Leonard’s POV

​The flight to Japan was the longest ten hours of my life. I couldn’t sit still. I paced the aisle of the private jet, my mind looping through every second of that night. The way she tasted, the way she trembled under my touch, and those sea-blue eyes that had haunted my dreams for a year.

​As soon as we landed in Tokyo, my driver was waiting. The tracker had sent over a digital file with everything he had found. I pulled out my tablet, my fingers shaking slightly as I swiped through the data.

​"Name: Samantha Phillip," I read aloud. "Age: 28. Occupation: Salesperson at a local coffee shop. Marital Status: Divorced."

​I froze, staring at the screen. Twenty-eight? The girl in the mask had felt younger—much younger. Her energy had been raw, almost innocent despite her fire. And a divorcee? My Samantha had mentioned a boyfriend, but she hadn’t mentioned a husband.

​Maybe she lied about everything, I thought, my jaw tightening.

​"Sir, we are five minutes away," the driver said.

​I closed the tablet and looked out at the bustling streets of Tokyo. I didn’t even have a photo of her face. All I had was a memory of red hair and sea-blue eyes.

​The car pulled up to a small, charming coffee shop tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. My heart was thudding against my ribs like a hammer. I stepped out of the car, straightening my jacket, and took a deep breath. My wolf was quiet—too quiet.

​I pushed the door open. A little bell chimed above me. The shop smelled like roasted beans and sweet pastries.

​"Welcome!" a voice called out in Japanese.

​I looked toward the counter. Standing there was a woman with vibrant red hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She was wearing a green apron over a simple white shirt. She turned around to face me, her sea-blue eyes wide as she saw a tall, foreign man in an expensive suit standing in her small shop.

​I walked closer, my eyes searching hers. She was beautiful. She had the red hair. She had the blue eyes.

​"Samantha?" I asked, my voice cracking.

​The woman blinked, looking confused. "Yes? Can I help you?"

​She spoke with a thick accent, her voice high and melodic. But as she spoke, the air in the room didn’t change. The spark wasn’t there. And in her eyes, she didn’t have the look of shock... as if she were seeing me again... she just seemed naturally confused.

​I stood just three feet away from her, and I felt... nothing. No heat. No recognition. No electricity.

​I looked at her hands. They were older, with small lines around the knuckles. I looked at her eyes again. They were blue, yes, but they didn’t have that hidden sadness and fire that I remembered. They didn’t remind me of Scarlett at all.

​This woman wasn’t my Samantha. She was just a woman who shared a name and a hair color.

​"I... I’m sorry," I muttered, my heart sinking into my stomach. "I thought you were someone else."

​"Are you okay, sir?" she asked kindly, moving toward the counter.

​I didn’t answer. I turned around and walked out of the shop, the bell chiming behind me like a funeral knell. The bright Tokyo sun hit my face, but everything felt dark. I had traveled thousands of miles, spent millions of dollars, and left my pack, all for a dead end.

​I leaned against the car, burying my face in my hands. The lace undergarments were still in my pocket, and for the first time in a year, I felt the heavy weight of grief returning.

​"She’s gone," I whispered to the wind. "I can’t find her."

​I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers cold as I dialed the tracker.

​"Alpha?" the voice on the other end answered quickly. "Did you find her? Is it—"

​"It’s not her," I snapped, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. "It’s not even close. You found a woman with the same name and the same hair, but she isn’t the one."

​The line went quiet for a second. I could hear the tracker shifting on the other end, sounding nervous. "I... I apologize, Alpha. There are so many women named Samantha in the records, but I focused on the red hair and the eye color from your description. I thought for sure—"

​"Stop," I interrupted, closing my eyes tight. "Stop searching. Just stop everything."

​"Sir? You want me to give up?"

​"She lied," I whispered, leaning my head against the cool glass of the car window. "She lied about her name. She probably lied about being a dancer. She was a ghost the moment she walked out of that hotel room, and I’ve been chasing smoke for a year."

​"I’m so sorry, Alpha Leonard," he said softly.

​I didn’t wait for him to say anything else. I ended the call and shoved the phone back into my pocket. My wolf gave a low, mournful howl deep inside me, then went silent. He was tired. I was tired.

​I climbed back into the car, the leather seat feeling cold. "To the airport," I told the driver.

​"But sir, you just arrived. Don’t you want to stay the night? The hotel is booked."

​"No," I growled, staring straight ahead at nothing. "There’s nothing for me here. Take me back to the jet. I’m going home."

​As the car pulled away from the curb, I saw the woman from the coffee shop through the window. She was smiling at a customer, looking happy and settled in her life. She was a real person with a real story. My Samantha was just a dream I had held onto because I was too afraid to face the truth.

​I reached into my pocket and felt the lace of the undergarments she had left behind. My grip tightened on them. I should throw them away. I should toss them out the window and let the Tokyo wind take them. But I couldn’t.

​Even if she wasn’t Samantha, even if she had lied about every word she spoke to me, she was the only thing that had made the world feel bright again after Scarlett died.