Dawn light crept over the horizon.

Kyle Grant stood outside the police station, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He glanced at his watch—three hours until boarding.

In the homicide division office, the captain slid a yellowed file across the desk. "Mr. Laurent made arrangements. This contains everything from the original case."

The brittle pages crackled as Kyle flipped through the file. He pulled out his phone, photographing key details one by one.

Morning mist still clung to the air when he stepped outside. His voice dropped to a murmur during the call: "Find the housekeeper who worked for the Valentines twenty years ago. Do it quietly."

He rubbed his temples after hanging up. His grandmother's critical condition had derailed all his plans.

The phone vibrated. Willow Grant's exhausted voice came through: "Your grandmother wants to see Sophia."

Kyle halted mid-step. "Get to the point."

"She wants to see you married." Willow's voice tightened. "Either Lillian or Sophia. Choose one."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he stared toward the airport. "You know that's impossible."

"Would you let her die with regrets?" Willow's voice broke. "After she raised you—"

"I'll handle it." His knuckles whitened as he ended the call.

The terminal buzzed with travelers. Kyle stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching planes ascend and descend. Instinct made him scan every entrance.

"Kyle!"

That voice made his heart skip. He turned to see Sophia Laurent hurrying toward him, cheeks flushed. Ethan Sullivan followed in his tailored suit.

"Slow down." Kyle moved forward, his hand hovering near her elbow.

Sophia caught her breath and handed him a warm paper bag. "Brought you breakfast."

Their fingers brushed as he took it. His gaze locked with Ethan's—two men measuring each other in silence.

Suddenly, Kyle stepped forward and pulled Ethan into a brief embrace. "I owe you," he murmured against the other man's ear.

Ethan stiffened momentarily. "We're even."

Without looking back, Kyle strode toward the gate. His posture remained military-straight, but loneliness trailed him like a shadow.

In the car, Sophia poked Ethan's arm. "What was that whisper about?"

He captured her mischievous fingers. "Men's secrets."

As their car turned into the psychiatric hospital gates, Ethan spotted Vincent Laurent's silhouette against the frosted glass. The man's elegant frame resembled an ink painting.

"Her mood's unstable today." Vincent offered a tired smile. "She threw things when she saw me."

Ethan passed flowers to a nurse. Through the door crack, Evelyn Grandelle cradled a doll, humming a lullaby with heartbreaking tenderness.

"I've handled Grace's medical records." Ethan spoke abruptly. "From today onward, Sophia is legally your daughter."

Vincent whirled, his eyes widening behind his glasses.

"The DNA sample you left at the station was Evelyn's." Ethan kept his tone neutral. "Am I wrong?"

After a long pause, Vincent exhaled. "Don't tell Sophia."

"Why?"

"That car crash twenty years ago wasn't an accident." Vincent's voice feathered away as he looked toward the room. "The killer's still out there."

Ethan remembered meeting three-year-old Sophia for the first time—a porcelain doll blinking up at him with grape-like eyes.

Evelyn's gentle voice echoed in his memory: "Ethan, this is your future wife. Cherish her well."

Fate had written this story long ago.