Blanefield Hamilton.  

Helena recognized the man sitting across from her immediately. He was her ex-husband’s uncle, though she had never met him during her four-year marriage to David. Still, she had seen his face countless times in the news, magazines, and family photographs, making him easy to identify.  

So he was the one who had saved her? But how? And why? How had he even known about the kidnapping? Why had he helped her? As far as she knew, everyone in that family despised her. Questions swirled through her mind, looping endlessly, yet the man before her remained calm and composed, casually flipping through the menu.  

He bore a striking resemblance to David—midnight black hair, a chiseled jawline, and a sharp, edgy appearance that made him seem unapproachable, calculating, and cold.  

"I'll go with an espresso. "What would you like to order?" His deep voice broke through her thoughts, and when she met his gaze, his icy blue eyes sent a jolt through her. Only then did she realize she had been staring.  

"Uh… sorry, umm… I'll have the same," she replied quickly.  

He gave her a small smile before waving over the waitress and placing their order.  

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions—"  

She didn’t let him finish before the words burst out of her.  

"Did that bastard, David, send you? How did you know about my kidnapping? And how did you rescue me? From what I remember, you were abroad handling the branch company and securing investments. You weren’t even supposed to be back during my kidnapping, so how did you save me?"  

He seemed momentarily surprised by her outburst, but the expression quickly vanished, replaced by an amused smile.  

"One at a time, please. "I only have one mouth, darling," he teased with an easy grin.  

The waitress returned with their drinks, and he took a slow sip before shifting his attention back to her.  

"But first, I want to ask—how are you doing? I was a little hurt that you never called me after you left the hospital. "I even sent flowers, only to find out they were delivered to an empty room," he said with a slight pout, an expression completely at odds with the cold demeanor she had expected from a man like him.  

"Ah… well…" She hesitated, fumbling for the right words. "Let me apologize for that. It wasn’t my intention, but I had a lot going on at the time. It’s not that I wasn’t grateful, but… umm…"  

"It’s okay, I understand." His voice dropped slightly, carrying a tone of quiet understanding.  

"Since you never called, I wasn’t sure if it was okay to send you those photos. "I didn’t know how you’d react to them, but I wanted to help my niece."  

Her eyes widened. "So you're the one who sent me those photos?"  

He nodded.  

"Why? Why are you helping me? He’s your family, isn’t he?"  

"That doesn’t mean he isn’t an idiot," he replied smoothly. I wanted to help undo the damage he caused, even if only in small ways. I wanted you to have your life back because, like you, I’ve been in a similar situation before."  

There was something in his voice—an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher—but his words felt genuine. She found herself at a loss for how to respond.  

"Thank you," she said finally, opting for the simplest and most honest reply.  

"No, I’m sorry," he said, his voice softer now. "I’m so sorry that my nephew did this to you, my dear."  

Something inside her cracked. Tears welled up, and before she could stop herself, she burst into sobs right there in the café. She didn’t care who was watching. For the first time since the kidnapping, she let it all out—her pain, her grief, her anger. She cried for her foolishness, for her lost baby, for the hollow ache deep within her.  

Blane didn’t stop her. Instead, he removed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders and head, shielding her from prying eyes.  

"Let it out. Let it all out. "I’m here now," he murmured, his voice steady and comforting.  

And so she did. She let out every grievance, every curse against her family and ex-husband, as Blane sat silently beside her, unwavering in his presence.  

Later, Helena brought Blane to her home. With no furniture available, they sat on the floor together, though he didn’t seem to mind. After some time, he left for the grocery store and returned with a team of people carrying kitchen appliances and furniture. They worked quickly, setting up everything, and when they were done, he made steak for both of them.  

As they ate, he spoke of his strained relationship with his family.  

He revealed that he wasn’t the son of the current Mrs. Hamilton. His mother had been his father’s first wife, but his father had never loved her. Instead, he had taken a mistress, and when Blane's mother gave birth to him, she spiraled into depression. The constant taunts about her failed marriage only worsened her despair, and when Blane was ten years old, she took her own life.  

His father married his mistress soon after, and together, they had a son—Dane Hamilton—David’s father.

Blane had long known that the company would eventually be passed down to his younger half-brother and, later, to David. Because of that, he worked twice as hard, determined to prove himself, so his birthright wouldn’t be stolen from him. But despite his efforts, he was never accepted.  

Recently, he had uncovered a devastating truth—about his stepmother, Claire Hamilton, had been the one who poisoned his mother and staged it as a suicide.  

Then he turned to Helena, his expression darkening.  

"And that," he said, voice like steel, "is exactly what Rose was trying to do to you."

But I couldn't allow her to do that to you too, so I had to help out so you could be free from all the drama and trouble.