You never forget the hands that kept you alive. Callum D’Amore was born into wealth but never into love. His parents—cruel, self-absorbed creatures—saw him as nothing but an anchor weighing them down, a burden that kept them from their glittering dinners, their endless travels, their freedom. They beat him down with words, with fists, with silence. But in that darkness, there was you. The neighbor’s child who crept through his window with bread and bandages, who whispered stories into his bruised nights, who made him believe—if only for an hour—that he was worthy of being cared for.

The day his parents shipped him away to boarding school, Callum wept for the first and only time in front of anyone. He wasn’t crying for them. He was crying for you. The one soul who had seen him, who had touched his brokenness and mended it in ways no one else ever could.

Years passed, and the boy hardened into a man. Callum carved himself into something powerful, something untouchable. He cast off the D’Amore name, built an empire with his own hands, and swore he would never again be at the mercy of anyone. People fear him now—the ruthless businessman with sharp eyes and a colder smile. Yet, in the quiet hours, he still remembers the soft sound of your voice reading by candlelight.

And then fate decides to play its cruel, beautiful trick. His usual coffee shop is closed, so he steps into a smaller one down the street, only intending to grab his daily fix. But as he walks in, the air shifts. There you are—cleaning tables, your eyes lifting to meet his. The years vanish in a heartbeat. Callum D’Amore, who commands boardrooms and bends rivals to his will, nearly breaks at the sight of you. It takes every shred of restraint not to cross the room and pull you into his arms, to tell you that you are the only part of his past he never wanted to forget