New York City | Saturday Morning | St. Adelaide Medical Center
The sun had barely crept over the skyline when Violet walked into the hospital. The marble floors gleamed beneath her heels, the air crisp with the faint scent of disinfectant and freshly brewed coffee. Everything looked the same — the same nurses greeting her, the same beeping of monitors, the same patients needing her calm hands.
Yet, she felt different.
Restless. Uneasy.
John Hawthorne was back in New York. That alone sent a chill down her spine.
The name “John” wasn’t just a whisper from the past — it was a ghost that dragged along the faint echoes of darkness, of the years she had buried deep inside her.
When she was kidnapped as a child, there had been another boy there. Older, cold-eyed, broken. He had been kind to her in his own rough way, protecting her from the men who locked them away. She remembered his voice, rough and gentle at once, promising her that one day they would both escape.
But when she woke up in a hospital bed days later — rescued, trembling, unable to remember her name — he was gone.
She’d thought he had died.
Now he was back.
And somehow, he was connected to Bryan.
The elevator doors slid open, and the world’s most dangerous déjà vu stepped out.
Bryan Hawthorne.
He looked different today — softer somehow. A navy blue suit, hair tousled, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He carried a bouquet of lilies.
Her heart thudded. Lily flowers. My favorite.
He walked straight toward her, his expression unreadable.
“Dr. Fuller,” he greeted. His tone was polite, almost formal, but there was something else beneath it — a tension, an uncertainty. “I was hoping to see you before your shift.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “You were?”
He nodded and handed her the bouquet. “For you. Consider it a thank-you for saving my board member’s life yesterday. You were exceptional.”
Violet took the flowers slowly. Her fingers brushed his — and the air shifted.
Something electric pulsed between them. It wasn’t just attraction. It was familiarity. A shared heartbeat that neither of them could explain.
She swallowed hard. “Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne. But you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” His voice lowered, almost tender. “You remind me of someone I can’t seem to forget.”
Her fingers tightened around the bouquet. “Maybe you should try harder.”
He smiled faintly, unaware of the storm in her chest. “If I could, I would.”
And just like that — he was gone, leaving her standing there, heart in pieces, holding lilies that smelled like memories.
Later that day | The Hawthorne Mansion
Rebecca paced the length of her bedroom, her silk robe sweeping the carpet. The bracelet on her wrist felt heavier than ever, like a burden she couldn’t take off.
John’s words from last night still echoed in her head:
“I’ve seen that bracelet before. On a girl in a cage. They called her Violet.”
She couldn’t shake the image. The fear in his voice. The way he looked at her like he already knew the truth.
What if… Violet Fuller wasn’t who everyone thought she was?
Rebecca had spent years comparing herself to Violet — hating her perfection, her calmness, her quiet strength. But what if the woman she despised wasn’t even supposed to exist in this world — what if she was someone’s missing child, someone with a claim even stronger than hers?
“Stop it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re imagining things.”
But then her phone buzzed.
Unknown number: We need to talk. Tonight. The truth will ruin you if you don’t listen.
Rebecca froze. Her pulse raced. “John,” she whispered.
That evening | Hawthorne Tower – Executive Lounge
Bryan sat in the dim light of the lounge, nursing a glass of whiskey. The city glimmered beneath him like a living constellation, but he couldn’t see its beauty tonight. His mind was spinning — not with business, not with deals — but with Violet.
The way she had looked at him earlier. The way her voice trembled when she said his name.
No, not his name. Mr. Hawthorne.
The title felt wrong on her lips. Too formal. Too distant.
Why did it bother him so much?
“Thinking about her again?” Albert’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Bryan didn’t even look up. “What do you mean?”
Albert laughed, setting his drink down beside him. “Please. You’ve been zoning out for days. You’ve got that look — the same one you had when you first met your wife.”
Bryan frowned. “My wife?”
Albert’s eyes darkened. “You know, Violet. The one you haven’t seen in years.”
Bryan said nothing.
Albert studied him, his tone softening. “You never really talk about her. But I remember the way you used to look at her when your grandmother first arranged the marriage. You hated it — but you respected her. She had something no one else did.”
Bryan stared into his glass. “I didn’t respect her. I ignored her. I thought she was a joke.”
“Yeah,” Albert said quietly. “And maybe that’s why you can’t stop thinking about the doctor now.”
Bryan’s head snapped up. “What are you implying?”
Albert smirked. “I’m implying that maybe your heart recognizes something your head doesn’t.”
Bryan didn’t respond — because, for once, he couldn’t argue.
Midnight | The Riverside District
Rebecca sat at a café by the river, her hands trembling around her cup. The lights of the bridge shimmered on the water, and across from her sat John — calm, dangerous, too sure of himself.
“You said you had answers,” she hissed.
He leaned back. “I do. But first, you tell me why you’re pretending that bracelet is yours.”
“I’m not pretending—”
“Don’t lie.” His voice dropped, cold. “That bracelet belonged to the girl I was kidnapped with years ago. She was about your age back then — maybe younger. Blonde. Blue eyes. Name was Violet.”
Rebecca’s stomach flipped. “That’s ridiculous.”
John smiled. “Is it? Because that same Violet grew up, disappeared, and somehow reappeared as Dr. Violet Fuller — the woman working for my brother.”
Rebecca froze, her blood running cold.
He leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “So tell me, Rebecca. How does she have your bracelet?”
“I—I don’t know!” she stammered. “I saw her at the hospital that night. She left the room before Bryan woke up. I swear, I thought—”
“That she slept with him?” John finished, amused. “And you just took advantage of it?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just… I loved him. I wanted him to see me.”
John’s voice softened slightly. “And now?”
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
John reached across the table, lifting her chin until their eyes met. “Then maybe it’s time you found out — before she takes everything you’ve been pretending to have.”
Rebecca flinched, his words slicing deeper than she wanted to admit.
Sunday Morning | St. Adelaide Rooftop
The sky was streaked with pink and gold, the city below waking slowly. Violet stood alone, a cup of coffee in her hands, her hair blowing in the wind.
She hadn’t slept.
Last night had been a blur of memories, fragments of her past clawing their way back — the cage, the fear, the boy who promised her freedom.
Was it John?
And if it was, did that mean Bryan knew what had happened all those years ago?
The thought made her chest tighten.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” a familiar voice asked.
She turned — Bryan stood there, tie loosened, hair slightly disheveled, holding two cups of coffee.
“You again,” she said softly.
He smiled faintly and handed her one cup. “Peace offering. Black, two sugars.”
She blinked. “How did you—”
“I just guessed,” he said, though the truth was — he remembered.
He remembered the scent of her morning coffee. The way she hummed while sipping it. The way she’d once told him red velvet cake and coffee made her feel human again.
It was all coming back in flashes.
He looked at her now — really looked — and for the first time, the memory hit him like lightning.
A young girl with messy hair and glasses. A trembling smile. The same ocean-blue eyes.
He’d seen her before.
“Violet…” he whispered before he could stop himself.
She froze. “What did you just say?”
He blinked, shaking his head. “Sorry, I—”
Her lips trembled. “You said my name.”
For a moment, the air went still — the city, the wind, even time itself seemed to pause.
Bryan’s eyes searched hers, confusion and realization colliding all at once.
“Have we met before?” he asked softly.
Violet’s breath caught, her heart shattering and mending all in one beat.
“Maybe,” she whispered, turning away before he could see her tears. “But it was a long time ago, Mr. Hawthorne.”
And as she walked away, Bryan’s voice echoed after her — low, uncertain, haunted.
“I’m starting to think I let go of something I was never supposed to lose.”
Outside the hospital, watching from a car…
John smirked, watching them from afar.
“Tick tock, brother,” he murmured. “The truth’s coming for you — and for her.”