FAZER LOGINThe Cotswolds didn't know anything about Veronica Beckett, and for the first time in a long time, that was exactly what she needed. Honey-coloured stone cottages tucked into rolling hills, sheep grazing the valley below, and morning mist still hanging between the trees. The kind of place that made London feel very far away, but just a two hour drive. She had been here four days, and had not checked her phone in three. It sat on the bedside table where she had left it the morning after arriving, face down, silent. Maya had glanced at it on the second day and said nothing. She had followed her to the cottage, no questions asked. The cottage belonged to no one connected to her professionally. That was the only rule. No hotels with staff who recognised the Beckett name, no properties tied to anyone her board might think to call. Maya had found it through a letting agency in Cirencester, paid in cash, given a false surname at the door. Veronica had not asked her to do any of that. She
"I don't think Adrian would've liked this room very much." Rick Calloway said it easily, the kind of observation that could pass for harmless in a room full of people pretending not to listen. A champagne glass rested loose in one hand, the deep burgundy of his dinner jacket standing out against the darker suits around him. Veronica felt Alden's attention shift toward him. He looked at Rick and the annoyance in his expression made Rick amend his statement. "I mean the attention," Rick added smoothly, glancing once toward the ballroom around them where conversations had already begun circling back toward Alden and Veronica again. "The lights. The spectacle. Adrian hated becoming the center of things." Alden’s gaze returned to the room, disregarding Rick. Rick pressed on, trying to save face. “I appreciate you showing up despite ignoring my invitation.” His smile widened slightly after that. “And the donation was generous.” Alden's expression remained unchanged. “I didn't come
Veronica didn't leave the room.She had moved further in without thinking about it, and now she was simply there, standing near the desk with no clear reason to remain.Rain pressed lightly against the windows. Not heavy enough to distort the grounds entirely, only enough to soften the edges of them. She hadn't noticed when it started.Her gaze moved across the office without urgency. The desk. The shelves. Then stopped.A photograph sat near the edge of the desk, angled slightly away, as though it belonged there without wanting attention.She stepped closer.Alden. Younger.The sharpness was already there, though less defined then, not yet cut into something severe. She remembered seeing him at family functions years ago. Rooms full of people speaking too loudly over expensive wine and polite music. He had always been somewhere in the background.She had never really looked at him.Her fingers brushed the edge of the frame before she caught herself and pulled back."You're still in h
Alden stood at his desk, one hand resting against the open file in front of him. Across the room, Ethan Mitchel sat angled in a low chair, a marked-up document spread loosely in his hand, several sections underlined, others circled in precise, efficient strokes. The atmosphere exuded a sense of comfort and familiarity."You've tied public positioning to private terms," Ethan said, not looking up. "That only works if both sides stay aligned.""They will."Ethan's gaze lifted. "That's not something you assume. That's something you enforce."Alden turned a page. "I am."A quiet exhale. "You're restricting independent statements, limiting appearances to controlled settings, anchoring financial movement to compliance." Ethan tapped the page once before setting it aside. "That's not a partnership. That's containment."Alden's hand stilled briefly. Then continued. "It's structure.""No." Ethan leaned back slightly. "It's pressure." A pause. "She won't agree to this as it stands."Alden didn'
Morning settled into the house in layers of light that stretched across the room without urgency, touching the edge of the table first, the glass clear beneath a low arrangement of fresh white lilies, then moving across the floor, gradually warming the wood.Veronica stood by the window, barefoot. The cup in her hand had gone untouched long enough for the tea to cool, but she hadn't noticed. Outside, the garden kept its shape, every line intentional without feeling forced, the stone curve set into grass, the narrow stream catching light for a moment before disappearing again. She rested her shoulders against the frame as the fabric slipped, and she let it.What she wore did not belong outside these walls, soft, loose, barely structured, hanging from her body rather than defining it, moving with her, grazing her waist and falling cleanly across her hips. No effort to adjust it. Her hair was worse. Or better. Dark, unruly, falling forward when she leaned, slipping back when she straight
The light turned red just before the intersection. Veronica did not look up immediately. Her phone remained in her hand, the message still open, the words sitting there with quiet insistence.We need to discuss terms.Outside, the city moved in muted layers, cars idling, pedestrians crossing, coats drawn closer against the early chill. A cyclist slipped between lanes, weaving through with practiced ease. Autumn did not arrive all at once. It settled, gradually, until it showed in the edges of things."Sterling Tower," Veronica said. Her driver met her eyes in the rearview mirror. Not curiosity. Awareness. This wasn't routine. The light changed and they moved.* * * Sterling Tower dominated the skyline. It rose in clean, uncompromising lines, reflecting the grey London sky back at itself, precise and immaculate, not attempting to blend into the city but standing above it.Power, without the need to announce itself.The car came to a stop. Before she could reach for the handle, the doo







