Chapter 2

The airport throbbed—a chaotic ballet of announcements, rushing feet, and rolling luggage. Paisley, the scent of coffee and jet fuel a stark reminder of her departure, paused just as she reached the counter. Her phone buzzed. She slid her boarding pass across, answered without checking the caller ID, and heard Grayson's shrill cry: "I want rainbow pasta!"

It was Dominick. "There's frozen pasta," Paisley replied, her voice flat.

"The nanny said it's all gone!" Grayson wailed, his voice escalating.

Paisley's lips tightened. "Then it's gone," she said, her tone unchanged.

Grayson's cries intensified. "Make it for me!"

"Ask Marissa," Paisley said, her voice sharp.

Silence, then Grayson's howls. Dominick's irritated voice cut through: "Paisley, why are you picking on him? He's just a kid."

Paisley, now settled in her first-class seat, said calmly, "If a child doesn't understand, the adults should." Her thoughts drifted to a sweeter Grayson, the boy who’d adored her. That changed, she realized with a pang, when Marissa returned.

Marissa indulged everything Paisley forbade. Grayson, impressionable, saw Paisley as the villain, the outsider who broke up the family.

"Dominick," Paisley said, "we're divorced. No need to stay in touch."

She ended the call, switching off her phone. As the plane ascended, the city blurred below. "It's over," she thought.

Four years later, in Harrowfell Hospital's director's office, Paisley lounged on the plush sofa, utterly unconcerned with the room's elegant décor.

Jonathan Walsh, the director, chuckled, patting her head. "You're a mother now. Can't you sit like an adult?"

Paisley straightened, a playful glint in her eyes. She produced a small bag of herbal tea. "Make it last. It's a pain to prepare."

Jonathan accepted the tea, his expression softening. "You're still the most thoughtful kid I know." He poured her coffee. "Top-notch beans," Paisley murmured, approving.

Jonathan leaned against his desk. "How long are you staying this time?"

"A while," Paisley replied. Her screenplay was being filmed locally.

Jonathan grinned. "Ever thought about working here? Teaching?"

"Nope," Paisley said dismissively.

Before Jonathan could protest, her phone buzzed—a welcome interruption. She excused herself, leaving Jonathan amused.

Shortly after, Paul Vanderbilt entered. His eyes landed on the coffee carafe.

Paul teased, "Who got you to use the good coffee?"

Jonathan chuckled. "Who else?"

Paul's eyebrows rose. "That herbalist?"

Jonathan nodded. "Too bad you missed her."

Paul sighed. "My health's been declining for years."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "When did that start?"

"About four years ago," Paul admitted. The stress of Dominick's divorce had taken its toll.

Jonathan noted Paul's sharp suit. "Where are you coming from?"

"Dominick gave me a ride," Paul replied, tossing his jacket onto a chair. "Saw a friend on the way."

In the hospital elevator, Paisley scrolled through headlines: "[Vanderbilt Heir Spotted with Mystery Woman]" "[Dominick Vanderbilt's Imminent Engagement]". The photos showed Dominick and Marissa.

"Imminent engagement?" Paisley sneered. Dominick had denied anything was going on with Marissa, calling her jealous and paranoid. During their marriage, she'd been invisible to the public.

"Principles crumble with love, don't they?" she mused bitterly.

The elevator doors opened. Someone stepped inside. Without looking up, Paisley shifted, giving the stranger space. Her phone rang—Emery Collins.

"Hey, darling," Paisley greeted, her voice warm.

Emery apologized. He couldn't pick her up but had sent a friend.

Suddenly, a chilling sensation washed over her. She looked up. It was Dominick. Four years had sharpened his features, intensified his eyes.

He took a step closer. The elevator reached the ground floor.

"Excuse me," Paisley said, calmly brushing past him.

Her heels clicked confidently on the tile. She'd prepared for this. Whatever they had was over.

But before she could leave, a strong hand seized her wrist.

Dominick's voice was low, furious. "Paisley, you owe me an explanation."

Paisley turned, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Mr. Vanderbilt, in what capacity are you demanding answers? As my ex-husband?"

Dominick’s breath hitched. "Then as your son's father?"

She tried to pull free. "I gave up my son. What right do you have?"

Dominick gritted his teeth. "Paisley."

Car horns blared. A sleek car idled behind Paisley. A handsome man leaned out, oblivious to the tension.

"Paisley," he called, "I'm here for you."