(JARED’S POV)
I blinked and went over the headline again, ensuring I was not reading wrong. But the words did not go away. They were there, as bold as ever.
Then I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze down to the picture below, and my breath hitched. It was her. Arielle.
The same lady at the airport.
The same lady in Ashley’s car. Little wonder I was drawn to her earlier in the traffic.
How could I be so blind?
Twice, in just a few days. At the airport, where I had felt that strange pull but brushed it off. In the car, where I tried to catch a glimpse, but she vanished before I could truly see her. Both times, I had let her slip away.
The realization hit me like a ton of hot breaks, shattering my heart. How could tease fate trade me like this?
I had thought I’d never see her again. But here she was.
I stared at her picture, my heart pounding. Arielle. Back in town. Successful. Famous, even.
Her name was splashed across the article, announcing her as the new ambassador chef for Italy’s most prestigious restaurant chain, with a branch in New York. I felt an odd surge of pride, but it was quickly drowned by a flood of emotions I couldn’t name.
I scanned the article, my hands shaking slightly. There was something different about her her eyes, once so warm and open, now carried a fierce intensity that sent a chill through me. What had happened to her? What had turned the woman I once knew into this… unstoppable force? I couldn’t stop the questions from piling up in my mind.
Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and dialed my investigator. He picked up almost immediately, as if waiting for my call.
“I need everything you can dig up on her,” I said, the urgency thick in my voice.
“Already on it, Sir as I figured you’d ask for information on that. But what specifically are you looking for?”
“Everything,” I reiterated. “Hee life since she left, her accomplishments, her relationships… Everything.”
“Got it. I’ll send you a comprehensive report ASAP.”
I hung up, but the restlessness didn’t leave me. My heart raced, caught between fear and something I couldn’t define. What if she had moved on? What if… she had married someone else?
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to stifle the dull throb, but it only intensified as I remembered the boy at the airport. That boy with her same eyes. I hadn’t thought much of him at first, but now… the pieces began to fit together with a cruel kind of logic. Was he hers?
The thought twisted inside me, and I couldn’t breathe for a moment. I had no right to ask her not to, not after everything, but the idea of her with another man sent a wave of pain crashing through me.
I tried to focus on work, but my mind kept drifting back to Arielle. I found myself opening her alma mater’s website, searching for any information about her time at the culinary academy.
The site had a few mentions of her achievements, but it was mostly just photos and accolades. There was no tangible insight into her personal life, no hint of what had shaped her into the person she was today.
My mind kept drifting back to
her-those eyes, the fierce
determination in her expression, the woman she had become. There was something proud in me, too. Arielle had fought her way to the top, made a name for herself. She had built her life, found success without me. And somehow, that pride only deepened the ache in my chest.
The wait for my investigator’s email feedback felt like an eternity. I refreshed my inbox every few minutes to see if he had sent a mail, and with each empty inbox, my anxiety grew. Finally, it arrived. I opened the email with a sharp intake of breath.
Subject: Arielle -Comprehensive Report.
I scanned the report, digesting every detail.
“Arielle Meyers,” I read aloud.
“Graduated top of her class at the culinary academy of Italy… worked as an online food critic for Bella Vita restaurant in New York. Became the youngest executive chef assistant to chef Bianchi in Rome, and now the newly appointed ambassador chef for Italy’s finest restaurant chain.” I was both amazed and heartbroken. This wasn’t the Arielle I once knew.
As I scrolled through the report, I noticed that my investigator had included a few personal details. Arielle had been linked to a few high-profile chefs, none seem serious but a particular male got my attention. He seemed to be in every one of Arielle’s pictures. I looked up his name, and it said “Dwayne Rodriguez.”
Was he… important to her?
“Hmmm,” I mumbled, making a mental note to look him up later.
But for now, I was more concerned with Arielle. Her social media profiles were private, but my investigator had managed to uncover a few quotes from interviews.
“I’ve had to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of success I have,” she was quoted as saying in one interview. “I’ve learned to break out of my cocoon and I won’t let anyone take that away from me.”
The words sent sharp spikes to my chest, and for reasons I couldn’t fathom, I felt attacked by them.
I had let her go. And yet…
There was a strange, faint sense of hope, lurking in the back of my mind. What if… What if she wasn’t married? What if that kid wasn’t her son? What if…I could see her again? But just as quickly, that hope was smothered by fear-fear that she wouldn’t want to see me, fear that I had lost her completely.
Grabbing my phone again, I called my investigator back, my voice tight with urgency. “Get me her home address,” I ordered, the moment he picked up.
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