Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the PastTen minutes later, the heavy oak doors of the private dining alcove swung open. Richard walked out first, his face solemn, leaning heavily on his cane. Ethan followed right behind him.
The arrogant, untouchable billionaire of twenty minutes ago was gone. In his place stood a man standing on the absolute edge of a precipice, his tie loosened, his hair slightly disheveled, and his eyes red-rimmed.
He walked slowly toward me, ignoring Victoria entirely as she stood frozen near the table.
“Noah,” Richard said softly, looking down at my son, who was tracing the stone edge of the indoor fountain. “Would you like to go get some ice cream with me at the parlor down the block? My treat.”
Noah looked up, his face brightening. “Can I get chocolate with rainbow sprinkles?”
“Whatever your heart desires, champ,” Richard smiled warmly, a tender look I had never seen on the old man's face before. He looked at me, silently asking permission.
I nodded slowly. “Be good for Mr. Blackwood, Noah. I’ll be right here in a few minutes.”
As Richard and Noah walked out toward the street, flanked by a discreet security guard, the massive restaurant doors clicked shut behind them.
Ethan and I were left standing alone in the cavernous space.
He stopped a few feet away from me. The air between us was thick, suffocating with seven years of unexpressed grief, betrayal, and unanswered questions.
“Is it true?” Ethan’s voice was barely a rough whisper.
“Is what true, Ethan?” I asked, wrapping my arms tightly around myself to stop the shivering.
“The letters.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “Dad showed me the letters. All eight of them. The ones you wrote while you were pregnant. The ones where you begged me to answer your texts. The ones where you said you were terrified because I had suddenly stopped talking to you, stopped coming over, and changed my phone number.”
My breath hitched. “You... you never got them?”
“No,” Ethan choked out, a tear finally spilling over his lash and tracking down his cheek. “I never got a single one. My assistant—the one Victoria recommended to me right after our engagement announcement—was filtering my mail. She told me you left a message saying you never wanted to see me again. She showed me a bank transfer confirmation with your forged signature.”
My jaw dropped. I turned my head slowly, looking back toward the table where Victoria had been standing. But the alcove was empty. Victoria had slipped out through the side service exit the moment the truth hit the light.
“Victoria,” I whispered.
“She orchestrated the whole thing,” Ethan said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, terrifying register. “She was in love with me back then, and she knew my father’s company was partnering with her family's firm. She intercepted you, she paid someone to forge those bank documents, she blocked your number on my phone, and she convinced me you took a payoff to walk away.”
He took a step toward me, his hand trembling as he reached out, hovering inches from my face as if afraid I would dissolve into smoke if he actually touched me.
“Clara... you were pregnant. You went through all of that alone? While I was living in luxury, thinking you just didn't care?”
“I didn't have a choice,” I said, tears finally breaking free. “I went into labor early because of the stress. I had no money, no family left, and every time I tried to reach you, your secretary told me you had threatened to call the police if I ever harassed you again.”
Ethan let out a choked sob, falling to his knees right there on the restaurant floor, burying his face in his hands. The ruthless Chicago titan was completely broken.
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“I’m sorry,” he wept, his shoulders shaking. “Clara, God help me, I am so, so sorry.”
I stood there, looking down at the man I had loved for half my life. The anger I had carried for seven years didn't magically vanish, but as I looked at his shattered face, I realized the ghost holding us apart was finally, painfully dead.
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