Two years passed—quietly, yet relentlessly.
In a sleepy coastal town far from the buzz of cities and cameras, Caliste Winslow no longer existed. In her place lived Cassy Moore, a soft-spoken woman who worked the morning shift at a humble diner and spent her evenings reading by the sea.
Gone were the designer gowns, the glittering galas, and the weight of a powerful surname.
Here, she had peace.
A quiet house with white curtains that danced with the breeze, a small garden that bloomed under her care, and the occasional kindness of strangers who never asked too much. No one recognized her. No one whispered behind her back.
And that was how she wanted it.
Sometimes, though—when the wind howled late at night or when she caught her own reflection too long—memories came creeping back. A sharp jaw, a stormy gaze, and a kiss that changed everything.
Lucian Velmore.
She no longer searched for his name online. But sometimes, headlines found her anyway.
> "Lucian Velmore Spotted with Supermodel in Capri"
"Velmore Heir Seen Leaving Club With Actress"
"From Tycoon to Playboy? Lucian Velmore's Wild Escapades Continue"
The world had moved on. So had he, it seemed.
In every photo, he wore that same distant smirk. Surrounded by luxury, women, and noise.
He was building an empire now—buying companies, expanding globally. His name became a staple in business magazines and entertainment tabloids alike.
And just like that, the world forgot that he was once married to Caliste Winslow.
They buried the headlines. They erased the story.
But not her.
Not the woman who once loved him in silence…
…And left with a broken heart.
-----
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden light across the sleepy seaside town.
Cassy Moore—once Caliste Winslow—wiped her hands on her apron as the last customer left the diner. She smiled softly, waved goodbye, and stepped out to breathe in the salty evening air.
It was just another quiet day.
Just how she liked it.
Until her phone buzzed violently in her pocket.
She almost ignored it—no one really called her. But the unknown number flashing across the screen made her stomach twist.
Hesitantly, she answered.
> "C-Caliste… it's Anya."
The name hit her like a wave. Anya, her childhood friend—her only link to the world she had tried to leave behind.
> "You need to see the news. It's about your father."
Her blood ran cold.
She didn't speak. She couldn't.
With trembling hands, she opened the browser.
Headline: Gregory Winslow Arrested Amid Financial Scandal — Brother Desmund Takes Over Empire.
Her knees buckled.
The article unfolded in a blur.
Gregory Winslow, once a revered tycoon, had been accused of embezzlement and fraudulent transactions. But those who knew him best claimed he had been set up—by none other than his own brother, Desmund Winslow.
The Winslow Board had voted in Desmund as acting president. Gregory's shares were forcibly transferred. All of his assets—his estate, businesses, and personal accounts—were frozen pending investigation.
He had no lawyer.
No ally.
No one but a daughter who had disappeared.
Caliste's hand shook as the phone slid from her grasp and landed on the grass below.
Her peaceful life… shattered.
Gone was the gentle rhythm of diner mornings and coastal sunsets.
Gone was the illusion that she could live as someone else forever.
Her father—flawed as he was—had tried to protect her from the cruel world of arranged marriages, family politics, and fame.
Now he was alone, behind bars.
And she… she had run away.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"Dad…"
She clutched her chest as guilt surged through her like a tidal wave.
No matter how far she ran…
The past had finally caught up with her.
----
The boardroom was filled with voices—arguments, numbers, strategies.
But Lucian Velmore wasn't listening.
His eyes were glued to the tablet screen in front of him.
The headline glared at him, impossible to ignore.
"Gregory Winslow Behind Bars – Desmund Winslow Seizes Control of Winslow Corp"
Lucian's jaw tightened.
"Cancel the meeting," he snapped at his assistant.
"But sir, the Tokyo—"
"I said cancel it!" His voice left no room for discussion.
Within hours, Lucian was at the detention facility.
The concrete walls and steel gates were far removed from the golden halls Gregory used to command with pride.
Lucian walked down the corridor, his black coat billowing behind him, a storm in his chest.
Gregory Winslow—once a titan, once his father-in-law—sat behind a pane of glass, aged and hollow-eyed.
Still wearing dignity like a second skin.
Lucian picked up the phone between them.
"Gregory," he said, quietly. "I came as soon as I heard."
The older man gave a faint nod. "Didn't think I'd see you again, Lucian."
Lucian's throat tightened. "I'm not here because of the past. I'm here because this... this isn't right. I know Desmund set you up."
Gregory exhaled heavily, leaning back. "Of course he did. But you know how this world works. Snakes bite hardest when you least expect it."
"I can help," Lucian offered. "I have the resources. The lawyers. If you'll let me—"
But Gregory's sharp eyes cut through the glass like steel.
He raised his hand slightly, as if to stop him.
"No."
Lucian's brows furrowed. "What?"
"I don't want your pity or your favor. Not after what happened in the past."
His voice cracked, just a little. "She signed the divorce, Lucian. And I also witness you suffer."
Lucian closed his eyes briefly.
"Its already in the past Gregory."
Gregory's voice softened, but held firm. "I dont want to involve you in this mess Lucian."
Lucian raised his eyes again. "Then let me make this right."
But Gregory gave a slow shake of his head.
Lucian stared at him, emotions swirling beneath the surface.
He didn't say a word as the guards came to escort Gregory away.
-----
The black sedan pulled up quietly at the gates of the Winslow estate. For a moment, Caliste just stared at the towering iron bars and the mansion beyond. She took a slow breath and stepped out.
The grounds still looked the same—meticulously trimmed, painfully perfect. Yet something about the air had changed. It didn't feel like home anymore. It felt... tense.
With hesitant steps, she pushed open the gates and walked up the path, her heels crunching against gravel. Before she could even reach the front steps, the large oak doors swung open—not with warmth, but with cold precision.
Standing in the entrance was Desmund Winslow, her father's younger brother, the very man who orchestrated Gregory's downfall.
"Well, well," he said, arms crossed, eyes raking over her like an unwanted guest. "The prodigal daughter returns."
"I want to see my mother," Caliste said firmly, keeping her chin high. "Now."
Desmund gave a mocking chuckle, stepping forward. "You don't live here anymore, Caliste. This estate is under my management. Your name is not on any deed or share. You left, remember?"
"You stole everything from my father," she snapped, voice low but sharp. "And you hostage my mother here, you'll pay for it."
"Oh?" Desmund's smile turned cruel. "Wasn't it you who ran away? Who filed for divorce and disappeared without a trace? I simply filled in the empty space you left behind."
Before she could reply, he snapped his fingers, and two guards in black suits appeared from the side entrance.
"Escort Miss Winslow off the property. She's trespassing."
The guards hesitated—recognizing her, maybe remembering who she once was—but Desmund's glare left no room for resistance.
"Mother! Let me talk to my mom!" Caliste protested, trying to push past, but the guards gently but firmly blocked her.
"She's under medical care. And under my legal protection," Desmund said coldly. "If you want to play noble daughter now, you'll need a lawyer. And maybe a miracle."
The guards led her down the steps. Her chest burned with fury, humiliation, and helplessness. She didn't struggle—she wouldn't give Desmund the satisfaction.
As she reached the gate, Desmund called after her, "Next time, try knocking. But don't expect anyone to answer."
The gates slammed shut behind her.
Caliste stood there in silence, fists clenched, eyes stinging.
They thought she'd run again.
But not this time.
She turned around, jaw set. If Desmund Winslow thought he'd won, he had no idea who he'd just thrown out.