Elena's POV

The wheels of the plane screech against the runway, jolting me awake. Daniella’s small hand is still clutching mine, her head lolling against my shoulder, while Dean snores softly on the other side. I exhale a shaky breath. We’ve landed. Finally. New York.

“Mommy, are we here?” Daniella whispers, rubbing her eyes, the smoky grey eyes of the man that night eight years ago.

“Yes, sweetheart,” I murmur, brushing a strand of her golden-brown hair back, the same shade as her brother’s. The same shade as his. My stomach tightens. I push the thought away as the flight attendants announce our arrival. My focus has to be on the children, not on ghosts from a night I barely remember. We shuffle off the plane, the children dragging their little backpacks behind them. The airport is bustling, a sea of rushing strangers, voices echoing over intercoms, luggage wheels clattering against the floor. Daniella clings to my arm while Dean walks ahead, pretending he’s too grown-up to hold my hand, though his eyes dart back every few seconds to make sure I’m still there.

“Stay close,” I call after him, adjusting the strap of my handbag and balancing our passports. Outside the baggage claim, we wait for the driver I arranged. My body feels like lead, exhaustion settling deep in my bones. It isn’t just the long flight. It’s the weight of starting over again. When the driver arrives, he’s holding a sign with my name.

“Ms. Dawson?” he asks politely, taking our luggage with practised efficiency.

“That’s me,” I confirm, guiding the children toward the sleek black SUV. Daniella slips in first, Dean right after her, and I follow, sinking into the leather seat. As the city unfolds before us, I feel a strange mixture of awe and dread. The skyline pierces the horizon, glittering under the late afternoon sun. Honking horns, flashing billboards, people rushing with coffee cups—it’s loud, alive, relentless.

“Whoa. Mom, look at those buildings! They’re taller than the sky!” Dean breathes, pressing his face against the window.

“They’re not taller than the sky, silly,” Daniella giggles.

“Yes, they are! Look!” He points at the Empire State Building in the distance. Their excitement tugs a smile from me. This is why I came for them. To claim what is rightfully theirs. A new beginning, a chance to build a life, but we will not stay here. My eyes flicker to the twins. Both of them lean forward, eyes wide, mouths parted in wonder. Their eyes are smoky grey. Eyes that don’t belong to me. Eyes that aren’t mine at all. I swallow hard. I see him in them every day. Their smiles, their stubborn chins, even the way Dean tilts his head when he’s curious, it’s like they carry pieces of someone I never had the chance to know.

“Mom?” Daniella’s voice pulls me back.

“Yes, love?” I answer.

“Will we like our new house?” Her tone is cautious, hopeful. I reach across the seat and squeeze her hand.

“I think you’ll love it. It’s big and bright, with plenty of space for you and your brother to play,” I say. They will be home-schooled here in New York.

“And for my dolls?” she presses.

“And for your dolls,” I assure her with a tired smile.

“And for my soccer ball,” Dean snorts.

“Yes, and for your soccer ball, but you do not play with it inside,” I chuckle softly.

The car weaves through traffic, and before long, we pull into a quiet street lined with sleek high-rises. The driver stops in front of a tall glass tower.

“We’ve arrived, Ms. Dawson,” The driver says. The doorman greets us warmly, helping with the luggage as we head inside. The marble lobby gleams under soft lighting, elegant and modern. Daniella gasps, spinning in a circle.

“It’s like a palace!” She says in awe.

“This place is awesome,” Dean says as he rolls his eyes but can’t hide his grin. We take the elevator up, up, up. My stomach dips with each passing floor. When the doors finally open, the air feels different, quieter, more private. The hallway is short, with only two doors at the very end. I don’t think much of it as I unlock ours and usher the twins inside. The penthouse is spacious, bright with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the city below. The furniture has already been delivered, just as promised. A soft beige sofa, a modern kitchen, and bedrooms down the hall. It feels new, untouched, like a blank page waiting for our story to begin, if only for a while. Daniella darts toward the windows.

“Mommy, look!” she squeals. Dean joins her, pressing his palms against the glass.

“We can see everything! The cars look like toys!” He shouts. I smile faintly, dropping my bag on the sofa. For a moment, the weight in my chest eases. Maybe this can work. Maybe New York can truly be the fresh start we need. Perhaps we do not have to go away. Maybe I can stop hiding my children if I get guards to protect them. It does seem new, and I can make this place cosy and homely for the children.

The children run down the hall, exploring their rooms, their laughter echoing. I take a moment to breathe, to stand at the window and watch the skyline. My reflection stares back at me, tired eyes, pale skin, hair that’s fallen loose from its bun. Behind me, boxes wait to be unpacked, memories yet to be made.

“Mom! The TV works!” Dean calls from the living room.

“Don’t turn it too loud,” I warn, but my voice lacks conviction.

When I join them, they’re sprawled on the sofa, flipping channels. Daniella is giggling at a cartoon until Dean suddenly freezes.

“Wait. Go back!” Dean demands, grabbing the remote.

“Hey, I was watching that!” Daniella frowns.

“Shh! Just go back!” Dean insists, pressing buttons until the screen lands on a news channel. A man is speaking at a podium, cameras flashing, reporters leaning forward eagerly. My breath catches in my throat. His name blazes across the bottom of the screen: Cole Harrington, CEO of Harrington Enterprises. My heart pounds as I take in his face. Older, sharper, more commanding than I remember in the haze of that night, but unmistakably the same man. The man with the smoky grey eyes.

“Mom. Why does he… why do his eyes look like ours?” Daniella asks. Daniella’s voice is small, uncertain.

“Yeah. He looks like me. Kind of,” Dean says. He squints, tilting his head. My hands tremble as I grip the back of the sofa. Their eyes. The same smoky grey eyes shine on the screen as he speaks with confidence. I force a swallow, my throat tight.

“He… he just has similar eyes, that’s all.” My voice is steady, but inside I’m unravelling. Dean turns to me, frowning.

“But not many people have eyes like ours. Right?” Dean asks. Daniella nods vigorously.

“Yeah, Mom. Maybe he’s family,” Daniella says. The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My children, innocent and curious, have just voiced the truth I’ve buried for years.

“Sweethearts, lots of people share similar features. It doesn’t mean anything, okay?” I say softly, kneeling in front of them.

They glance at each other, unconvinced but too tired to argue. Daniella yawns, curling against the armrest. Dean slumps beside her, the day’s excitement finally weighing him down. I tuck a blanket over them, brushing my fingers through their hair. My chest aches as I look at their sleeping faces. They deserve the truth someday. But not now. Not yet. Rising, I glance back at the screen. Cole’s image lingers, commanding and powerful, his voice rich as he answers a question. I can’t tear my eyes away. I never hated him. How could I? I didn’t even know who he was back then.

One night, one mistake, one secret that became my whole world. I turn off the TV, the room falling into silence. My reflection stares at me again from the darkened screen, haunted, uncertain. The city outside buzzes with life, oblivious to the storm building inside me. I whisper to myself, as much a promise as a warning: “He can’t know.”