Chapter 332 Homecoming

Chapter 332 Homecoming
Emma's POV

Gavin called me early in the morning.

"Emma, would you accompany me to visit my parents? It's been a month since they passed away."

I agreed without hesitation. Despite everything that had happened between us, I couldn't refuse this request.

At the cemetery, we stood before the Reynolds' grave in silence. The tombstone featured a beautiful portrait of Jonathan and Eleanor Reynolds. Below their names was the inscription: "Together in life, together in eternity."

I stepped forward and placed the flowers I'd brought beside Gavin's bouquet.

"Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, if you see my parents up there, please tell them I'm doing well," I said softly to the tombstone.

Gavin glanced at me, surprise crossing his features.

"I never truly hated them, I couldn't bring myself to," I continued. "They raised me for ten years, nurtured me with love and the warmth of family when I needed it most."

Gavin's expression softened. "Will you come back to visit them each year?"

"Yes," I promised, studying him carefully.

Something about Gavin had changed. He seemed detached from everything, too calm and composed. I understood why. He'd lost me, faced Aiden's return and competition for company control, and then lost both parents in rapid succession. Anyone would be affected by such tremendous blows.

---

Later that day, I returned to my apartment building. In the elevator, I encountered a pregnant woman with a beautiful little girl.

The child stared at me with curious eyes before suddenly declaring, "You're having a baby too. It's a girl."

I froze, stunned by her words. "How did you know I was pregnant?"

The woman smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, my daughter sometimes says strange things."

"It's okay," I replied, still shocked. "I am pregnant... less than three months along."

"You and your husband make a beautiful couple," the woman commented. "I've seen him in the building—tall, handsome man."

"You live here?" I asked.

"Yes, on the ninth floor."

Before I could respond, her phone rang, interrupting our conversation. The elevator reached my floor, and I stepped out.

"Goodbye," the little girl called after me. "When your baby comes, I'll play with her!"

---

Reaching my apartment door, I noticed a pair of men's leather shoes outside. My heart raced—someone was inside. I was about to flee when a familiar voice called out.

I turned to see Blake standing there, dressed in gray casual clothes. His short hair, defined features, and sun-tanned skin were exactly as I remembered.

"Blake? Is that you?" I could barely believe my eyes.

My shock quickly turned to anger. "Was it you who took Rachel that day?"

Blake's expression changed, confirming my suspicion.

"Why Rachel? I thought you were supposed to take me?" I demanded, my voice rising with emotion.

"Where is she? What happened to her?" I was frantic with worry for my friend.

Blake pulled me into his arms. "She's fine, completely unharmed. Alaric will bring her back."

"You took her because you missed me?" I asked incredulously.

"Because I missed you, missed you so much..." His voice was thick with emotion.

I pulled back, searching his face. "Are you really Blake?"

"I know you have many questions and doubts, but don't worry, I'll answer them all for you," he promised.

---

At the dining table, Blake had prepared all my favorite dishes. Despite having little appetite, I forced myself to eat for the baby's sake.

The food tasted exactly as it used to, yet something felt different. Blake barely touched his plate.

"Watching you eat is enough for me," he said when I pointed this out.

After dinner, we sat on the couch, an awkward silence between us. Something had changed during our time apart. We both felt it but neither mentioned it.

"I had to make a deal," Blake finally began explaining. "They were testing me."

My mind immediately went to those undercover cop movies where the protagonist has to prove loyalty to criminals. The thought terrified me.

I found myself curling into a tighter ball on the couch. Blake noticed my discomfort.

"Blake, hold me," I whispered.

I burrowed into his embrace, needing to confirm this was truly Blake, not Parker. Then, acting on impulse, I lifted his shirt to check for injuries.

"Emmy, I'm not hurt," Blake said, his voice tight.

"I need to see," I insisted, my voice firmer than I intended. "Take off your shirt."

Blake's eyes flickered with amusement. "Emmy, I'm fine. You're pregnant. I don't think you should be making such bold demands right now."

I crossed my arms over my chest defiantly. "Exactly. I'm pregnant. Which means you can't do anything to me that I don't want. So take off your shirt."

His lips curved into that familiar half-smile I'd missed so much. "Still so bossy," he murmured, his voice a blend of exasperation and fondness. "Some things never change."

Without further protest, Blake reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion. I caught my breath. His body was exactly as I remembered—taut muscles rippling beneath sun-kissed skin, abs defined with perfect symmetry. A few old scars marred the otherwise flawless canvas, telling stories of past battles.

I suddenly realized I'd forgotten why I'd asked him to remove his shirt in the first place.

"Checking for injuries, remember?" Blake prompted, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I forced my eyes to scan his torso clinically. "Turn around," I instructed, trying to sound professional rather than affected by his proximity.

Blake chuckled but complied, rotating slowly to give me a full view of his back. The same old scars, nothing new. I stepped closer, my fingers automatically reaching out to trace the contours of his muscles. The warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips felt like coming home.

"Your muscles still feel amazing," I murmured, more to myself than to him.

"I used to touch them when you were sleeping," I confessed, a smile playing on my lips at the memory. "It's been a while since I've done that."

The air between us seemed to thicken, warmer and heavier with each passing second. But this wasn't about desire or passion—it was about relief. The profound relief of knowing he was here, alive and relatively unharmed.

Blake turned to face me, pulling me into his arms with gentle insistence. "I was so worried you wouldn't recognize me," he whispered against my hair. "That you'd kick me out the door."