Chapter 2: The Hunt Begins
The rhythmic hum of the black SUV filled the air as it sped down the highway, slicing through the early morning haze. Noah sat in the backseat, his posture rigid, fingers curled into fists against his thighs. The city stretched out before him, a place that had once been his kingdom. Now, it felt foreign. Five years had passed, but the pulse of power that had once driven him remained.
Carter Steele, the man who had been his right hand, gripped the steering wheel with one hand, his other resting near the holster at his waist. He was built like a fortress—broad shoulders, a frame hardened by years of combat, his face weathered with the kind of experience that made lesser men flinch.
Noah glanced at him. "Tell me what you found."
Carter exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening on the wheel. "She's been living in Westhaven. Changed her last name back to Monroe. No record of employment, but the house is paid for—cash. She's not struggling."
Noah's jaw flexed. He had expected betrayal. He had even braced for the gut-wrenching truth of her moving on. But knowing she was comfortable while he had been rotting in a hospital bed? That was another level of fury he hadn't prepared for.
"And my children?" His voice was controlled, but barely.
Carter hesitated. "Triplets. Five years old."
The words hit like a wrecking ball. He had always imagined one child. Maybe two. But three? A cold sensation ran through him, settling in his chest like lead.
"They're hers?" His voice was deadly quiet.
Carter's eyes flicked to him through the rearview mirror. "DNA would confirm, but yeah, boss. They're yours."
His. His children.
A mixture of emotions flooded him—rage, loss, a desperate need to see them. To know them.
Noah leaned back against the seat, his fingers rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. "Tell me about them."
Carter nodded, flipping open a file on the console between them. "Firstborn is Emma Monroe. She's the responsible one. A little too serious for her age, always watching out for her siblings. Then there's Ava Monroe—mischievous, wild. Gets in trouble at school but somehow charms her way out of everything."
A ghost of a smirk played at Noah's lips.
Carter continued, his tone shifting. "The last one—Isla Monroe. She's different."
Noah sat up. "Different how?"
Carter hesitated. "She's quiet. Withdrawn. Smart as hell, though. Always got her nose in a book. Teachers say she doesn't talk much to anyone, even her sisters."
A pang of something deep and unfamiliar stabbed through Noah's chest. He could picture them in his mind—three little girls with pieces of him in their features, growing up without him.
The car pulled to a stop in front of a modern, two-story home tucked in a quiet, upscale neighborhood. It was elegant but understated—exactly the kind of place Lilian would have chosen.
Noah stared at it, his pulse thudding in his ears. His children were inside. The ones he never got to hold, never got to see take their first steps, never heard say his name.
And the woman who had stolen those moments from him?
She was about to face the storm she created.
Noah stepped out of the SUV, the crisp morning air brushing against his skin. His eyes locked onto the house before him—pristine white walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a well-maintained garden. Everything about it screamed comfort, security. A life he had been robbed of.
Carter followed, his footsteps quiet on the pavement. "You sure about this?"
Noah didn't answer. His focus remained on the front door. He wanted to storm in, confront Lilian, demand to see his children. But he wasn't here to make a scene. Not yet.
Instead, he moved to the side of the house, scanning for signs of movement through the windows. The living room was empty, a few scattered toys on the floor, a pink blanket draped over the couch. His chest tightened.
Then, through the glass, he saw them.
Three little girls sat at the dining table, their small hands gripping spoons as they ate their breakfast.
Emma—the eldest—had straight, dark brown hair that fell neatly past her shoulders. She carried herself with a quiet confidence, her back straight, her movements precise.
Ava, in contrast, had a playful energy. Her curly hair bounced as she talked animatedly, flinging her spoon around.
And then there was Isla.
Noah's breath hitched. She was smaller than her sisters, her black hair falling in soft waves around her pale face. Unlike the others, she didn't engage in their chatter. Her head was down, eyes fixed on the book in her lap, as if the world around her didn't exist.
A flicker of recognition surged through him. That look—the way she withdrew into herself—he knew it all too well.
His daughter.
His daughters.
A sudden movement from the corner of his eye snapped him out of his trance.
Lilian.
She walked into the room, dressed in a simple blouse and fitted jeans, her long auburn hair cascading down her back. The sight of her sent a wave of fury crashing through him.
She looked different. Not just physically—though the years had softened her features—but in the way she carried herself. The woman who once stood beside him had been fierce, ambitious. Now, there was something guarded about her.
As if she sensed something, Lilian turned toward the window.
Noah took a step back, blending into the shadows.
Carter exhaled behind him. "What's the move?"
Noah clenched his jaw, his gaze lingering on the woman who had betrayed him.
"She doesn't get to keep them from me."
His voice was quiet. Deadly.
Lilian had stolen five years of his life.
Now, it was time to take back what was his.
Noah didn't leave.
He stood near the sleek black SUV, his fists clenched at his sides, his breath slow and controlled. Every part of him wanted to barge into that house, to demand answers, to take back what was his. But storming in wouldn't give him what he wanted. He needed a plan.
Carter leaned against the car, watching him closely. "You're thinking about walking through that front door, aren't you?"
Noah didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the house, on the life that had gone on without him.
Carter sighed. "If you do this wrong, she'll call the cops before you even get to say hello."
Noah exhaled slowly. He knew Carter was right. Lilian had already proven she was willing to erase him from their lives. If he made the wrong move, she'd do it again.
"She lied to me," Noah muttered, his voice raw. "She let me rot in that hospital while she raised my children without me. And now, she's living like I never existed."
"She's about to remember," Carter said. "But first, we need leverage."
Noah tore his gaze away from the house and turned to Carter. "I want to know everything. Where she works, who she spends time with, how she's raising them."
Carter smirked. "Already ahead of you. I have people digging into her accounts, tracking her schedule. By tomorrow, we'll have a full picture."
Noah nodded. Information was power. And he needed all of it.
Just as he was about to turn away, the front door opened.
Lilian stepped out, carrying a purse over her shoulder. She locked the door behind her, then walked toward a black sedan parked in the driveway.
Noah stiffened.
This was the closest he had been to her in five years.
She paused, her movements slowing, her head turning slightly—like she could feel his presence.
For a brief moment, Noah wondered if she'd see him. If her gaze would land on him, if recognition would spark in her eyes.
But then, she got into the car, started the engine, and drove off.
Noah watched her disappear down the road, his hands tightening into fists.
"She's going to work," Carter said, glancing at his watch. "Now's your chance."
Noah turned back to the house.
His daughters were inside. Alone.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
He took a step forward.
Carter's hand shot out, grabbing his arm. "Noah. Think."
Noah yanked his arm free, his jaw locked tight. "I just want to see them up close."
Carter didn't look convinced, but he didn't stop him either.
Noah crossed the street, moving swiftly but silently. He reached the side of the house, pressing his back against the wall near the window.
He peered inside.
Emma was sitting at the dining table, typing something on a tablet. Ava was sprawled out on the floor, drawing in a sketchbook. Isla, as always, had a book in her hands, curled up on the couch.
They were so close.
His chest tightened.
He had missed everything. Their first words. Their first steps. Their birthdays.
And Lilian had stolen it all.
A flicker of movement pulled him from his thoughts.
Isla lifted her head, her small face tilting slightly, her dark eyes locking onto the window.
Noah froze.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
Then, Isla's tiny brows furrowed. She stood, her book still in hand, and took a hesitant step closer to the window.
Noah's breath caught.
Did she recognize him?
Before he could move, a loud honk from the street made her jump.
Emma called out something, distracting her, and Isla turned away.
Noah exhaled, stepping back into the shadows.
It wasn't time yet.
But soon.
Soon, they would know exactly who he was.
Noah stepped back into the shadows, his pulse pounding as he tried to process what had just happened. Isla had seen him. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment, something in her gaze had frozen him in place.
Did she recognize him? Did she feel something, even if she didn't understand why?
A deep ache settled in his chest. He had barely seen his daughters for a second, yet the weight of what he had lost pressed down on him like a boulder. He had to do this right. Barging in wouldn't fix anything. He needed a plan.
He turned away from the window, retreating down the driveway, back to where Carter was waiting by the SUV. His old friend studied him, arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable.
"Well?" Carter asked.
Noah let out a slow breath. "I saw them."
Carter gave a knowing nod. "And?"
Noah swallowed. "They looked… happy." The words tasted bitter in his mouth.
"They're kids," Carter said. "They don't know what's missing."
Noah clenched his jaw. That was what hurt the most. They had lived five years without him. Five years where he had been nothing but a ghost.
He looked back at the house, his mind racing. Lilian had left. His daughters were still inside. He had no way of knowing if they were being watched or if someone was taking care of them in her absence.
"I need to get closer," Noah muttered.
Carter's brows furrowed. "You need to be smart about this."
"I won't do anything reckless," Noah assured him. "But I need to hear their voices. Even if it's just once."
Carter hesitated, then sighed. "Alright. But if this backfires, you'll have more than just a pissed-off ex-wife to deal with."
Noah didn't answer. He had already started moving.
He circled the house carefully, staying hidden as he approached the backyard. The garden was well-kept, the grass trimmed, flower beds lining the fence. A small wooden swing set stood in the corner, along with a pink plastic slide that looked well-loved.
His chest tightened.
This was their world. And he had never been a part of it.
He was about to take another step when the sound of giggling stopped him in his tracks.
He turned toward the patio door just as it slid open.
Ava and Emma burst outside first, their laughter ringing through the air. Isla followed behind, moving more cautiously.
Noah quickly ducked behind a tree, careful not to be seen.
His daughters ran across the yard, their energy boundless. Ava climbed onto the swing, pushing herself forward with ease. Emma plopped onto the grass, stretching her legs out as she watched. Isla sat on a small bench nearby, a book in her hands as usual.
Noah's throat tightened.
Every part of him ached to step forward, to call out their names, to hear them say "Daddy" just once.
But he wasn't ready for that moment yet.
He focused on their conversation instead.
"Mom said she might take us to the amusement park next weekend," Emma said, picking at the grass.
Ava huffed, still swinging. "She always says that. And then something comes up."
Isla didn't look up from her book. "She's busy."
Ava groaned. "She's always busy. It's not fair."
Emma nodded. "Other kids' moms and dads go with them. We don't even have a dad."
Noah flinched.
Ava kicked at the ground, stopping the swing abruptly. "Maybe we did. Maybe he just didn't want us."
Noah's heart twisted violently.
Isla finally looked up, her eyes sharp. "That's stupid."
Ava scowled. "No, it's not. If we had a dad, he'd be here. But he's not. So, he must not care."
Noah sucked in a breath, his hands curling into fists.
"I don't think that's true," Isla said quietly. "Maybe… maybe something happened."
Emma frowned. "Like what?"
Isla hesitated. "I don't know. But sometimes, I think about it. What if he wanted to be here, but he couldn't?"
Noah felt like the ground had just been ripped out from beneath him.
Out of all three of them, Isla was the one who still wondered, who still held on to the idea that maybe, just maybe, their father hadn't abandoned them by choice.
It was enough to make Noah's vision blur with rage.
Lilian had done this.
She had fed them lies. She had erased him so completely that his own children believed he had never cared for them at all.
Noah's jaw locked.
This wasn't just about getting them back.
It was about making sure they knew the truth.
He took a step forward, ready to reveal himself—
But the sound of a car approaching sent his instincts into overdrive.
He quickly backed into the shadows, watching as a silver luxury sedan pulled into the driveway.
A woman stepped out—early forties, stylish, with sharp features and perfectly manicured nails. She walked up the pathway with the confidence of someone who owned the place.
Noah didn't recognize her.
But the way his daughters reacted told him everything.
Ava groaned. "Ugh. Miss Grace is here."
Emma wrinkled her nose. "Maybe she won't stay long."
Noah's brows furrowed.
Grace?
His mind worked quickly. Was this a relative? A nanny? Someone Lilian trusted?
He watched as the woman opened the front door without knocking, stepping inside as if she belonged there.
The girls exchanged glances, then reluctantly followed.
Noah's pulse pounded. He had planned on waiting, on being patient.
But now, he had a new question.
Who the hell was Miss Grace?
And what was she doing in his house?
Noah's muscles tensed as he watched Miss Grace disappear through the front door, his mind racing. Who was she, and why was she coming to see his daughters? The girls didn't seem thrilled by her presence, yet there was something in their faces—a mixture of reluctance and familiarity—that made Noah's blood run cold.
He knew he had to be patient, but every instinct in him screamed for action. He couldn't let another moment pass without understanding what was happening under his nose. It wasn't enough to just watch from the shadows anymore; he had to get closer.
Slowly, he slipped from his hiding spot behind the tree and moved toward the back gate, his movements silent, practiced. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself. As he neared the gate, he paused, carefully peeking through the slats.
From this angle, he could see the living room, the girls sitting on the couch in the corner, their faces turned toward the front door. Miss Grace had already made herself at home, standing in the middle of the room, speaking with Lilian. Noah's heart twisted as he saw his ex-wife, standing confidently, as though nothing had changed.
Lilian's hair was shorter now, a sleek bob that framed her face. She looked different, harder somehow, but still beautiful in that way that Noah had never been able to forget. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he forced himself to focus on the conversation.
"You've been gone too long," Miss Grace's voice floated toward him, sharp and precise. "The girls need stability, Lilian. You can't just keep changing things on a whim."
Lilian's response came in a low murmur, just out of Noah's hearing range. He strained his ears, but the words were too faint. He needed to get closer.
Noah backed away from the gate, his mind working furiously. If Miss Grace had been a part of the girls' lives during the time he'd been absent, then she was a potential ally—or a dangerous adversary. He couldn't afford to underestimate her.
He turned quickly, heading toward the front of the house, angling for a better vantage point. As he neared the front porch, he heard snippets of the conversation between Lilian and Miss Grace. The tension in the air was palpable.
"I just want to do what's best for them," Lilian's voice cracked, betraying a hint of vulnerability Noah hadn't heard in years.
Miss Grace's tone softened. "And what's best for them is stability. Not your whims, Lilian. You know that."
The words were like a slap to Noah's face. Stability. His mind reeled at the irony. Five years, and not once had Lilian reached out to him, to tell him about their daughters or what was going on in their lives. No, she had kept him in the dark, letting him drift, a non-entity in his own family's life.
The hurt, the betrayal, surged back to the surface, raw and fresh.
He needed to hear more. He needed to know what had changed. What had happened to the woman he had once loved? To the family he thought he would have forever?
He stepped closer to the front door, crouching low behind a tall hedgerow that bordered the property. His breath slowed, his pulse steadying. He wasn't just a husband now; he was a man on a mission. The stakes were higher than ever.
From his position, he could see through the partially open door. Miss Grace was seated on the arm of a chair, her legs crossed, her attention fixed on Lilian, who stood near the fireplace, her back to him.
Noah couldn't make out every word, but he caught a few pieces that made his heart stop.
"I'm not sure he'll even want to be a part of their lives," Lilian said quietly. "Not after everything."
Miss Grace's laugh was short and dismissive. "He wouldn't be the first man to turn his back. But you've made sure of that, haven't you?"
Lilian's shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of the conversation pressing down on her. For a moment, Noah felt a flicker of empathy for her, a fleeting connection to the woman who had once shared everything with him. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the bitterness that had long since taken root in his heart.
Miss Grace's voice became softer, coaxing. "The girls need a father, Lilian. Whether he's willing or not, he still has a role to play. You have to let him in. You have to give him a chance."
Noah's heart hammered against his ribs. This was his chance—his opportunity to slip in unnoticed, to hear the rest of their conversation, to finally understand what Lilian was keeping from him. He knew he couldn't let it slip away.
He took a deep breath, then pushed the door open slightly, just enough to hear more clearly. The creaking of the old wood sent a shock of panic through him, but it was too late to turn back now.
"I'll talk to him," Lilian said after a long silence, her voice steady, though strained. "I'll see if he's willing to be involved."
Miss Grace sighed, standing up from her chair. "He won't come to you. You'll have to go to him."
Lilian nodded. "I know."
Noah's mind reeled. Go to him? What was she planning? Was she finally going to confront him, or was this another one of her manipulative games?
He had to know what was going to happen next, had to understand what this woman—Miss Grace—was really up to. If she had her way, would Noah be cut out of his daughters' lives for good?
Before he could process what to do next, the sound of the door opening startled him. He froze, his heart leaping into his throat. Lilian appeared, stepping outside with a purposeful stride, her gaze sweeping across the yard.
For one terrible moment, Noah thought she might see him, but she didn't. She kept walking, headed for the driveway, where her car sat parked.
"Shit," Noah muttered under his breath, crouching low, pressing himself into the shadows.
As she disappeared around the corner, he took a slow, steadying breath. She was leaving.
But for how long?
His mind raced with the possibilities. He needed to find out where she was going and what she was planning. This was his moment. He couldn't let it slip away.