Chapter 7 - A New Horizon
The Pacific breeze smelled of salt, eucalyptus, and cypress pine.
In Carmel-by-the-Sea, mornings moved at the pace of breaking waves. My small architectural studio sat on the second floor of a stone building covered in climbing wisteria, overlooking the rocky coastline. Downstairs was a small bakery where the owner, an elderly French woman named Marie, brought me warm croissants every morning without asking for anything in return.
At seven months pregnant, I had never felt more alive.
My belly was round and high. My skin glowed with health, completely free of the foundation and heavy makeup Isabella had insisted I wear to hide my "common" complexion. I wore comfortable linen smocks, soft knit sweaters, and flat leather sandals.
My new firm, Alabaster Design, had already secured three major residential restoration contracts along the coast. Clients hired me because of my vision, not because my last name opened corporate doors. Here, I wasn't Luke Morgan's quiet wife. I was Sophia Evans—an artist, an architect, a mother.
Every afternoon at four o’clock, I walked down to the white sand of Carmel Beach, letting the cold water lap at my bare feet while the baby kicked rhythmically against my ribs.
"You're very active today, little one," I murmured, resting both hands over my stomach, watching a pair of pelicans dive into the surf.
"He gets his energy from you."
The voice behind me was low, trembling, and cracked with emotion.
My heart stopped.
I didn't turn around immediately. I stood frozen, the ocean wind whipping my hair across my face, recognizing the deep timbre of a voice I had listened to for three years in the dark.
I slowly turned.
Ten yards away stood Luke Morgan.
He didn't look like the billionaire CEO of the Morgan Empire. He was wearing an unironed dark coat, scuffed leather shoes, and no tie. His dark hair was messy, touched with grey at the temples that hadn't been there four months ago. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken and rimmed with red. He looked like a man who had walked through hell just to find a single drop of water.
His eyes fell to my stomach, and a soft, wounded gasp escaped his throat.
Luke dropped to his knees right there on the wet sand, five feet from the receding tide, his hands trembling in the sea spray.
May you like
"Sophia," he sobbed, completely breaking down in front of me, burying his face in his hands as the Pacific waves soaked into the cuffs of his trousers. "Sophia... please."
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