The world tilted for Sarah. The warm, sweet scent of apple pie, Sam's gentle touch, the whispered name—Bella. It wasn't just a memory; it was a physical sensation, a jolt that resonated deep within her bones. Her hand flew to her temple, pressing against the sudden ache that bloomed there. The interior of Sam's car, moments ago a refuge, now felt charged with an almost unbearable significance.
"Bella?" she repeated, the name foreign and achingly familiar on her tongue. Her eyes, wide and searching, met Sam's. His gaze was steady, unwavering, filled with an emotion she couldn't quite decipher but felt with profound intensity. It was a look that seemed to say, I know you. I've always known you.
"Yes," Sam said softly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. He didn't elaborate, didn't push. He simply watched her, giving her space to process the impossible.
The image solidified: a small hand, hers, nestled in a slightly larger, warmer one. A boy's voice, full of innocent command, leading her somewhere safe. "Let's go eat, Bella. Auntie brought us the apple pie." It was fragmented, like shards of a dream, yet undeniably real. The sheer weight of it, the implication of a life before the Walkers, before Damien, before Sterling Designs, threatened to overwhelm her.
"What… what does that mean?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her chest tightened, a strange mix of fear and exhilarating hope swelling within her. "Who is Bella? Why did you call me that?"
Sam reached out again, his fingers lightly brushing her hair before resting on her shoulder. "That, my sweet Bella, is a story we will tell. When you are ready." He offered her the bag with the pie. "For now, eat. Let's just… be."
Sarah stared at the pie, then at Sam. She had a thousand questions, a hurricane brewing inside her, but the quiet strength in his eyes, the absolute certainty of his presence, was grounding. She took a small, shaky bite of the pie. The taste was heavenly, exactly as she had instinctively known it would be—a forgotten comfort. Each mouthful felt like another piece of a puzzle slotting into place, even if she couldn't yet see the whole picture.
She didn't press him. Not yet. The revelation, however partial, was too vast, too life-altering. She needed time to breathe, to let the dust settle on this newly unearthed cornerstone of her identity. But as she ate, a fierce, protective instinct, one she hadn't known she possessed, began to stir. If Sam knew this much, if he had searched for her, then her past wasn't a void. It was waiting, and she was no longer alone in finding it. The desperation for a way out of Damien's control suddenly gained a new, powerful urgency. She had a past, and perhaps, a true future, that didn't involve him at all.
Meanwhile, in his opulent office at Sterling Designs, Damien sat in a state of restless exhaustion. The board meeting had been a blur of faces and financial projections, none of which had truly penetrated the fog of his fury and frustration. Sarah. It was always Sarah. Her defiant eyes, her unexpected resilience—she had consumed his thoughts since their explosive argument that morning. He had tried to lose himself in work, but his focus was a shattered mirror.
The memory of the meeting, however, slowly began to sharpen into an alarming clarity. His grandfather, Mr. Sterling, had made a dramatic entrance, his presence radiating an undeniable authority. And beside him, poised and triumphant, stood Penelope Wellington.
"Gentlemen, shareholders," Mr. Sterling had announced, his voice booming across the polished boardroom table, "I have an important announcement regarding the future of our company, and indeed, my grandson, Damien's, personal future."
Damien had felt a cold dread trickle down his spine even before the words were fully out. He knew. He had seen the warning in Penelope's subtly smug smile.
"It is my distinct pleasure to inform you all that Damien and Penelope will soon hold the engagement party, everyone will receive the invitation," his grandfather continued, his hand resting proudly on Penelope's shoulder. "And upon their marriage, Penelope will be granted a thirty percent share in Sterling Designs."
A stunned silence had fallen, quickly followed by a cacophony of murmurs. Shocked faces turned towards Damien. Some shareholders exchanged bewildered glances, clearly not pleased with such a significant dilution of power. Others, the older guard loyal to Mr. Sterling, applauded dutifully, their smiles fixed. "Old Mr. Sterling must adore his granddaughter-in-law," one ventured, attempting levity amidst the palpable tension.
Damien had remained utterly silent, a statue of controlled fury. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. This wasn't just a betrayal; it was a deliberate, public castration. Thirty percent. It wasn't just a stake; it was a claim, a chain, designed to bind him to Penelope and to his grandfather's will, irrevocably.
His grandfather had given him time and patience, but he kept refusing Penelope at every corner while running after Sarah. Now, the old man was taking matters into his own hands. The thought of Penelope, smug and self-satisfied, wielding such power, sharing his life, his legacy, made his stomach churn. But beneath the anger, a different, more dangerous emotion simmered. He had underestimated his grandfather's ruthlessness, and he had underestimated Penelope's ambition. And Sarah… this would undoubtedly send her further away from him.
Damien slammed his fist onto his desk, the sharp crack echoing through the silent office. He, the powerful Damien Sterling felt absolutely powerless.