Three days later.

Silas Prescott pushed open the creaky door of his home, his body sagging with exhaustion. Puffy bags hung beneath his bloodshot eyes, their usual sharpness dulled to a murky haze. Greasy strands of salt-and-pepper hair clung to his scalp, and the pungent stench of alcohol and cigarettes clung to him like a second skin.

Shane Prescott took one look at him and knew—he'd lost everything again.

"Can you quit?"

Those three simple words had haunted their conversations for twenty years.

Silas cracked a grin, wrinkles bunching up like crumpled paper. "Last time. I'll quit for sure next time."

Shane had heard that empty promise more times than he could count.

For as long as Shane could remember, Silas had lived between casinos—jetting off to Macau when flush with cash, slinking into underground gambling dens when broke. Two wives had left him over this addiction, yet he remained stubbornly unrepentant.

The fortune he'd dug from ancient tombs could never fill the bottomless pit of his gambling debts.

Shane grabbed his car keys. "We're running low on liquor and cigarettes. I'm heading into the city to restock. Need new gear for that Western District tomb job."

Silas's hunched shoulders abruptly straightened. A flicker of wariness cut through the haze in his eyes.

He slowly undid his shirt buttons. "Things are heating up lately. Stay low. Make do with what we have—the tomb can wait."

"Idle hands make for idle minds." Shane strode toward the door.

Silas narrowed his eyes. "You've grown bold."

Shane didn't turn back. "I'm a person, not your puppet."

Behind him, Silas sighed. "The waters run deep in high society. You were thrown to the wolves at birth. If I hadn't read the stars that night—"

Shane's steps faltered, but he didn't look back. The door slammed shut behind him with finality.

The SUV roared down the highway.

Two hours later, Shane appeared on the streets of New York City, a baseball cap pulled low and a mask covering his face. He first bought Silas's favorite brand of liquor and cigarettes, then stopped by an outdoor supply store for tomb-raiding equipment.

After lunch, he paused outside a Hermès boutique, remembering the motorcycle Audrey Sullivan had gifted him.

The shop assistant's disdainful gaze swept over his plain attire. Learning he wasn't a member, she barred him from entering without ceremony.

Shane turned toward a jewelry store instead.

The dazzling array of ornaments made his head spin. Finally, he selected a gold-inlaid jade Buddha pendant—men wore Guanyin, women wore Buddha. He hoped it would protect Audrey.

The mutton-fat jade glowed warm and buttery against its platinum setting, elegant and refined. Yet as he held it, doubt crept in.

Would someone as refined as Audrey appreciate something so traditional?

At dusk, Shane parked across from a bridal boutique.

The jewelry box grew damp in his sweaty palm. He stared at Audrey's name in his contacts, finger hovering over the call button.

Silas's words echoed in his ears: People like us, living in the gutters—don't dream of climbing to the branches above.

As neon lights flickered to life, Audrey emerged from the boutique. A briefcase in one hand, phone pressed to her ear with the other, she moved with hurried grace.

Shane pushed open his car door.

If she noticed him, he'd give her the gift. If not, then...

"Shane!"

Audrey's delighted voice cut through the bustling street. She ended her call and waved at him.

That simple greeting tightened Shane's throat. No one had ever asked him "Have you eaten?" in his entire life.

Clutching the box, he stepped forward—just as the traffic light turned red.

"Go back! Get back!" Shane shouted.

But Audrey had already stepped into the intersection. A blaring horn split the air as a sedan hurtled toward her!

Shane's body moved before his brain could react. Like a leopard, he lunged forward, grabbing Audrey and rolling them both to safety.

Thud!

They hit the pavement hard. White-hot pain shot through Shane's left arm as his knuckles scraped raw against the rough concrete.

"You're bleeding!" Audrey gasped.

Shane pulled his hand away. "Just a scratch."

"You call this a scratch?" Her eyes glistened.

"Watch where you're going next time!" His voice shook with fear-fueled anger.

The sharp tone startled Audrey—then made her laugh. It was exactly how she'd sounded in her youth.

Shane struggled up, searching for the jewelry box. His heart nearly stopped when he spotted the burgundy case lying in the middle of the road.

When the light turned red again, he dashed to retrieve it and handed it to Audrey. "You can exchange it if you don't like it."

Audrey opened the box and her eyes lit up. "It's beautiful!" She immediately fastened the jade Buddha around her neck. "Now, can we go to the hospital?"

With his left arm too painful to lift, Shane had no choice but to get into Audrey's car.

Victor Sullivan's bodyguards arrived belatedly, only to be dismissed with a few words from Audrey. As she glanced at Shane in the passenger seat, her heart churned—when he'd saved her, he'd moved with complete disregard for his own life.

At the hospital, doctors treated Shane's wounds. A fractured ulna required a cast.

"I'm staying to take care of you," Audrey insisted.

Unable to refuse, Shane reluctantly agreed.

When she insisted on wiping his face, his entire body went rigid.

"Why so shy?" Audrey laughed. "Even Ethan needed baths when he was little."

As she removed his mask and cap, Shane's full features were revealed under the bright lights—and Audrey's hands began to tremble.

That face... It was the spitting image of her father in his youth!

Especially those eyes—identical to hers, and strikingly similar to Ethan's.

"Ethan Prescott..." Her voice shook. "You're my Ethan, aren't you?"

Shane's Adam's apple bobbed, speechless.

"You're my son!" Audrey pulled him into a crushing embrace, tears streaming down her face. "My child..."

The overwhelming joy of reunion crashed over her like a tidal wave. Twenty-plus years of longing had finally found its home.