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Chapter Twenty-three

Author: Gabby Emmanuel
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-08-27 17:32:37
Imogen

The brass key felt heavy in my coat pocket as the SUV pulled up to the curb on Fifth.

I had prepared myself for a simple backroom—a partitioned corner behind some storage crates where Eugene had cleared space so I could set up an easel for a few weeks and stay out of the public eye.

Instead, the vehicle idled before a four-story building. It had wide window frames, double entrance doors, and brass lettering beside the archway reading The Reddin Pavilion.

Eugene stood waiting on the si
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  • DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS.   Chapter Forty-Six

    Imogen"If one more person walks into this bedroom without knocking, I am stabbing someone in the neck with an eyebrow pencil. I am dead serious."I was standing in front of the vanity in my slip, gripping the edge of the wood until my knuckles went white."The neckline on the navy gown is too high, Minnie, it makes you look like a Victorian governess who’s about to lecture people on penmanship," Brett declared from the armchair in the corner. He had three garment bags slung over his knee, chewing on a piece of licorice like he was the lead stylist at Fashion Week. "You're going as Adrian King's date to a contemporary art launch, not a Sunday school fundraiser. Wear the emerald velvet. It shows off your back.""I am not showing off my back, Brett! I have a surgical graft on my flank, remember?!""And you survived it, which makes it badass," he shot back without missing a beat. "Wear the emerald.""She shouldn't wear anything that puts pressure on her chest," Klint’s voice cut in flatl

  • DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS.   forty-five

    Imogen's POV"I have two canvases that need a final varnish coat by Tuesday, Eugene. I can't just take off for the weekend."I had my phone tucked between my ear and my shoulder while I wiped my palette knife with a rag. The studio was a mess of turpentine bottles and drying racks, and the last thing I wanted to think about was packing an overnight bag."The varnish will dry without your supervision, Imogen," Eugene's voice came through the speaker, calm and unhurried. "A car is arriving at Mercer Street at ten. Pack comfortable clothes. We are spending two days at the lake lodge.""Eugene, no—""Give me the phone," Shannon grunted in the background.There was a brief scuffle, followed by the sound of fabric rustling. Then Shannon was on the line, his voice dropping into that familiar rasp."Minnie."I sighed and tossed the rag onto the counter. "Shannon, I'm in the zone. If I stop now, I'll lose my momentum.""You haven't slept more than five hours a night since the Zurich preview,"

  • DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS.   Chapter Forty-Four

    Imogen"I have two canvases that need a final varnish coat by Tuesday, Eugene. I can't just take off for the weekend."I had my phone tucked between my ear and my shoulder while I wiped my palette knife with a rag. The studio was a battlefield of turpentine bottles and drying racks, and the last thing my brain could handle was packing an overnight bag."The varnish will dry without your supervision, Imogen," Eugene's voice came through the speaker, crisp, unhurried, and indifferent to my panic. "A car is arriving at Mercer Street at ten. Pack comfortable clothes. We are spending two days at the lake lodge.""Eugene, no—""Give me the phone," Shannon grunted in the background. There was a muffled scuffle, a rustle of fabric, and then Shannon was on the line, his voice dropping into that low rasp. "Minnie."I sighed and tossed the rag onto the counter. "Shannon, I'm in the zone. If I stop now, the momentum dies.""You haven't slept more than five hours a night since the Zurich preview,"

  • DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS.   Chapter Forty-Three

    ImogenI was five seconds away from locking myself in the bathroom and faking the stomach flu."Eugene, take the cufflinks off. You look like you're about to question a crooked politician," I snapped, pacing back and forth across the rug in the sitting room.Eugene adjusted the gold links at his wrists with cold, infuriating care. "It is a normal dinner, Imogen. I am dressed properly.""You're wearing a three-piece suit in your own house on a Thursday night!""He's establishing dominance, Minnie, let him live," Brett snorted from the sofa, tossing a coaster up and catching it. "Though personally, I think Shannon's combat boots send a clearer message. Namely: I have buried men in shallow graves and I'll do it again."I whirled on Shannon. He leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, scowling at the front entryway like he expected a hit squad instead of a thirty-one-year-old art curator holding a bottle of wine."Shannon, please," I begged, pressing the heels of my hands against my te

  • DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS.   Chapter Forty -two

    Imogen“It’s just a workspace, Imogen. Don’t be dramatic.”That was Eugene’s idea of a casual announcement over Tuesday morning scrambled eggs.He slid a brass key ring across the breakfast island, the keys clattering next to my coffee mug. Attached to the ring was a sleek titanium tag with an address etched into the metal: 14 Mercer Street.I set my fork down, narrowing my eyes at him. “Eugene. Mercer Street is right in the middle of the historic arts district. The only things over there are multi-million-dollar lofts and fancy flagship stores.”“And your studio,” he replied, lifting his espresso without a single flicker of guilt. “Third and fourth floors. Private freight elevator, good northern light, strong floors, and proper ventilation.”“A loft,” I repeated, my eye twitching. “I told you yesterday I needed a corner with better daylight. A corner, Eugene.”“The air quality on Fifth was bad,” Klint said from the stove, stirring a pot of oats. “Those old ceiling fans were pushing d

  • DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS.   Chapter Forty one

    ImogenHis hand was warm.Not the clammy, tight grip Francis used to keep on my wrist whenever we walked into a charity gala, like he was holding a dog on a short leash. Adrian’s fingers just curled loosely around mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles with a quiet, steady patience that made my knees feel like jelly.“Yeah,” I breathed, the word barely louder than the hum of the freight elevator down the hall. “You can.”Adrian didn’t pounce. He didn’t jerk me against his chest like some conquering hero claiming a prize.He just took one slow, deliberate step forward, closing that tiny gap between our boots. His free hand came up, hovering for a split second before his fingers settled against the side of my jaw. His skin was warm, slightly rough from stretching cedar frames, his palm cradling the curve of my cheek with so much gentleness it made something deep in my chest ache.When his mouth met mine, my brain short-circuited.It was soft. Unhurried. A quiet question, not a demand

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