His innocent wife is a dangerous hacker.

Chapter 670 I want to meet her

Meanwhile, inside a private residence that could only be described as a palace, Kaelani’s laptop pinged.

She was sitting in her study, a vast room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked manicured gardens and fountains that sparkled in the evening light. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with medical texts and leather-bound volumes, their spines gleaming under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. A fire crackled in the marble fireplace, casting warm shadows across the Persian rug beneath her feet.

She was dressed simply. A cream silk blouse, tailored black trousers, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. But even in simplicity, she carried herself like the queen she was. Her posture was perfect, her movements graceful, her dark blue eyes sharp and intelligent.

Kaelani set down her cup of tea. Fine porcelain, hand-painted, a gift from a foreign dignitary. She opened the message from her son. For a moment, she simply looked at the screen, her expression unreadable.

Dominique hadn’t called her in years. Years. And now he was asking for her help. Not for himself, but for someone else.

A woman.

Kaelani’s lips curved, just slightly.

She opened the first file. Medical scans, detailed and precise, showing the extent of the scar tissue. She studied them with the eye of a surgeon who had seen worse, who had rebuilt faces that others had declared hopeless. The scar was deep. She could see that immediately. The tissue had healed poorly, pulling at the surrounding skin, distorting the natural lines of the cheek.

She opened the next file. Photographs.

Hazel’s face stared back at her.

Kaelani studied the image, her expression unreadable. The scar ran from below the left eye down to the corner of the jaw, thick and uneven, dark against pale skin. It was the kind of scar that made people stare, that made children point, that made adults look away quickly, embarrassed by their own discomfort.

But Kaelani didn’t look away.

She studied the structure of Hazel’s face. The high cheekbones, the elegant line of her jaw, the shape of her eyes. The scar was deep, yes. But it wasn’t impossible.

Her fingers traced the edge of the scar on the screen, her mind already working. With a series of carefully planned surgeries, she could release the tension in the tissue, layer by layer. She could smooth the edges, reduce the discoloration, restore the natural contour of the cheek. It would take time. Months, maybe years. It would take patience, both hers and the patient’s. But it could be done.

Kaelani leaned back in her chair.

She was royalty. She had been born into wealth, married into power, and had chosen a life of medicine over the comforts of her title. Her patients came to her from all over the world, begging for her help, offering fortunes for her time. She turned most of them away.

But this one, this girl with the scar and the deep eyes, she would not turn away.

Not because of the scar. Not because of the challenge. But because of her son.

Dominique had never introduced her to a girl before. Not once. Not in all his years of modeling, of traveling, of living a life far from the palace she called home. Not until now.

Kaelani picked up her tea, took a slow sip, and set it back down. The porcelain clinked softly against the saucer.

Hazel Moretti. The girl who had saved her son’s life.

She picked up her phone, its surface gleaming under the chandelier light, and dialed Dominique’s number.

He answered on the first ring.

"Mom?" he said, his voice uncertain.

"I looked at the files," Kaelani said, her voice smooth as silk.

A pause. "And?" he asked.

"The scar is deep. The tissue is extensive. It will take multiple surgeries. At least three, maybe four. The recovery will be long. The results won’t be perfect, but they will be significant," she explained.

Dominique’s voice was quiet. "Can you help her?" he asked.

Kaelani looked at Hazel’s photo one more time.

"Yes," she said. "I can help her."

She heard her son exhale, a breath he had been holding for days.

"Thank you, Mom!" he said softly.

"Don’t thank me yet." She paused, her dark blue eyes softening. "Bring her to meet me."

"Mom—" he started.

"I want to meet her, Dominique. The girl who saved your life. I want to thank her personally. And I need to see her in person so I can give an even better evaluation." Her voice dropped, warm and gentle. "Bring her to me."

A long silence. Then: "Okay. I’ll ask her," he said.

Kaelani smiled,

"Good."

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Two weeks later, the morning sun was soft and golden, casting long shadows across the campus entrance. The car idled at the curb, the tinted windows shielding them from the curious glances of students walking past.

Bella sat in the backseat, her new bag clutched in her lap, her heart pounding so loud she was sure Leo could hear it. She was wearing light blue jeans that fit her perfectly, a white blouse with small pearl buttons, and a soft cardigan in cream. Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves, and she had applied just a touch of lip gloss. She looked young, fresh, like a student.

But she didn’t feel like one.

She felt like an imposter. Like someone who had snuck into a world she didn’t belong to.

"I’m nervous," she said, her voice small.

Leo sat beside her, his gray eyes soft, his expression gentle. He was dressed for work. Dark suit, crisp white shirt, tie perfectly knotted. But he didn’t look like he was in a hurry. He looked like he had all the time in the world.

He reached over and took her hand, his fingers warm around hers. "Don’t be nervous," he said. "It’s just classes."

"Just classes," she repeated.

"Just classes." He squeezed her hand.

She bit her lip. "What if I get lost?" she asked.

"The campus map is on your phone. I put it there myself," he said.

"What if I can’t find my classroom?" she pressed.

"The building is labeled. Room 104. West wing. Second floor. I checked the directory yesterday," he replied.

She looked at him, surprised. "You checked?" she asked.

"I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t have to wander." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I also memorized the locations of the library, the cafeteria, and the three closest coffee shops."

She laughed, the tension in her chest easing. "You’re ridiculous," she said.

"I’m prepared," he said. His thumb traced small circles on the back of her hand. "What if someone is mean to you?" he asked, his voice turning serious.

Her smile faded. "Leo—" she started.

"I’m serious. If anyone, student, professor, anyone, says something cruel or makes you feel uncomfortable, you tell me. Immediately," he said firmly.

"What will you do?" she asked.

His gray eyes hardened, just slightly. "Whatever is necessary," he said.

She shook her head, but she was smiling again. "You can’t threaten everyone who looks at me wrong," she said.

"Watch me," he replied.

She squeezed his hand, her heart full. "I’ll be fine," she said.

"I know you will." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "But I’ll worry anyway."

"That’s your problem," she teased.

"It’s a problem I’m happy to have," he said softly.