She believed attacking a pregnant woman in the hospital had no consequences — until the father she never expected showed up.

Calm. Solid. Deeper than authority—older than fear.

“Take your hand off her.”

Vanessa froze.

Sophia turned and saw him—tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a dark coat that seemed to carry storm clouds with it. His eyes—controlled but burning with something ancient—locked on Vanessa, then softened when they slid toward Sophia.

“Who the hell are you?” Vanessa snapped.

He ignored her.

He stepped into the room—controlled, grounded, terrifying in the way still water hides its depth. Sophia stared.

Recognition wasn’t logical. It wasn’t reasoned. It was instinct—some old echo inside her soul whispering a name her mouth had never spoken.

His name was Michael Hale.

A ghost.

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