LOGINDevin’s POV
I stood in Eve's kitchen after she left for her appointment with Marguerite Chen and stared at the coffee maker for five full minutes without seeing it. She'd said she needed to do this alone. I understood that about her, the fierce independence that sometimes tipped into self-destruction. Push too hard and she'd pull away. So I let her go, and I cleaned her kitchen, and I checked my emails, and I pretended I wasn't counting every second until she walked back through that door. Mark called around eleven. "The investor meeting is rescheduled for next Thursday. Your grandfather's assistant left another message. He wants to know what family emergency required you to fly across the country." "Tell him I'll explain when I'm ready." "He won't accept that." "He doesn't have to accept it. He just has to live with it." I hung up and checked my phone for the fifth time in ten minutes. Nothing from Eve. I knew she was fine. She was in a meeting and would call when she was done. She called around noon, right when my pacing had reached the point where I was seriously considering manufacturing an excuse to show up at Marguerite Chen's office. Her name lit up the screen and I grabbed the phone before the second ring. "Eve. How did it go." "The clause is ironclad. There is no flexibility, I have thirty days to get married or Martin takes everything." She paused, and her voice tightened in that way it always did when she was holding something back. "Marguerite warned me to choose my next partner very carefully. Not all poison comes labeled, apparently." "Wise woman." "Terrifying woman. She hinted that my mother built other protections into the will but refused to explain them. I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse." I leaned against the counter and stared at the skyline. "Did she give you anything useful." "She told me to find someone I trust. The rest was riddles." Another pause. "I'm going to walk around for a while. I will window shop to clear my head. I'll be back in a few hours." "Do you want me to join you?" "No. I need to think. I'll call you later." "Okay." I said it without hesitation. She was out there alone with the weight of a deadline pressing down on her shoulders, and I was here in her apartment, useless. Two hours passed quickly. I answered emails I didn't care about, I had Mark walk me through quarterly projections for the Singapore office and absorbed none of it. I made a sandwich I did not eat and checked my phone eighteen times. Eve had not texted, had not called, had not sent so much as a single emoji. By three o'clock the knot in my gut had blown into full anxiety. She wasn't answering my calls or reading my messages. What if she had found someone else? What if she had walked into a bar and struck up a conversation with some handsome stranger who had a nice smile and a willingness to marry an heiress in distress? What if she was sitting across from him right now, laughing at his jokes, telling him everything? I had waited seven years for this woman. I had stood in the background of her life and watched her date a finance bro who made her yawn and an architect who bored her to sleep and a human toothache named Ambrose who had absolutely no business being within a hundred feet of her. I had swallowed my feelings and kept my mouth shut and let her believe I was something I was not because it was the only way she would let me stay. This was my only chance to situate myself in her life firmly and I wasn’t going to let it slip through my fingers. I called Mark. "I need you to find her." "Find who? Miss Lovelace?" "Yes, she went to clear her head and she's been gone three hours. I need to know where she is." Mark's pause was pointed. "You want me to track her phone." "I want you to send me the location of her last transaction. She's been shopping so there must be a trail." "Sir." "Mark." "This won’t look good." "I'm aware of what it looks like. Do it anyway." He sighed, but I heard the click of his keyboard. "She used her credit card at a boutique on West Fifty-Second about forty minutes ago. There's a bar three blocks from there she's been to before. The one with the red awning. I can't guarantee she's there, but it's reasonable." "Thank you." "Sir, I hope you find her before you give yourself an ulcer." I grabbed my jacket. I didn't know if she was at that bar. I didn't know if she wanted to see me. But I couldn't sit in her apartment for one more minute waiting for my future to slip through my fingers while I did nothing. I had done nothing for seven years and I was done doing nothing. The cab ride was twenty minutes of mental torture. I rehearsed what I'd say if I found her. Something casual, something friendly. Not a confession that would send her running, and I wasn't ready to lose her. I paid the driver and stepped onto the sidewalk. The bar with the red awning was exactly where Mark had described it, a quiet little hole in the wall with fogged windows and a neon sign flickering in the afternoon gloom. I was halfway to the door when my phone rang with a call from Eve. "Hello." "Is this Devin?" A man's tired, professional voice. "This is Frank, bartender at The Red Awning. I've got a young lady here who says you're her friend. She's had a few too many and asked me to call you." My heart slammed against my ribs. "I'm already outside." I pushed through the door and scanned the dim interior. For a moment I saw nothing but scattered drinkers nursing their glasses. Then I saw her. Eve was perched on a stool near the back, her hair slightly disheveled and her cheeks flushed with alcohol. She was wearing the same elegant clothes from her appointment, but they were rumpled now, soft at the edges. She was staring into a glass of wine like it held the answers to every question she'd ever asked. On the stool next to her, a man was leaning in too close, and I watched with a surge of cold fury as she waved him off. "Not interested," she said, loud enough to carry. "Also, probably insane. So really, not a good investment." The man backed off. I crossed the room in four strides and reached her just as she turned, and her face lit up with a smile so bright and relieved it nearly knocked me backward.Eve's POVThe morning after Pembrooke's arrest, I woke to the smell of pancakes and the sound of Devin humming in the kitchen. Real humming, not the distracted kind he did when he was working through a problem. This was contented humming, the sound of a man who had finally set down a burden he had been carrying for too long. I lay in bed for a few minutes longer than usual, my hand resting on the growing curve of my belly, and let myself feel something I had not felt in months. Peace. Real, uncomplicated peace.The baby kicked, a gentle flutter against my palm, as if to remind me that we were both still here, both still fighting, both still alive despite everything that had been thrown at us. I whispered a good morning to the tiny life inside me and finally pushed myself out of bed.Priya had returned to her own apartment two days ago, now that the immediate danger had passed and Gregory Hale was safely behind bars. The security detail had been reduced to a single guard at the buildin
Devin's POV Mark ran background checks on everyone who had access to our schedules, our security arrangements, and our personal information. The list was small. The security team, all of whom had been vetted by Solomon personally. Priya, whose loyalty was beyond question. Marguerite Chen, who had been protecting the Lovelace estate for decades. A handful of office staff who handled logistics and communications. One name stood out. An administrative assistant in the Lovelace offices named Derek Foster, who had been hired six months ago on a temporary contract and who had access to Eve's calendar and contact lists. His background check had been clean at the time of hiring, but a deeper dive revealed inconsistencies. His previous employer had no record of his employment. His listed address was a vacant lot. His references were dead ends. "He is not who he claimed to be," Mark said. "He was planted in the office, probably by Gregory Hale, to
Eve's POVThe second threat came on a Friday, delivered not by mail or courier but by a voice on the phone.I was working from the dining table, reviewing the quarterly projections that Priya had flagged for my attention, when my cell phone rang with a number I did not recognize. The security team had set up call screening, but this call had bypassed their filters somehow, routed through a series of proxies that made it untraceable. I answered before thinking, still distracted by the columns of numbers swimming before my eyes."Mrs. Cresswell." The voice was male, smooth and educated, with the faint trace of an accent I could not quite place. "You have been very difficult to reach.""Who is this?""You know who I am. You have been looking for me. I thought it was time we spoke directly."Alistair Pembrooke. It had to be him. I gestured frantically at Priya, who was working at the other end of the table, and she immediately began
Devin's POVThe information Victoria gave us was a key, but a key is useless until you find the lock it fits. For three days after that meeting in Greenwich, we searched for any thread connecting Alistair Pembrooke to Martin Lovelace, and for three days we came up empty. Mark pulled every financial record he could access without a warrant, which meant nothing offshore, nothing hidden behind shell companies, nothing that required a court order. Pembrooke's shipping business was legitimate on its surface, a modest operation compared to the Ashford empire, specializing in freight routes between the East Coast and the Caribbean. His tax filings were clean. His corporate structure was unremarkable. On paper he was just another wealthy businessman who had inherited a company from his father and run it competently for thirty years."He is hiding something," Mark said during our fourth briefing call. "No one with this much money operates this cleanly. There are always irregularities. Always.
Eve's POVVictoria Ashford resurfaced on a rainy Thursday afternoon, three days after we returned from Vermont.She called Devin directly, which was unusual because Victoria and I had developed a strange, adversarial respect for each other over the months of our conflict. She did not bother with pleasantries when he answered the phone. She simply said she had information about the silent partner and she was willing to share it in exchange for a private meeting.Devin relayed the message to me with an expression of deep skepticism. "She says she wants to meet at the Ashford family home in Greenwich. Neutral ground, she called it. I do not trust her.""Neither do I. But if she has information about the partner, we need to hear it. Victoria may be manipulative and self-serving, but she is not a killer. She would not threaten our baby.""I am not so sure about that.""Then come with me. We will meet her together, and if she tries anything, the security team will be right outside."The Ash
Devin's POVSolomon found Lydia Vance on a Tuesday morning, ten days after the hospital scare.She was hiding in a small town in Vermont, working as a waitress in a diner off the interstate under a name that was not her own. She had dyed her hair a mousy brown and stopped wearing makeup and developed the hunched, evasive posture of a woman who was afraid of her own shadow. When Solomon's people approached her at the end of her shift, she tried to run. They caught her gently, spoke to her calmly, and convinced her that they were not working for Martin Lovelace.The safe house where they brought her was a cabin in the Green Mountains, surrounded by forest and accessible only by a single dirt road. Eve and I drove up the next day with the security team following at a discreet distance. The autumn leaves were past their peak now, the mountainsides fading from brilliant gold to muted brown, but the air was crisp and clean and smelled of pine.Lydia was waiting for us in the cabin's main ro
Eve’s POV Outside the office, the city was bright and bustling and completely indifferent to the fact that my entire future was being held together by a marriage of convenience and sheer stubbornness. I walked beside Devin in silence for half a block before he spoke.
Eve’s POV The morning of our meeting with Marguerite dawned bright and aggressively cheerful. I woke up before my alarm, which was unusual, and felt almost well rested, which was miraculous. Devin was already in the kitchen when I got there, I had shower
Eve’s POV I climbed off his lap and straightened my shirt, suddenly feeling awkward for reasons I could not explain. "Right, so we should plan things. We only have a month, less than a month, actually. We need to figure out the ceremony and the photos and the announcements and I need to call Marg
Eve’s POV I woke up feeling the worst hangover ever. The pillow smelled like Devin's cologne. That was odd. Why did my pillow smell like Devin? I cracked one eye open and immediately regretted it. The morning light was a personal attack. The room tilted gently, then righted itself, then tilted aga







