Neva widens her eyes, her body stiffening, arms hanging limp at her sides.
The strange man is embracing her.
For a fragile moment, she finds herself melting into him, their chests pressed together, hearts pounding in a fast, rhythmic sync.
No. She's married. This is wrong.
"Angel... Angel..." Rhett keeps mumbling, tightening his hold on her, clinging to the feel of her soft body, soaking in her warmth—
as if trying to convince himself she's real. Not a dream. Not a ghost.
He buries his face in the crook of her neck, nuzzling his nose gently in her warm skin. Tears stream down his cheeks, soaking her skin, her clothes.
"Angel—" A sob tears from his lips, his body shuddering.
He holds her tightly—almost to the point of suffocation.
"I think… I think you have the wrong person," Neva says, her own shaky assumption squeezing her chest, pressing like a weight on her chest.
He only whimpers.
She has to push him away. Now!
What in the world is she doing in the arms of a stranger?
She leans in… her eyes slowly closing…
It's betrayal!
Ishmael would be furious.
A voice inside her head warns her.
But this heart—this foolish, betraying heart—
Her eyes snap open.
With sudden force, she shoves the weeping man away from her.
Her nose flares as she struggles to steady her erratic breathing, the traitorous heart still thrumming wildly inside her chest.
This is wrong. So very wrong.
Neva looks at him as he wipes his tears with the back of his palm.
He lifts his chin, meeting her gaze with bloodshot eyes.
The pain etched across his face—for the unknown reason why—tugs at something deep inside her.
It plays her, messing with her sanity.
"A–are you alright?" he asks, his eyes drifting over her, searching.
Why wouldn't she be?
Neva narrows her eyes slightly at the man.
He looks like Ishmael, uncannily—sharing a terrifying resemblance.
His eyes, glassy from tears, shimmer beneath wet lashes. His nose pink from crying.
But… his voice is different.
"Who on earth are you?" Neva asks, stepping back—then again—until her foot catches awkwardly behind her.
She stumbles, about to fall and twist her ankle, when the mysterious stranger lunges forward and catches her.
He hovers over her tilted frame, one hand at her waist, the other bracing her back.
And when their eyes meet again…everything else fades away.
Melancholy.
A strange, aching warmth unfurls in her chest—a longing so similar, so miraculous she doesn't understand.
Familiar, yet impossible. It drowns her. It burns through her.
"Careful," he whispers.
Always the same. His Neva. Always so clumsy.
Neva's eyes widen slightly.
Her chest is in turmoil, butterflies fluttering in her belly—like the ones dancing around them in the garden.
Garden.
The realization hits her like cold water.
She shoves him away, nearly stumbling again—
His hands reach for her instinctively, but this time she steadies herself.
She mutters a curse under her breath.
How could she be daydreaming in the arms of another man?
What in the world is wrong with her today?
"Angel, it's me," he says, voice trembling—but firmer now.
She looks up at him, eyes narrowing, studying his face intently.
"It's Rhett, Angel," he whispers, soft, careful—almost afraid, as if the very sound of the name might shatter her.
She squints at him, the name echoing in her mind like a distant echo, muffled… familiar…
"Rhett?" she asks, and he nods.
She draws in a sharp breath. The name feels so familiar—so natural on her tongue.
As if she's said it a thousand times before.
She feels light–headed.
Rhett? Angel?
Her breathing quickens.
Where had she heard those names before?
A tightness coils in her chest.
She can't remember.
Something important. So sacred.
And not knowing—almost feels like a sin.
"Angel, don't stress yourself," Rhett says, swallowing hard.
She looks lost, her breath shallow, her face pinched with strain.
He had waited. And he could wait more…
When Neva glances at him again, Rhett smiles.
But in the next breath, his eyes narrow—glaring at the house.
As if he might burn it to the ground.
Fury simmering beneath the surface. Pain written all over him.
Why is he so angry? Why is he hurting?
She doesn't understand it.
And yet—there's this strange kindliness blooming in her chest, overwhelming her from nowhere.
"Do I know you? Why… why do you look like him?" Neva asks, voice shaky with urgency.
Rhett turns back to her, eyes softening at her confusion.
He gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
He still can't believe it.
All of this feels unreal.
Unless… unless this is just a dream.
He shakes his head slowly.
"You know me," he says softly.
"Better than I know myself."
She's a miracle. His miracle.
She's out of the world.
Even now—surrounded by danger, uncertainty, and pain—she ignites emotions in him that could either save him… or destroy him.
She tilts her head, more confused than ever.
And her wide, round, deer-like eyes make him chuckle softly.
He cups her face, his hands gentle, reveret—unconsciously leaning in to kiss her.
As if he's lost his mind.
As if the four long years of separation had never existed.
As if he's been caressed away from a nightmare—by her soft hands.
And they are twenty-three and eighteen again.
Neva sees herself reflected in his warm cocoa eyes.
And this feeling—
This feeling…
Like it had all happened before.
But she gently slides his hands away and turns her face.
Her cheeks and chest flush a deep, betraying red.
And then—her eyes meet his.
A knot coils in her stomach.
Ishmael.
He stands across the garden, still as stone.
Watching her. Watching them.
Disbelief and betrayal burning in his eyes.
Panic floods her.
She lifts her head, glancing at Rhett—
She frowns as she finds him staring at Ishmael with the same unyielding intensity.
No fear. Not even a flicker.
He should be afraid.
Ishmael can kill him.
And… the thought strangely twists in her gut.
"Go," Neva whispers, her voice trembling.
He gazes down at her—and smiles.
"Go!" she says again, sharper this time.
"I'm not leaving without you, wife."
Neva gasps.
What in the world?
"You lived," Ishmael says, his voice like stone—flat, cold, final.
Rhett doesn't reply.
Before Neva can process what's happening, Rhett slips a pistol from the shoulder holster beneath his jacket—
The barrel aims directly at Ishmael.
Neva gasps. Fear prickles through her nerves.
The past crashes over her like a dark wave.
No.
Not again.
Ishmael clenches his jaw. "Don't you dare hurt her."
Rhett lifts a brow, surprised—
He throws his head back and laughs.
He's laughing at him.
At the absurdity. The hypocrisy.
"I'm not you, Raka?" Rhett spits, his voice low and sharp.
Neva begins backing away, her steps slow and numb.
The thought stabs her—
And she thought of protecting him?
From her own husband?
It's laughable.
Rhett turns to her, his eyes instantly softening, voice quiet and steady.
"I can't hurt you, Neva. Not ever."
She freezes.
He knows her name...
Of course. He knows.
Rhett tilts his head, eyes still on a furious-looking Raka.
"You came here. Saved me some time. I've got what I want. Just one last job."
Raka scoffs. "Keep dreaming."
But before Rhett can answer, the sound of heavy footsteps pounds toward them—fast, closing in.
Within seconds, Raka's guards swarm around Rhett, rifles raised, surrounding him in a deadly circle.
Rhett's stare remains steady. Unflinching.
He scans the guards—quickly.
Barely twenty.
More will come. And when they do… it'll be too late.
Another set of footsteps—softer this time—races toward them.
Raka's eyes widen in realization.
His face drains of color, panic setting in.
"Papa," the small voice withers away as she takes in the scene, fear creeping into her wide eyes.
The boy beside her looks up at the men—rather curious.
Interesting, Rhett thinks, a faint smile tugging at his lips—veiling the ache in his chest.
"Get them out of here!" Raka barks, rage boiling over.
But the maid trailing behind the children freezes in place—the kids too far ahead, too close to the danger now.
Raka takes a step toward them.
"Don't make a mistake," Rhett warns, his voice low and steady.
Raka halts.
He glares at Rhett, hands clenched by his sides—like he might skin him alive—right there.
Rhett's glare sharpens, hand tightening around the pistol, ready to snap.
"Mumma!" Naya cries, her voice high and trembling.
Neva almost faints from the distress, her knees buckling beneath her.
"Stay there, Naya. Isaiah," Ishmael says, his shaky voice straining to sound firm.
Rhett scowls.
He isn't the one to threaten children.
It was Raka who wanted his son dead.
Raka was the kind who would rather see a child dead than lose control.
The kids are involved now.
Even if they're his.
Rhett would never harm them.
The situation has spiraled—twisted, unpredictable. But through it all, one thing brings him calm:
Neva is here. Alive. Unharmed.
That's what he tells himself.
He has to secure her first.
He can't fail her again.
Rhett turns to Neva, their eyes locking in a silent thread.
"Please," he whispers. "Forgive me. But whatever I do—stay calm. I won't ever hurt you."
"Let's take you home."
Neva stares at Rhett, confused.
Before she can make sense of anything—
he grabs her.
One arm wraps around her waist.
The other holds the gun—its cold barrel brushing her temple.
Her skin crawls.
No. Not again. Not like this.
Ishmael lunges forward, eyes wild—but Manager Cha grabs his arm, stopping him just in time.
He hadn't even noticed the man arrive—summoned by the silent emergency signal from his watch.
"Tell your men to lower their weapons and open the gates," Rhett commands, voice steady.
Then, leaning closer, his breath grazing her ear, he whispers—
"Don't be afraid. Just go along. Be calm."
But Neva feels terrorized, cold sweat seeping through her pores.
Then Rhett moves—and she has no choice but to move with him.
Her gaze locks with Ishmael's, his eyes mirroring her fear.
He stands there, helpless, restless—
hating himself for watching his wife taken from his own home, unable to do a anything.
Neva glances toward the twins—her lips tremble as the maid finally reaches them.
The woman wraps them in her arms, shielding their eyes, hiding them from the sight of their mother being seized.
Tears stream down Neva's cheeks, unceasing.
What will she do now?
The guards slowly lower their weapons to the ground, obedient to Ishmael's silent, defeated gesture.
Rhett walks her backward, step by step, she senses is toward the lot.
He's taking her to the car.