Chapter 17

Cyril sat in his car, the glow of his phone screen illuminating his face as he scoured through the documents his assistant had sent. The photo showed Ethan Chaney—a young man in a simple white shirt, smiling gently under the sunlight. His face was nearly identical to his own. No. It wasn't that Ethan looked like him, but that he looked like Ethan. His heart ached so badly that it felt like he could barely breathe. His fingers trembled as he scrolled down, revealing more photos of Trisha and Ethan. They were holding hands, laughing together at an amusement park. She had fallen asleep against his shoulder, and he was looking down at him with such tenderness it nearly overflowed from the screen. In one, she was playfully glancing back at him, her eyes brimming with love. And the final photo was of Ethan's funeral portrait—a 22-year-old young man, frozen forever in his prime. And Trisha had spent the past seven years chasing his shadow across the world. Cyril stared at the last phot