Chapter 229

The floor-to-ceiling windows of Houston Grand Hotel framed the deepening twilight.

Grace Laurent paced anxiously across the room. The sound of the turning lock made her whirl around.

Her breath caught at the sight of Stella Valentine—drenched from head to toe.

"Stella! Where have you been?"

An unseasonable chill gripped Houston in December.

Grace fumbled for a blanket, wrapping it tightly around her daughter's trembling shoulders. She pressed a steaming mug into Stella's ice-cold hands.

"Mom."

"Yes?"

"I need to sleep."

Grace studied Stella's bloodshot eyes, hesitating. "Thinking about Mr. Alistair again?"

Stella stared blankly at the rising steam. "I saw him today."

"What?" Grace nearly dropped the teacup. "But you said he was—"

"The same face. Even the cologne." A bitter smile twisted Stella's lips. "Maybe I'm hallucinating."

Grace pulled her into a crushing embrace. "About Celeste's condition—"

"I will save her." Stella's head snapped up, her gaze terrifyingly resolute.

Outside, thunder roared. Raindrops hammered against the glass like that fateful night three years ago.

She could still see Mr. Xavier Atlante standing motionless in the downpour, his black umbrella glistening. The memory of Grant Rubenstein pressing his cane against Mr. Alistair's temple burned in her mind.

"Made your decision, Miss Valentine?"

"I'll leave." Kneeling in the torrent, she tasted rainwater mingled with tears. "Please save him."

"Write a letter." Mr. Xavier toyed with his walnut. "You know what to say."

The cane suddenly slammed onto Mr. Alistair's injured left arm. His scream tore through the storm—

"No!"

Stella jolted awake, her nightgown soaked with sweat.

On the nightstand, a concert ticket gleamed under the lamplight. Harry Vance's handsome face smiled up at her from the promotional photo.

Joy Fairsprene gasped upon entering. "Stella!"

"Just a cold." Stella tucked the ticket into her bag. "About the 31st—"

"I know. Your promise with Mr. Alistair." Joy's eyes reddened. "But Stella, it's been three years..."

"Only three." Stella watched the easing rain outside. "Our four-year promise still has days left."

Her fingers traced the C-section scar on her abdomen—

A permanent reminder of Celeste.