Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 257

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Please Come Back, My Love

hapter 257

Julian: POV

I stood at the floor to ceiling windows of my new apartment, the DNA report from Damien Ashford clutched in my hand. The paper trembled slightly–not from nerves, but from the sheer force of emotion coursing through me.

Probability of Paternity: 99.97%

The numbers blurred as I read them for the tenth time. I’d been staring at this report for twenty minutes, and each time those digits rearranged themselves into the same undeniable truth.

Lila was mine.

A laugh escaped me–rough, unsteady, somewhere between disbelief and pure joy. Ever since that day at Harrods when I’d seen her small hand in Elena’s, those familiar eyes looking up at me with innocent curiosity, I’d known.

Deep in my bones, I’d known she was mine.

And now I had proof.

Damien had called three days ago, his voice tight with frustration. “We have a problem. The girl’s information is locked down tighter than MI6 files. Birth certificate, medical records–everything’s been encrypted. Military–grade security protocols.”

“What does that mean?”

“Someone doesn’t want anyone digging into her background. Someone with serious resources.” He’d paused. “This isn’t standard privacy protection. This is

deliberate concealment.”

Alexander. Of course. He’d hidden Elena from the world for four years, built her a new identity. Why wouldn’t he do the same for Lila?

“Can you break through it?”

“Yes. But it’s going to take time and cost you.”

I hadn’t hesitated. “Do it. Whatever it takes.”

Γ

Those three days had been torture. I’d paced this sterile apartment like a caged animal, my phone always within reach. The waiting had given me too much time to think about what those encryption layers meant.

Blake’s messages from yesterday still burned in my memory:

Blake: [I just saw her. ACTUALLY SAW HER. Elena. Your Elena.]

Blake: [She had a little girl with her. Maybe four years old? Dark hair, your eyes, your fucking NOSE. That kid is yours.]

He’d sent a blurry photo–Elena’s profile, partially obscured by a little girl’s head pressed against her shoulder. I’d soomed in until the pixels distorted. studying every visible detail of my daughter’s face.

Blake: [The resemblance is INSANE. She has your mouth, mate. Even the way she purses her lips when she’s concentrating–just like you do. Saw it happen

alt

10:49 am PPPP

Chapter 257

Three times while Elena was ordering.]

Now, holding the DNA report that confirmed Blake’s certainty, the description felt prophetic.

My daughter. I had a daughter.

Four years of birthday parties I’d missed, first words I hadn’t heard, scraped knees I hadn’t bandaged. Four years of her life that had happened without me. because everyone–including Elena herself believed 1 didn’t deserve to know.

The anger that thought sparked was immediate and molten. Alexander had known. Had to have known, all this time, that Lila was mine. And he’d kept her from me, built himself a neat little family on the foundation of my grief.

Those encryption layers made perfect sense now. He’d been protecting his lie.

But beneath the rage was something more potent: determination.

I was going to find Elena. Today. Right now. I was going to show her this report, make her understand that whatever Alexander had told her about our past. she deserved to know the truth.

And Lila deserved to know her father.

2

I grabbed my keys and phone, my movements sharp with purpose. Damien had included Elena’s work address in his report–some textile design studio in Shoreditch. The irony wasn’t lost on me. She’d always wanted to focus on design, back when she’d been trapped in that assistant role at Sterling Fashion.

The drive across London should have calmed me, given me time to plan what I’d say. Instead, I found myself pressing harder on the accelerator, weaving

through traffic with single–minded focus. The DNA report felt like it was burning a hole through my jacket.

For the first time in four years, I felt something like hope unfurling in my chest/Elena was alive. Lila was mine. The future I’d thought was dead and buried

was suddenly, impossibly, within reach.

I was maybe three blocks from the studio when I heard it.

A scream.

High–pitched, terrified, distinctly female. It cut through the ambient noise like a blade, and my foot slammed on the brake instinctively.

I strained to listen, my heart suddenly pounding. Had I imagined it? The street around me continued its normal rhythm–cars honking, a bus rumbling past,

r someone shouting into their phone.

You’re being paranoid. Just get to the studio.

I eased back onto the gas, but something felt wrong. That scream had come from somewhere close, somewhere to my left where a narrow alley cut between

two buildings.

I kept driving. Made it another hali block before the unease in my gut became unbearable.

What if it was her?

The thought was absurd. London was a city of nine million people. The chances of that scream belonging to Elena were astronomical.

But I couldn’t shake it.

me, and pulled an illegal U–turn. My pulse was hammering now, that same instinct the hospital.

and ked the engine.

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