chapter 11

Sloane's POV

I stared out at the German countryside rushing past the airplane window, feeling a strange mix of excitement and melancholy. Two years. Two years of intensive research that had consumed every waking moment, pushed me to limits I didn't know I had, and somehow transformed me into someone I barely recognized from the broken woman who'd fled on her wedding anniversary.

Professor Weber had given our team a month-long break. The project wasn't complete yet, but we'd reached a major milestone, and he insisted we needed to recharge before the final push. *Time to go home.*

"You seem thoughtful," Sean said from the seat beside me, closing his research notes. My fellow doctoral student had become a close friend over these two years, one of the few people who understood the intensity of our work.

"Just thinking about how much has changed," I replied, turning away from the window.

Sean smiled. "That's what happens when you throw yourself into something that matters. You become someone new."

*Someone new.* That felt accurate. I wasn't the same woman who had cried over wedding rings and carefully planned anniversary parties.

"Why don't you come back with me?" Sean asked me. His apartment was only twenty minutes from my parents' house, making it convenient to share the ride.

After thinking it over, I agreed to his proposal.

The familiar streets rolled past the windows. Nothing seemed to have changed much, which was somehow comforting.

*I wonder what Matteo is doing now,* I thought suddenly, surprising myself. It was the first time I'd thought about him in years. *He and Calista are probably settled into their new life together.*

The thought didn't bring the sharp pain it once had. Instead, I felt... nothing. It was remarkable how thoroughly time could heal wounds that had once felt fatal.

The taxi pulled up in front of the familiar Rossini family estate, and I felt a genuine smile spread across my face.

Sean helped me with my luggage, ever the gentleman. We'd developed an easy friendship during our research work, built on mutual respect and shared intellectual passion.

"Thanks for letting me tag along on the ride," Sean said as I paid the driver. "I'll see you in a few weeks when we head back?"

"Of course," I replied. "Enjoy your break."

He was reaching for my hand in a friendly goodbye gesture.

"*Who the hell is he?*"

Matteo came charging down the front steps, his face twisted with a rage I'd never seen before. His appearance shocked me, he looked terrible. Thinner than I remembered, his usually perfect hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes that made him look almost haunted.

But my shock was immediately replaced by cold anger. *How dare he show up at my family's home?*

"Sean, get back in the car," I said quickly, "Driver, please wait."

Sean looked confused but obeyed, sliding back into the taxi. I slammed the door behind him and watched the car pull away before turning to face Matteo.

"You," I said, my voice ice-cold. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Matteo stopped a few feet away from me, breathing hard. Up close, he looked even worse.

"I've been looking for you," he said, his voice hoarse. "For two years, Sloane. Do you have any idea what it's been like?"

"I don't care," I replied flatly.

He flinched. "I tried everything. I hired investigators, contacted the university, even tried to get information about your research program. But it's all classified. They wouldn't tell me anything."

"Good."

"A few months ago, I finally found someone who knew about your schedule. They told me you might get a break, might come home." His voice was getting more desperate. "I've been waiting here for four days, Sloane. Four days sitting in my car, hoping you'd show up."

I stared at him, feeling absolutely nothing. Two years ago, the image of him waiting for me, suffering for me, would have broken my heart. Now it just seemed pathetic.

"I can't live without you," he continued, taking a step closer. "These two years have been hell. Every morning I wake up expecting to see you there. Every night I reach for you and find empty space. My heart... God, Sloane, I think my heart might actually give out. The pain is constant. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't *breathe* without you."

*You can't breathe?* I almost laughed. The dramatic irony was overwhelming.

"Once upon a time," I said quietly, "I felt exactly the same way."