Rachel's pov
A man stood in the doorway, and I couldn't stop staring at him.
He was tall and broad. His suit was impeccably tailored, charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, and his watch was a Patek Philippe. Everything about him screamed wealth and power.
But his eyes were soft as he looked at me. They were gentle, despite the tears gathering in them.
"Hey, little one," he said gently, "Do you remember me?"
Little one.
The words triggered a long, deep memory.
A big hand holding mine and a voice saying, "Hold on tight, little one. Don't let go."
But I had let go, hadn't I? During the accident, I'd been thrown from the car, and I'd let go of his hand.
I'd lost him.
"Brother," I whispered.
Then louder: "Brother!"
I tried to push myself up from the bed, ignoring the pain shooting
