A dull ache throbbed behind Julian’s eyes. Sleep had offered little reprieve after the night’s ordeal, his mind still replaying Leo’s feverish cries and Elara’s panicked breath beside him. He had worked through the early hours, a futile attempt to bury the lingering image of their hands brushing, the unexpected current that had shot through him. Now, sunlight sliced through his office blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing in the heavy air. His phone buzzed, a stark interruption to the quiet hum of the city. Julian saw the caller ID. Thomas Vance. His private investigator. An unwelcome knot tightened in his stomach. He had almost forgotten about the inquiry, overshadowed by Leo's sudden illness. “Thomas,” Julian answered, his voice rougher than he intended. “Mr. Thorne. I have the report you requested,” Thomas’s voice was crisp, professional, devoid of emotion. Julian’s grip on the phone tightened. “Go on.” “Regarding Elara Vance’s activities ten years ago, specifically the period leading up to and immediately following Leo’s conception.” Julian leaned back, eyes fixed on the panoramic view of the city. He braced himself. “Her official story, as you recall, was that she spent that year abroad, studying art history in Paris,” Thomas continued, his cadence steady. “Yes, she mentioned it.” A lie, perhaps. Or a carefully curated half-truth. “Our findings contradict this significantly.” Julian’s jaw clenched. Here it was. The confirmation of his deepest suspicions. “Records indicate Ms. Vance did enroll in a summer program in Paris,” Thomas stated. “However, she withdrew after only two weeks.” “Withdrew?” Julian echoed, a cold dread seeping in. “Then where was she?” “She returned to the States. Not to her family home in Seattle, as her parents believed, but to a small, secluded coastal town in Oregon. Pelican Bay.” Pelican Bay. The name meant nothing to him. A place to hide, perhaps? “She worked under an assumed name,” Thomas added, dropping the bombshell. “Eleanor Smith. She took a job waiting tables at a local diner, ‘The Salty Siren’.” Julian ran a hand through his hair, disbelief warring with a bitter sense of validation. An assumed name? This wasn’t just a simple inconsistency. “No art history degree from that period, then?” Julian asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “None. Her financial records show sporadic income from the diner. No tuition payments, no student loan activity for the duration of that year.” Every word from Thomas’s mouth was another nail in the coffin of Elara’s innocence. The image of her tear-streaked face from last night, her fierce protectiveness of Leo, felt like a cruel deception now. “And her relationships during this ‘sabbatical’?” Julian pressed, the crucial question. “She maintained a very low profile. Few friends. She seemed intent on avoiding any deep connections,” Thomas reported. Julian scoffed. A low profile while secretly getting pregnant? It didn't add up. “However,” Thomas paused, a beat of silence stretching the line. “There are several recurring observations.” Julian held his breath. “Multiple diner patrons and local residents recall seeing Ms. Vance frequently in the company of a specific individual.” “A man?” Julian asked, his voice tight. “Yes. Tall, dark hair, described as having a distinctive scar above his left eyebrow.” Julian’s mind raced, trying to conjure a face. A rival? Someone from Elara’s past he never knew about? “He was reportedly a transient, passing through Pelican Bay. No permanent address, no clear employment,” Thomas continued. “A drifter?” Julian scoffed again. This was getting worse. Why would Elara, from a respectable family, associate with someone like that, especially if she was trying to avoid attention? “Witnesses described their interactions as intense, sometimes volatile, but undeniably close,” Thomas specified. Intense. Volatile. Close. The words painted a picture Julian didn’t want to see. A secret life, a hidden relationship, a deliberate concealment. “Did you find him?” Julian demanded. The alleged father of Leo. “We tracked several individuals matching parts of the description,” Thomas explained. “However, none of them were a definitive match to the scar detail or the timeline.” Julian's frustration spiked. This man was a ghost. “And what about Leo’s alleged father?” Julian asked, forcing the words out. “The man Elara claimed abandoned her?” A moment of silence on the line. Julian’s heart hammered against his ribs. “Mr. Thorne,” Thomas finally said, his voice flat. “There’s no record of any man matching the description of Leo’s alleged father around Elara Vance during that period.” No record. The words hung in the air, cold and definitive. It wasn’t just an inconsistency. It was an outright void. A fabrication. Elara had lied. About everything. About Leo’s father. About her entire past. The jolt of connection from last night evaporated, replaced by a surge of icy fury.

Chapter 15: The Investigator's Call