Chapter 2 - THE EMBLEM OF REGRET
Adrien’s hand remained suspended in the air, trembling visibly. The ruthless billionaire who commanded boardrooms without blinking looked as though he had seen a ghost rising from the grave. His eyes were wide, fixed entirely on the tarnished silver lark resting against my blood-speckled skin.
"Adrien?" Vanessa’s voice shook, pitching higher as she cradled her bruised wrist. "What are you doing? She ruined my family’s china! Look at her, she’s filthy! Fire her immediately and have security throw her off the property!"
Adrien did not blink. He didn't even turn his head toward the woman he was supposed to marry in six weeks. Instead, he slowly reached forward, his fingers brushing against the cold silver of the charm. When his skin grazed mine, an electric shudder passed between us, vivid and hauntingly familiar.
"Where did you get this?" Adrien whispered, his voice dangerously soft, devoid of the icy authority he had used a moment prior.
"It... it belonged to my grandmother," I stammered, pulling back instinctively, terrified that even my few possessions would be torn away to pay for the broken cup. "Please, Mr. Cole. I’ll leave right now. I won’t ask for my back pay. Just please don't call the police. My son... my little boy is waiting for me at the clinic."
"Your grandmother didn't give you this," Adrien said, his voice cracking slightly. He flipped the pendant over with the tip of his thumb. On the back, worn down by years of being pressed against warm skin, was a minuscule engraving: For My North Star - A.C.
A collective murmur rippled through the guests gathered at the base of the stairs. Among them stood Mrs. Evelyn Cole, Adrien’s aristocratic mother, whose teacup rattled against its saucer. Evelyn stepped forward, her eyes narrowing at the pendant with sudden hostility.
"Adrien, that is quite enough," Evelyn said briskly, attempting to restore order. "The girl was careless. She tripped, she made a scene, and Vanessa is understandably upset. Give the girl some cash for a cab, call the doctor to stitch her up, and let us resume the luncheon. The press will arrive in two hours."
"Mother," Adrien said, standing up to his full height. The air in the foyer turned arctic. "Do you recognize this charm?"
Evelyn stiffened, her jaw tightening. "It is a cheap piece of silver, Adrien. Hundreds of trinkets look identical. Don't be dramatic in front of our guests."
"There is only one like it in the world," Adrien said, turning back to look down at me. "Because I hand-carved the wings myself seven years ago in Maine."
Vanessa let out a sharp, incredulous gasp. "What are you talking about? You made jewelry for a maid?"
"She wasn't a maid when I knew her," Adrien said, his voice dropping into a register of profound sorrow and mounting fury. "Her name isn't just Bennett. Seven years ago, she was Naomi Hayes. The woman who disappeared from my life without a word the morning after our cottage burned down."
My breath caught in my throat. The pain in my wrist vanished beneath an overwhelming wave of dread and long-buried grief. Seven years of running, of hiding in plain sight, of surviving in low-income housing and taking the most grueling cleaning shifts just to stay invisible—all collapsing in a single heartbeat under the chandelier of his ancestral home.
"You knew him?" Vanessa shrieked, glaring at me with raw hatred. "You brought an ex-lover into my house to clean my floors? You sick, calculating little thief!"
"She didn't know," Adrien snapped, turning a venomous glare on his fiancée. "Look at her, Vanessa. For three years, she took the night shifts and service quarters. I was in London and Tokyo until eight months ago. She avoided the master wing entirely. She didn't seek me out. She was hiding from me."
He stepped closer, offering his hand to help me off the floor, but I shrank back, curling into the stair rail.
"Why did you run, Naomi?" he asked, the hurt in his voice raw and bleeding through his composure. "You told me you loved me. You swore you’d stay. Then I woke up in an ICU with third-degree smoke inhalation, and you were gone. Along with the five hundred thousand dollars from my personal account."
The accusation hit me like a physical blow. The guests gasped; Vanessa smirked with renewed triumph.
"What?" I choked out, tears finally breaking past my lashes. "Five hundred thousand dollars? Adrien, I left with nothing! I left with the clothes on my back and twenty dollars in my pocket!"
"Liars always tell the same sad story," Vanessa sneered, crossing her arms. "Call the authorities, Adrien. She stole from you then, and she's destroying our home now."
"No police," Adrien ordered curtly. He turned to his head of security, Marcus, who was standing by the mahogany front doors. "Clear the foyer. Escort the guests to the garden terrace. The luncheon is over."
"Adrien, you cannot treat our guests this way!" Evelyn protested, stepping onto the first riser of the stairs. "Think of the Cole family reputation!"
"Marcus, clear the room," Adrien repeated, not looking back. Marcus nodded silently and began shepherding the bewildered socialites toward the French doors leading outside.
Within minutes, only Adrien, Evelyn, Vanessa, and I remained in the cavernous hall. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by my shallow, ragged breathing and the steady drip of blood onto the marble floor.
Adrien crouched back down in front of me. He pulled a crisp linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently wrapped it around my bleeding palm, tying it with steady, practiced hands. Despite the gentleness of his touch, his jaw remained locked in rigid tension.
"We are going to St. Jude’s Hospital," Adrien said quietly. "Your wrist is broken, Naomi. You need x-rays and stitches."
"No," I pleaded, trying to pull away. "I can't go to St. Jude's. I have to go to the community clinic downtown. Micah is there with Mrs. Gable. He gets scared if I'm late, Adrien, please—"
"Who is Micah?" Adrien asked, his brow furrowing as he caught the panic in my voice.
Before I could answer, Evelyn stepped forward, her voice laced with venomous calm. "Adrien, don't let her play your sympathies. She vanished with your money, lived in the gutter, and now claims to have a child to extract more from you. Don't be a fool."
Adrien ignored his mother entirely. He lifted me effortlessly into his arms, paying no mind to the blood staining the lapel of his tailored Italian suit. Vanessa stepped into his path, her eyes wild with indignity.
"If you walk out that door carrying that servant, Adrien, the wedding is off!" she threatened, trembling with rage.
Adrien stopped. He looked Vanessa dead in the eyes, his voice flat and merciless. "Consider it cancelled."
He pushed past her, carrying me through the massive oak doors into the brisk autumn air. Marcus had already pulled the black sedan around to the circular driveway. Adrien placed me carefully in the back seat and slid in beside me, instructing the driver to head straight for the children's wing at St. Jude's.
As the car accelerated down the winding estate road, I leaned my head against the cool glass, exhausted and terrified.
"Why did you mention the clinic, Naomi?" Adrien asked softly in the darkness of the cabin, holding my uninjured hand. "What is wrong with your son?"
"He has hypoplastic left heart syndrome," I whispered, the words scraping my throat. "He’s six years old, Adrien. His heart is failing. He needs a reconstruction surgery that I can't afford. That's why I took the job at your estate. The agency said the Coles paid three times the normal wage. I didn't even know it was your house until six months after I started... and by then, I couldn't afford to quit."
Adrien stared at me, his eyes dark with an emotion I couldn't decipher. "Six years old?" he repeated slowly. "Naomi... how old is he, exactly?"
"His birthday is next Tuesday," I said quietly, closing my eyes. "He was born on October fourteenth."
Beside me, Adrien went utterly still. The math was simple. Seven years ago, we spent the autumn together in Maine. The fire happened in January. Exactly nine months before October fourteenth.
Before Adrien could speak another word, my old flip phone buzzed violently in my apron pocket. I fumbled it open with trembling, blood-crusted fingers and pressed it to my ear.
May you like
It was Mrs. Gable, the elderly neighbor who watched Micah at the clinic daycare. Her voice was hysterical, punctuated by sirens in the background.
"Naomi! Oh God, Naomi, thank heaven you answered!" she sobbed. "Micah collapsed! The doctors couldn't stabilize his rhythm—they’re transferring him by emergency ambulance right now to St. Jude’s! They said his heart is giving out!"
