Our Love

CHAPTER 24

HAYDEN'S POV

I couldn’t get my mind off her.

It was as if she’d cast a spell — I was enchanted, bewitched, completely under her spell.

Every thought circled back to her, no matter how hard I tried to focus on work. With a frustrated sigh, I dragged a hand through my hair and hit my desk lightly, forcing myself to concentrate.

Earlier, I’d instructed my housekeeper, Mrs. Millburn, to keep an eye on her — just to make sure she was comfortable.

A sharp knock on my mahogany office door pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Come in,” I said, my tone sharper than intended.

Jake stepped inside, a file tucked under his arm. “Sir, I’ve compiled the report you requested.”

He handed it over and began reading aloud.

“According to my research, Madam grew up in an orphanage before being adopted by the Hart family. Records show she was mistreated both there and after adoption.” My jaw tightened. “Go on.”

“She found comfort only in a small river behind the orphanage — it was her safe place.”

I leaned back in my chair, my patience thinning. “Cut to the chase, Jake. Her age, birthday, favorites.”

Jake flipped through the pages nervously. “Ah, yes, sir. According to the records…”

He frowned, squinting at the page.

“Her birthday is today,” he said carefully. “She just turned eighteen.”

For a brief second, horror flashed through me before I composed myself again.

I was ruthless — I’d accepted that long ago.

But forcing an eighteen-year-old girl into marriage on her birthday? That was… diabolical.

A pang of guilt hit me square in the chest. I exhaled deeply, loosening my tie.

Without another word, I reached for my phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Deliver the order,” I said curtly.

An hour later, the package arrived — simple but elegant. A small masterpiece I’d had custom-made. Just in case, I embedded a tracker for her safety.

Before sending it off, I called Mrs. Millburn.

“Tell her it’s from you,” I instructed. “Don’t mention my name.”

"Yes, sir,” she replied softly.

The moment I hung up, my phone rang again.

It was her father.

His voice exploded through the line, scolding, threatening, demanding. I pinched the bridge of my nose as his words blurred into background noise.

I hung up mid-sentence.

I tried to focus on work, but my mind betrayed me, wandering back to her.

When Mrs. Millburn finally called to update me on her day — on the way she smiled when she opened the gift — my heart sank.

"Why didn’t you just celebrate her birthday yourself?” she asked gently.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I hung up and leaned back in my swivel chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

I hated this feeling.

This ache.

This weakness.

But as the night deepened, one thought refused to leave me:

She’s safe.

And for now, that was enough.