Julian had never lived ordinary.
He’d been raised inside the Cross dynasty, where affection was negotiated and loyalty came with consequences. His grandfather, Marco Cross, called it legacy. The press called it “alleged criminal influence.” Everyone else just called it fear.
Veronica kept talking, bright and relentless. “We’ll seat your grandfather front row, obviously, and my dad wants to invite—”
Julian stopped listening.
Because he saw her.
Time didn’t freeze.
It sharpened. Slowed. Turned cruel.
Lena Harper stood near a street vendor, dark hair twisted into a messy knot like she’d done it with one hand while holding a child with the other. Her clothes were worn. Her posture tired. Exhaustion clung to her like another layer of skin.
She looked thinner than memory.
But it was her.
The same green eyes that once dared Julian to be better than the man his family demanded.
His heart slammed so hard he almost turned away—like avoiding her could undo what he felt.
But then he saw the stroller.
Not one seat.
Not two.