New York City | Friday Evening | Hawthorne Enterprises Headquarters
The city glowed like spilled gold through the tinted glass of Hawthorne Tower. From the 58th floor, you could see the world moving below — endless headlights, neon signs, and people chasing something they’d never quite catch.
Bryan Hawthorne stood at his office window, jacket off, tie loose, staring at the skyline like it might offer him answers. His desk was cluttered — not with contracts or stock reports, but with the same item he’d been staring at for hours.
The bracelet.
He ran a thumb over the emerald inlay, tracing the spiral that never seemed to end. It was delicate, ancient-looking, clearly handcrafted — not something a modern jeweler would make.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
And the woman who haunted his thoughts.
Violet Fuller.
The doctor with the blue eyes and calm voice. The one who made his chest ache when she spoke.
The one whose scent reminded him of something long buried — red velvet, coffee, rain.
He frowned, setting the bracelet down.
Why did her voice sound so familiar?
He’d seen thousands of faces, shaken hundreds of hands. Yet something about her presence made his pulse quicken in a way that was almost… painful.
“Sir?” His assistant, Lily, poked her head in. “Your brother’s here.”
Bryan turned sharply. “Brother?”
Lily hesitated. “John Hawthorne.”
For a second, Bryan thought he’d misheard. “John?” he repeated. “As in—”
“Yes, sir. He said you’d want to see him. Should I—”
Before she could finish, the door opened, and a tall man stepped in — confident, sharp, with the same striking Hawthorne features but a colder edge. His dark hair was slicked back, his smirk faint but unmistakable.
“Miss me, brother?”
Bryan’s jaw tightened. “What are you doing here, John?”
“Relax.” John raised both hands, grinning like a man who enjoyed provoking him. “I came to talk. To catch up. You know — family reunion.”
Bryan didn’t move. “After disappearing for ten years? After what your mother did?”
John’s smirk faltered for a split second. “She paid her price, Bryan. She’s gone. You got the company, the name, the glory. I got... survival.”
“And now you want what?” Bryan asked. “Forgiveness?”
John’s eyes darkened. “No. A chance.”
Bryan folded his arms. “A chance for what?”
John took a step closer, his gaze dropping briefly to the bracelet on Bryan’s desk — the one thing that glimmered in the office light. His brow furrowed.
“That’s... familiar,” he murmured.
Bryan’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen it before?”
John hesitated, then looked away. “Maybe.”
There was something in his tone — guilt, or memory. But Bryan didn’t have time to press him; his phone buzzed with a reminder.
A meeting at St. Adelaide Medical Center. With Dr. Violet Fuller.
St. Adelaide Medical Center | Later That Night
The hospital’s corridors were quieter after hours, the fluorescent lights humming softly as if whispering secrets.
Violet sat at her desk in the staff lounge, scrolling through patient charts. Her hair was tied up loosely, a few blonde strands escaping the messy bun. A cold cup of coffee sat beside her, untouched.
Her thoughts weren’t on medicine. They were on Bryan.
On the look in his eyes earlier — the hint of recognition he’d quickly brushed away.
He didn’t remember her, but his soul did. She could feel it.
Every time he was near, her chest tightened, and her heart betrayed her. She hated it. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let him in again. But his presence felt like gravity — inescapable.
The door opened.
She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. That heavy silence had its own signature.
“Dr. Fuller,” Bryan’s deep voice said, calm and steady. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
She straightened. “Mr. Hawthorne. You’re still here this late?”
“I could ask you the same.” He stepped inside, holding a file. “I wanted to review the merger agreement with you. You’ll be part of the new medical board.”
She blinked. “Me? Why?”
“Because you’re efficient. Disciplined. Reliable.”
His eyes softened briefly. “And because… I trust you.”
Her throat went dry.
Trust. A word he’d never given her when it mattered.
“I’m honored,” she said quietly, looking down at her desk. “But I didn’t think you noticed me enough to trust me.”
He frowned. “Why would you say that?”
Violet’s lips parted, then closed again. She shook her head. “Forget it.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The hum of the air conditioner filled the space between them like white noise.
Bryan studied her, eyes scanning every detail of her — the curve of her jaw, the faint scar near her collarbone, the way her hands trembled slightly when she adjusted a paper clip.
“I feel like I’ve met you before,” he admitted softly. “Years ago. Maybe when I was younger.”
Her pulse quickened. “Maybe you have.”
“Where?”
Violet forced a smile. “Maybe in another life.”
He chuckled quietly, but his gaze lingered. “You’re hard to read, Dr. Fuller.”
“So I’ve been told,” she replied, forcing lightness into her tone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have rounds in ten minutes.”
He nodded slowly. “Of course.”
As he turned to leave, she added, without looking up, “Tell Rebecca I want my bracelet back.”
Bryan froze mid-step.
“Your what?”
“The bracelet she’s wearing,” Violet said, voice sharper now. “It’s mine.”
He turned fully to face her. “She told me it was a gift. From me.”
“It wasn’t,” she said firmly. “It’s the only thing I have from my childhood. And it doesn’t belong to her.”
Bryan’s brows furrowed, confusion clouding his features. “Then how did she get it?”
Violet’s eyes met his. “You tell me.”
Meanwhile… | The Hawthorne Mansion
Rebecca poured herself a glass of wine, humming to herself in front of the mirror. The bracelet sparkled against her wrist — beautiful, luxurious, and completely out of place against her designer silk robe.
She couldn’t stop touching it.
It made her feel powerful. Special. Like she belonged to something greater.
But the guilt pricked her chest like thorns.
Because deep down, she knew the truth — it wasn’t hers.
And worse, someone else knew it too.
John leaned against the doorway, watching her with an unreadable expression. “You’ve got guts,” he said, voice low. “Wearing something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Rebecca jumped, nearly spilling her drink. “John! You scared me.”
He smirked. “Did I?”
She glared. “What are you doing here? You can’t just walk into this house like—”
“It’s my house too,” he interrupted smoothly, taking a slow sip of whiskey. “And we both know Bryan won’t be home tonight.”
Rebecca’s jaw tightened. “So what do you want?”
He walked closer, eyes flicking to her wrist. “That bracelet.”
Her pulse skipped. “What about it?”
“Where did you get it?” His tone sharpened. “And don’t lie.”
She swallowed hard. “Bryan gave it to me.”
“Funny,” he said, tilting his head. “Because I’ve seen that bracelet before. Years ago. On a girl… in a cage.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“She was crying,” he continued, voice dark. “Small. Blonde. Blue eyes. They called her Violet.”
Rebecca’s heart stuttered.
John’s smirk faded. “You have no idea what that thing means, do you?”
Rebecca backed away, clutching her wrist. “It’s mine now.”
He leaned close, his voice a whisper against her ear. “Not for long.”
Back at St. Adelaide | Midnight
Violet stood on the rooftop, arms crossed against the cold. The city stretched below her — vast, indifferent, alive. It was strange, how one city could hold both her nightmares and her hope.
She heard footsteps behind her.
“Elena,” she said without turning. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Elena murmured, handing her a steaming cup of coffee. “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”
Violet smiled faintly. “I wish I wasn’t.”
“He looked at you today,” Elena said softly. “Really looked. Maybe he’s starting to remember.”
Violet shook her head. “He won’t. People like Bryan don’t remember people like me. He remembers beauty, money, perfection — not the girl who once wore glasses and messy hair.”
Elena leaned on the railing beside her. “Maybe he’s remembering your heart.”
Violet stared at the skyline. “He doesn’t know it’s the same one he broke.”
They stood in silence for a long moment.
Then Violet whispered, almost to herself, “If he ever finds out who I really am… I don’t know whether I want him to love me again — or to regret that he ever did.”
And far below, in a black car idling by the hospital gates…
John watched the rooftop through the windshield, a faint smirk on his lips.
“So, Violet Fuller,” he murmured. “You survived.”
He leaned back in his seat, eyes glinting in the darkness. “Let’s see how long it takes before my dear brother realizes who you really are.”