Chapter 2

Chloe's POV

I spent the entire night in that café.

By morning, my mind was made up: I was leaving him, and I was leaving this city.

I was going back to the corporate world, straight to Europe.

Going head-to-head with the Vance family here on their home turf was a losing battle for a lone woman.

My family had deep, powerful roots across the Atlantic. I didn't need a single penny from Alexander to build a life.

I scrolled down my contact list until I found a number I had saved years ago—one I had never dialed.

It belonged to the chairman of a premier European luxury hotel group.

Years ago, they had aggressively recruited me to take over as their regional General Manager. I had turned them down, claiming my child was too young and my family needed me at home.

When I gave up my career back then, I truly believed this family was worth the sacrifice.

As the sky brightened, I hit call.

The phone was answered almost instantly, the voice on the other end overflowing with pleasant surprise: "Chloe? Am I dreaming? You're actually calling me?"

"I've made my decision," I said. My voice was raspy, but my tone was rock-solid. "Is that General Manager position still open for me?"

"Open? Absolutely! I'll have HR send the formal offer letter to your inbox today with our top-tier executive compensation package. How soon can you relocate?"

"As soon as possible," I replied. "I'll need corporate sponsorship to fast-track my work visa."

"Consider it done. Send your documents over right away."

Right after I hung up, Julian's call came through.

"You stayed out all night?" Julian sounded exhausted; he clearly hadn't slept either.

"Yeah, just sat thinking," I breathed. "Julian, I'm heading to Europe. Going back to hotel management. The company is sponsoring my visa, but I need you to pull some strings to expedite the paperwork."

Julian paused briefly. "Understood. I'll handle it today. Two weeks at most. And don't worry about the boy—I've already mobilized my contacts. Even if I have to turn the country upside down, I'll bring your son back to you."

A lump formed in my throat. "Thank you, Julian."

"Stop treating me like a stranger," he sighed. "Take care of yourself. Don't push too hard."

Once the sun was fully up, I drove straight to the police precinct.

The detective asked me for a recent photograph of the child.

I shook my head, my chest aching. "I don't even know what he looks like."

Saying those words out loud made me realize what a pathetic, tragic excuse for a mother I was.

All I could give them was his exact date of birth and the hospital where I delivered him. The officer jotted down every detail and instructed me to gather whatever documentation I could find.

From the station, I returned to the hospital.

The boy was sleeping peacefully; the room was empty.

I leaned over, gently tucking in the corner of his blanket, and subtly plucked several strands of hair from his pillow. I made sure to select the ones with intact roots, wrapped them carefully in a tissue, and slipped them into a hidden pocket of my purse.

At the DNA testing facility, the technician asked for my relationship to the child.

"Mother and son," I said flatly, pushing the wrapped hair across the counter.

My final stop was my attorney's office. The moment I sat down, I got straight to the point: "How do we file for divorce?"

"You can complete the proceedings even from abroad," the lawyer said, flipping through a file. "If your husband refuses to sign the settlement agreement, we'll take him to court. It might drag out for a while."

"I don't care how long it takes. I can wait."

The attorney looked up at me over his glasses. "What about evidence of misconduct?"

"I'm gathering it."

That afternoon, I brought a fresh change of clothes back to the hospital. But as I reached the door of the pediatric suite, my footsteps froze.

A woman was sitting on the edge of the bed, feeding apple slices to the boy. The child kept affectionately chiming, "Auntie Vivian! Auntie Vivian!"

"Chloe?" Alexander's voice called out from behind me.

He rushed over, pulling me tightly into his arms. "I've been looking everywhere for you! I was worried sick! Where on earth did you go?"

He held me tightly, his grip as strong as it had always been.

My arms hung limp at my sides, my eyes fixed over his shoulder on the woman inside the room.

Alexander caught my gaze, quickly looked away, and held my shoulders, softening his voice: "The little guy just drifted off to sleep. You didn't get any rest last night, so head home and take a nap. Don't go in and wake him. I'll stay here and watch him."

Inside the room, the child was wide awake, happily chewing on an apple slice.

During the hours he claimed to be "worried sick," he didn't even ask where I had been all night. His first priority was rushing me out of the hospital.

The message was loud and clear: this room was no longer my place.

Vivian walked out of the room. Seeing the two of us, she gave a timid, demure nod: "Mrs. Vance."

She pressed her lips together and added softly, "I'm Alexander's cousin, Vivian. I just graduated from college and came by to help look after the baby."

I didn't have the stomach to entertain her cheap act. I spun on my heel and walked away.

Alexander called after me, but I didn't turn back.

The moment I stepped out the front doors, my phone buzzed with an incoming text from an unknown number: [Level P3 of the Eastside Mall parking garage. Your husband's car is always parked there. If you want to know where your real son is, come see for yourself.]

I didn't care who sent it or what their angle was. All that mattered was my boy.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address.