Chapter 147: Reunion
Four years later. New York.
Inside a gallery in Chelsea, a Fashion Week preview was drawing in the city's elite. Spotlights focused on a series of gowns titled "Iris Metamorphosis." The visual impact of deep purple velvet spliced with rough linen—and vibrant irises embroidered with silver thread over the "cracks"—forced every buyer to stop and stare.
"Miss Sophia Bell, your designs are genius. The power of rebirth through pain is staggering."
Evelyn stood by the display wearing a minimalist black turtleneck, her long hair now a chic, chestnut-colored bob. She smiled and took the buyer's card with a polite but distant nod. "Thank you. It’s just my perspective on life."
She turned toward the backstage area, her smile vanishing instantly. For four years, she had lived as "Sophia Bell." After the nightmare at the docks, she had fled to Paris with the help of Professor Hayes. She had hidden away like a shadow with her miraculously surviving child until the wounds scarred over and Elias was old enough.
Now, she was back.
On the other side of the gallery, a group of businessmen entered, surrounding a central figure. Ryan Lawrence wore a bespoke charcoal-gray suit. Four years had carved deeper, sharper lines into his face. His eyes, once full of playful charm, were now as dark as stagnant water, radiating a coldness that kept everyone at a distance.
Ever since that bloody morning at the docks, the old Ryan had died along with Evelyn’s disappearance.
"Mr. Lawrence, these emerging designers have great potential..." the organizer rambled.
Ryan scanned the colorful fabrics with nothing but boredom until his gaze caught a display in the corner. He stopped dead.
It was a black gown with a subtle, hidden iris pattern. The flow of the petals, the density of the stitches—even the unique way the stamens were hooked—hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. His heart seemed to stop, then hammered against his ribs so hard his ears rang.
"Who is the designer for that stall?"
"Oh, that’s Sophia Bell, an independent designer back from Paris," the organizer chattered, oblivious to the change in the man. "Her 'Iris Metamorphosis' series is today’s dark horse..."
Before he could finish, Ryan shoved through the crowd and sprinted toward the back.
It’s impossible. Although the police never found a body, the amount of blood and four years of silence had convinced everyone she was dead. But in this world, only one person drew irises like that.
Ryan burst into the backstage lounge. He didn't see the designer. Instead, he saw a small boy of about three years old sitting at a simple drafting table. The boy had soft black curls and was hunched over a piece of scrap paper, carefully tracing a design with a colored pencil.
Ryan slowed his pace, afraid to shatter the moment. He walked over slowly. The boy heard him and turned around. It was a beautiful, delicate face with pale skin. But the eyes were the shock—amber pupils, clear and bright, identical to the woman in his memory.
Ryan felt as if someone was strangling him. It was hard to breathe.
"Who are you?" the boy asked. He wasn't shy, tilting his head to study the tall man.
"Elias, don't run off. Put your pencils away."
A cool, female voice came from the dressing room. Ryan froze, his head snapping up. Evelyn walked out holding rolls of fabric. When she saw the man standing in front of her child, the fabric slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor.
Their eyes locked. The air became heavy enough to suffocate.
Ryan stared at her face. The hair was shorter and her aura had changed—she looked harder, more guarded—but he would never mistake her. For four years, he had used alcohol to numb himself enough to sleep, only to dream of her screams for help at the docks.
"Ev... Evelyn?"
He took a step forward, reaching out to touch her, to see if this was just another cruel hallucination. Evelyn’s pupils shrank. Her heart hammered against her throat. But she reacted instantly, stepping in front of Elias to shield him.
"Sir, you have the wrong person."
Evelyn looked up, her gaze icy and distant. "My name is Sophia Bell. This is a private area. Please leave."
Ryan’s hand stalled in mid-air. The wrong person? How could he be wrong!
"You’re lying," Ryan said, his eyes turning red. "I’d know you anywhere. Why? Where have you been for four years? Why didn't you contact me? Do you know how long I’ve looked for you?"
He was losing control. The joy of finding her and the fury of being deceived crashed together. He wanted answers.
"Security!" Evelyn called out to the hallway, ignoring his questions. "There’s an intruder in here!"
"Evelyn!" Ryan growled, reaching out to grab her wrist. The warmth of her skin was exactly as he remembered. Even the tiny red mole on the inside of her wrist was still there.
"Let go!" Evelyn struggled. "You’re hurting me! I don't know any Evelyn!"
She had to deny it. If Ryan knew she was alive, Damian and Sienna would find out too. Four years ago, they had almost killed her child. Elias was her life now; she wouldn't let him be dragged into their filthy world.
"Mommy..." Elias peeked out from behind her. He looked at his panicked mother, then at the tall man with the red eyes. The little boy broke free of Evelyn’s grip and ran to Ryan.
"Elias! Come back!" Evelyn cried out in terror.
It was too late. Elias reached out with a chubby hand and pointed at the silver iris brooch on Ryan’s lapel. It was the one Ryan had commissioned for Evelyn four years ago, which she had left in his car. He had never taken it off.
"Mister," Elias asked, "do you like the flowers Mommy draws too? Mommy says they mean light. She says it’s the hope she saw in the darkest place."
Ryan’s entire body jolted. He looked down at the child who barely reached his knees. The eyes, the expression—even the way he pursed his lips when speaking—felt strangely familiar.
Ryan slowly knelt down to the boy’s level. His hand trembled as he reached toward the child's head, then hesitated.
"Little one," Ryan’s voice was a whisper, as if afraid to break a dream. "What is your name?"
"My name is Elias," the boy said proudly, puffing out his chest. "I’m four years old."
Four years old.
Ryan looked up at Evelyn. The timing was perfect. Was this the child he thought he had lost at the docks? Evelyn’s child?
Looking at the boy's face, an absurd but powerful instinct exploded in Ryan’s mind.