I don't like it. You can have it," I said indifferently.

"It's not ugly at all. It's really cute," she said, stroking the toy. "Are you sure you don't want it?"

"Yeah. It doesn't suit me," I replied, trying to convince her.

She smiled. "Then I'll keep it. Thank you."

My interactions with Emma had always been like that-few and far between. She refused everything I tried to give her, but I always found excuses that left her no choice but to accept.

I knew how much she liked that toy, which was why I was genuinely shocked when she returned it to me.

When my sister handed me the package Emma had mailed back, something twisted painfully in my chest. The timing couldn't have been worse. My father and I had been in the middle of a heated argument. I'd come home on holiday, and he insisted I give up my studies in the UK and take over as CEO of the family business.

That only strengthened my resolve to become a doctor.

Especially after my brother Lucas started working at the company and openly stated that he wanted the CEO position. I didn't want to compete with him. We had a good relationship, and I didn't want business rivalry to destroy it.

While driving to the hospital one day, a little girl suddenly ran out in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes.

I jumped out immediately and rushed over to her. She looked up at me in terror, clutching a small puppy in her arms.

I knelt down and asked gently, "Are you hurt?"

I carefully lifted her up to check her for injuries. She seemed fine-just a few scrapes and bruises on her palms from breaking her fall.

Shaking her head, she continued holding the puppy tightly. "I'm fine, Dr. Morgan. But could you please check if the puppy is hurt?" she asked, looking at me pleadingly.

I frowned.

She looked familiar.

"Hannah," I murmured to myself.

I remembered her. She'd come to me for consultations before, though our schedules rarely aligned-I often saw her and her mother seeing other doctors instead.

"You're only worried about the dog?" I couldn't help scolding her. "Do you realize how dangerous that was? If I hadn't braked in time, you could've been hit by my car."

I looked around, wondering who she was with and why her guardian would allow her to dash out like that.

Hannah bit her lip, about to speak, when a woman shouted her name.

"Hannah!"

I turned and saw a woman running toward her. She wrapped Hannah tightly in her arms, clearly relieved once she realized her daughter was unharmed.

"Mom, I'm fine-and the puppy is fine too," Hannah said, showing her the dog.

Her mother noticed the bruises on Hannah's palms. As she hugged her again, a tear slid down her cheek.

She looked up at me, her face pale, still visibly shaken. I understood her reaction-any parent would be terrified to learn their child had nearly been hit by a car.

She seemed to want to say something, but hesitated. Maybe she was afraid I'd scold her too.

I spoke immediately, softening my tone. "Ms. Evans, there's no need to be nervous. I don't mean any harm. If I really did something wrong, I hope you'll tell me directly."

She bit her lip but didn't respond.

I stepped a little closer, lowering my voice. "Ms. Evans... have we really never met before?"

She shook her head at once. "We've only met at the hospital-and at Battery Park."

I studied her for a few seconds. When I saw no hesitation in her expression, I nodded and opened my car door.

"Get in. Let's go. I'll take you and your daughter to the hospital for a checkup."

"No... that's not necessary. I don't want to trouble you. I can take her myself," she refused firmly.

I frowned. There was something odd about her reaction. Normally, parents in situations like this would insist on going to the hospital-and hold the driver responsible.

"I'm a doctor," I said firmly. "A lot of accident victims look fine on the surface, but have dangerous internal injuries. If anything happens, I'll take responsibility."

"Hannah is my patient," I added.

Still hesitant, she had no real choice. She got into the car with Hannah and the puppy, sitting in the back seat.

I glanced at Hannah's mother. She looked much younger than her actual age-certainly not like the mother of a six-year-old. Her skin was very fair, even more so in the blue dress she was wearing. There was something inexplicably familiar about her, especially when I looked into her light brown eyes.

After we arrived at the hospital, I asked a nurse to assist Hannah with a series of tests.

She needed chest and abdominal CT scans. Since she was under my care, I accompanied her into the CT room.

"Dr. Morgan, your daughter looks exactly like you," one doctor joked.

"What?!" I exclaimed in shock. "She's not my daughter."

"Sorry, but you two really do look like father and daughter," the doctor said, puzzled.

Ms. Evans spoke up immediately. "You're mistaken. Hannah's father passed away a long time ago."

Passed away?

I looked at Ms. Evans, a deep sense of loss flashing through me. Just moments ago, a part of me had hoped Hannah might be my daughter. But Emma was gone-no one could be carrying my child.

Because after her, I hadn't slept with any woman.

I turned back to Ms. Evans. She looked tense.

"There's radiation in here," I said gently. "You can wait outside. I'll stay with her. Don't worry."

She nodded and stepped out.

As Hannah underwent the scans, whispers drifted around us.

"Who's the little girl with Dr. Morgan?"

"Is she his girlfriend's child?"

"Is that Dr. Morgan's type?"

"I don't think so. Didn't he say when he rejected Ava that he liked women with big breasts, fair skin, and long legs?"

"Really? I didn't know Dr. Morgan had such crude tastes."

"Most men do. Remember how much Ava did just to work in the same department as him-and how she completely lost it when he rejected her?"

"We should stop speculating. She's probably just a relative. The girl looks about five or six, and Dr. Morgan is nearly thirty. It's unlikely she's his child."

Hearing them whisper while Hannah was being examined, I could only shake my head. There was no point explaining anything.

The tests took several hours. Fortunately, everything came back normal-only bruises on her palms and knees bore witness to the accident. Knowing my young patient was truly fine, I finally felt relieved.

"Thank you for your help, Dr. Morgan," Ms. Evans said.

I handed her a business card. "This is my card. If Hannah needs anything, contact me anytime."

She looked conflicted, so I added, "Hannah's condition means emergencies can happen at any time."

"Thank you, Dr. Morgan," she said at last, taking the card.

I watched her walk away. For a moment, her silhouette overlapped with Emma's in my mind.

Was she really not Emma?

I had to find out.

I immediately asked William to help me hire a private investigator.