At that very moment, Ashley Whitmore was sitting on a private island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean- Coralwind Private Island. She swayed lazily in a rocking chair, the ocean breeze on her skin and warm
sunlight spilling over her cheeks.
A quiet, contented smile lingered on her face.
Beside her sat a man with eyes the color of deep sapphire. He peeled a tangerine with deliberate care,
holding a slice to her lips.
“Ashley, try this,” Cyrael Laurent said in perfect Mandarin, his tone tender and full of affection.
“It’s delicious,” she replied with a soft, genuine smile. Ashley had never imagined she’d one day let her heart open again to another man’s love.
Three years ago, she had staggered out of Cresthill Manor, bruised all over, shattered in every way that mattered. It had taken her hours to find a kind–hearted driver willing to take her to a hospital.
That night, her child died.
And with that, so did her heart.
With her immigration paperwork in hand, she fled to Canada and found her mother. Her battered body had terrified her family. Under the patient care of her mother and stepfather, Ashley’s physical wounds slowly began to heal.
But the ones in her heart remained.
Ashley, a licensed psychologist herself, knew better than anyone: no one could save her. Not even herself.
Every night she was jolted awake by nightmares–visions of that twisted monster Vincent, of Ethan’s cold, calculated betrayal, of Lila Bennett’s entitled rage and cruelty.
She could still hear the rip of her torn clothes, feel the searing pain of a child being ripped from her body, and the needles of cactus spines buried in her flesh. These memories clung to her skin like a second skin -one woven entirely from trauma.
She had done nothing wrong.
She had only saved a man’s life.
She had only fallen in love.
So why had the world punished her so viciously?
Chapter 13
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Ashley couldn’t make sense of it. It was as if she had been forced into a dark corner with no light, no
escape.
And then came Cyrael.
He was the son of her stepfather’s longtime friend. Unlike many in his family, he had no interest in business. His passion was art.
He was the one who stopped her when she stood on the ledge, ready to jump.
He took her to psychiatric wards to witness the resilience of those battling their demons, and to maternity wards to hear the first cries of new life. Slowly, he reminded her of what it meant to be alive.
He taught her to paint–how to pour her pain onto canvas, how to turn suffering into something beautiful.
Cyrael even began studying psychology himself, determined to become her anchor, her safe harbor.
His unwavering smile and gentle persistence broke through her walls. Under his care, she gradually stepped out of the shadows and even resumed her studies in clinical psychology.
Having lived through her own hell, Ashley found herself better equipped to help others navigate theirs. She had become not just a counselor, but a survivor who could truly empathize.
One month ago, she and Cyrael got engaged.
CoralwindIsland was his engagement gift to her. They had been vacationing there for a week now.
“Want some more?” Cyrael’s voice gently pulled her from her thoughts.
Ashley shook her head with a smile. “No, thank you.”
“Then it’s time for some rest. You need proper sleep,” he said softly, scooping her up into his arms and
carrying her inside.
He tucked her gently into bed, brushing a few strands of hair from her forehead, and began telling her a
quiet story–just as he always did.
Only after Ashley drifted off to sleep did Cyrael leave to tend to his own tasks.
Ashley truly believed life would go on like this: peaceful, quiet, happy. She had never expected to see Ethan again.
But fate had other plans.
She had just returned to Canada when she ran into him.
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Ethan had tracked her down a week earlier. The moment he did, he dropped everything and flew to
Canada. For the past seven days, he had been keeping watch outside Ashley’s home.
When she finally saw him-
Ashley froze
For a moment, she barely recognized the man standing before her.
Chapter 13
