Chapter 4

When Benjamin brought Sylvie back to the Silvermoon Hotel, he stopped at the front desk and asked, "How long is this room paid for?"

The clerk checked the system. "Until noon the day after tomorrow."

"Add three more days. Put it on my card." He slid his credit card across the counter.

The young woman took it, then couldn't help giving him another look. The five-year-old beside him was hard to ignore.

Sylvie, meanwhile, stood in front of the huge floral arrangement in the lobby, tilting her head back as she studied it.

She muttered to herself, "Three hundred and seventy-two hydrangeas with Morandi-inspired colors. It should cost around 30 thousand dollars. It's pretty, but not worth the price."

The clerk blinked, unsure how to respond.

Benjamin signed the receipt without reacting, his face blank. Then he crouched down in front of Sylvie. "When you get back to your room, lock the door. Don't open it for anyone. I'll come get you tomorrow morning."

Sylvie nodded seriously. "I know basic safety rules. I'll order room service if I'm hungry, and I won't go out by myself. Don't worry."

"One more thing." Benjamin hesitated for a second, then pulled out his phone. "Give me your mom's number. I need to call her."

Sylvie's expression tightened right away. "Are you going to tell her I'm here?"

"No. It's something else," he said.

"What kind of something else?"

"Grown-up stuff."

Sylvie frowned, clearly not satisfied with that answer.

Still, after a brief pause, she recited the number. Then she added, "You can call, but you should wait until tomorrow morning. She's probably on a plane right now. Her phone will be off."

"I know." Benjamin straightened up and watched her walk into the elevator.

Just before the doors closed, she suddenly leaned her head out and said, very seriously, "Benjamin, don't mess this up."

The doors slid shut.

Benjamin stood there in the lobby, staring at the closed elevator for a full ten seconds. Then he turned, walked out of the hotel, and got into his car.

He didn't go home. He drove straight back to the office.

Grandwave Capital's office sat on the forty-seventh floor of a top-tier skyscraper downtown.

By the time he swiped his card and walked in, it was already nine at night, but a few people were still working.

His assistant, Harry, was hunched over his desk, eating takeout. He looked up, surprised. "Mr. Strickland? Why are you back? The merger—"

"It can wait until tomorrow," Benjamin cut in, already striding toward his office. He didn't slow down as he said, "I need you to handle a few things.

"First, look up someone named Belle. She's a female architect in Maltowel, around thirty-five years old. I want her full resume and a portfolio of her recent work.

"Second, call legal. Tell them to be ready to draft a document, but don't start until I say so.

"Third, book me an appointment at a flower shop tomorrow morning. I'm going in person."

Harry froze with the takeout container still in his hand and his mouth slightly open. Benjamin swept past him like a storm and slammed his office door shut.

He stared down at his food, then back at the door. After a second, he pulled out his phone and sent a WhatsApp message to Leroy.

He wrote: [Mr. Delgado, something's off with Mr. Strickland tonight. He's got me looking up some woman. And he's going to a flower shop himself.]

Leroy replied almost instantly: [He knows.]

Harry frowned. [Knows what?]

Leroy: [He has a five-year-old daughter. She just flew in from Maltowel by herself to find him.]

Harry nearly dropped his takeout onto his keyboard.

Inside his office, Benjamin had already turned on his computer.

He searched Belle's name and got far more results than he expected.

"Belle Preston. Born in 1989. Graduated from a top architecture school. Founded her own firm in Maltowel in 2018. Nominated for the Franlucon Young Architect Award in 2021. A project of hers made Architectural Digest's Best Public Buildings of the Year in 2023."

Photos from interviews popped up on the screen. She looked thinner now. The softness in her face was gone, her jawline sharper, her eyes calmer than they had been five years ago.

But when she smiled, that small dimple at the corner of her mouth was still there.

Benjamin stared at the photo for a long time.

Then he picked up his phone and dialed. "Hey, Leroy. Do me a favor."

"Go ahead," Leroy replied.

"Tomorrow at two, keep Mr. Cannon and his team busy. Take the merger meeting yourself. I've got something personal to deal with," Benjamin said.

There was a brief silence on the other end. "Are you going to see the kid's mom?"

"Yeah," Benjamin said.

"Alright. I've got things here. But Benjamin—"

"Yeah?" Benjamin replied.

"Don't screw it up again," Leroy said. "Five years ago, you had me searching for her for two months. You were a mess the whole time. Now she's come to you herself. Don't let her slip away again."

Benjamin didn't respond. He just hung up.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the faint, pale mark where a ring had once been on his left hand.

Three months ago, he'd broken up with his girlfriend of two years. She was an executive at an investment bank—smart, beautiful, and successful.

Everyone said they were perfect together. But on the day they split, she had looked at him and said, "Benjamin, there's always been someone else in your heart. I don't know who she is, but she's there. I can't compete with that."

He hadn't argued. He knew she was right.

There had always been someone else, a woman he'd only known for one night, a woman whose full name he didn't even know.

And yet every detail of that night—the weight of her head on his shoulder, the way her brow tightened when she drank whiskey, the low, deep sound of her laugh—had stayed with him, carved into him so deeply that five years hadn't faded it at all.

He'd thought he would never see her again.

But now, his daughter—their daughter—was staying in the presidential suite at the Silvermoon Hotel. That five-year-old, wise beyond her years, told him her mother had never forgotten him.

Benjamin opened his eyes, picked up his phone, and dialed the number Sylvie had given him.

He knew Belle's phone was off. He knew she was still on the plane. But he called anyway.

"The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."

"It's Benjamin." His voice echoed in the quiet office. "Belle, your daughter's with me. She's safe. She had a hot dog, and she's at the hotel. Call me when you land. You should still have my number."

He paused, then added quietly, "It's been five years. We need to talk."

He hung up and set the phone face down on the desk.

Outside the window, the city stretched out in a sea of lights, the river cutting through it with boats drifting along in the dark.

He sat high above it all, his heart pounding hard against his ribs.

Tomorrow, Belle would land in this city.

Five years ago, she had disappeared from here. Tomorrow, she would come back.

And between them stood a little girl who could recite pi, trade bitcoin, and think like a detective.

Benjamin let out a slow breath. Sometimes it felt like fate was just a wild screenwriter, throwing twists into his life without warning.