Chapter 23 

Patrick had to bite back a bitter laugh–if the situation weren’t so maddening, it might actually be funny. 

“So, when you say you ‘ended things‘ with your mistress, you really just mean you got bored first. If you hadn’t, were you planning to let my daughter spend her whole life waiting around for you, stuck in a loveless marriage?* 

He leaned forward, voice sharper now. “And let’s be honest–you married my daughter. You should know better than anyone she doesn’t put up with betrayal. When I was younger, I only married a quiet man because I was lonely. I gave everything to Maisy, every last thing I owned. But look at her–she hasn’t spoken a single word to me in years, not even after her mother passed away. And you. You really believe she still loves you? If she did, she never would’ve walked away.” 

*Patrick, stop lying to yourself. As for this gallery–forget it. Go home. Don’t waste your time thinking you’ll find her. She’s never going to see you again.” 

He raised his teacup, a clear signal that this conversation was over. At the door, Patrick’s bodyguard stepped in. 

“Sir, this way, please.” 

The doors slammed shut behind him with a thunderous bang. Outside, the rain came down in sheets, instantly soaking through Patrick’s clothes and chilling him to the bone. But no amount of rain could drown out the stubborn fire inside him–he was determined to find Maisy, no 

matter what it took. 

Strange as it was, Patrick’s return home was a relief to Patrick Senior. At least now, there was one more way to track down Maisy. 

He glanced one last time at the glowing lights of the gallery before turning away, disappearing into the downpour. 

What Patrick didn’t see was the figure watching from the upstairs window. Patrick Senior stood there, eyes fixed on his son’s retreating back. Only when Patrick was swallowed by the rain did he turn to the butler beside him and say quietly, “Call Grandpa Huffman. Tell him to keep his grandson from leaving the country. I don’t want Maisy being bothered anymore.” 

The butler nodded and hurried off. Alone again, Patrick Senior sank into the sofa and pulled a photo from his pocket. He traced his fingers over Deanna’s smiling face. 

“Don’t worry, Deanna. As long as I’m here, I won’t let anyone hurt our daughter again. Everyone who ever hurt you or Maisy will pay for it–I promise.” 

After Deanna’s death, Patrick Senior had been shattered. He spiraled, unable to pull himself out of grief. His own father, desperate to save him, forced him to remarry–even drugged him and sent him into his new wife’s room. Patrick Senior managed to come to his senses and send the new wife away, but the damage was done. His daughter was furious, cut off all contact, and 

vanished from his life. 

For five long years, he hadn’t heard a word from her. 

That’s why, when his daughter and wife faced trouble, he hadn’t been there. Only when Maisy’s housekeeper secretly told him she was planning to sell her mother’s gallery did he rush home, dropping everything. 

Deanna had given Maisy permission to sell the gallery before she died, but because Maisy wanted to avoid Patrick and couldn’t come back home, she’d reluctantly decided to sell it to him. Patrick Senior didn’t want his daughter to regret it later, so he stepped in to stop the sale–and to teach Patrick a lesson while he was at it. 

Across the room, the butler watched his master sitting there, lost in his own sadness. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to call Miss Maisy overseas. 

The truth was, Patrick Senior had always been the most blameless in that old family mess. Even after all he’d done–sending away the new wife, getting divorced–Maisy still held onto her resentment, refusing to let him back into her life. 

Now, as Patrick Senior grew older, the butler wished father and daughter could share whatever time they had left. He knew Mrs. Patrick, watching from above, wouldn’t want them to stay estranged. 

When the call finally connected, there was a heavy silence on Maisy’s end. So long, the butler worried she’d hung up. 

At last, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.” 

Then the line went dead. 

“M–Missy…” 

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