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 POV Under normal circumstances, I would have handled him with a firm but diplomatic phone call. But under current circumstances, I was less inclined to be diplomatic."Put him through to my line. I will deal with him directly.""Are you sure? I can try to stall him again.""No. He needs to hear from me that the contract terms are not negotiable. If he wants to take his business elsewhere, he is free to do so, but I am not going to let him hold the company hostage because he thinks I am distracted by personal matters."Priya nodded and transferred the call. A moment later, Walter Simmons's voice boomed through my laptop speakers."Mrs. Cresswell. Finally. I have been trying to reach you for three days.""I am aware, Mr. Simmons. I understand you have concerns about the contract.""Concerns is putting it mildly. We have been loyal clients of Lovelace Industries for over twenty years. Your mother understood the value of that relationship. She would never have treated us this way."
Eve’s POVThe shattering of glass against the kitchen floor sent me bolt upright on the couch, my heart slamming against my ribs before my eyes were fully open. For one terrible moment I was back in the parking garage with a chemical-soaked cloth pressing over my mouth and the sound of my keys clattering on concrete. Then I heard Devin's voice, calm and apologetic, drifting through the apartment."It was just a bowl. I dropped a bowl. Everything is fine."I pressed my hand to my chest and waited for my heartbeat to slow down. It took longer than it should have. The pregnancy had made everything feel closer to the surface, every startle response sharper, every moment of peace more fragile. A bowl breaking in the kitchen should not have sent me into a spiral of panic, but these were not normal times and I had not had a normal night's sleep in over a week.Devin appeared in the doorway with a dish towel in his hands and a rueful expression on his face. He was wearing jeans and a faded sw
Eve’s POV "Who placed her there?" Devin asked, though I think we both already knew the answer. "Martin Lovelace. I have spent the past twenty-four hours reviewing every document and record I could find related to Lydia's background and employment history. The professor who gave her a primary reference, a man named Harold Becker, is not merely a former teacher who thought highly of her academic work. He is Martin's cousin. They grew up together in the same town, attended the same schools, and have maintained a close relationship their entire lives. Harold Becker was the one who personally recommended Lydia for the position in my office, vouching for her character and her qualifications and her trustworthiness. Martin has been planning this infiltration for years, Mrs. Cresswell. He placed a mole inside my office specifically to monitor the will and report back to him on every development." The room fell into a profound silence. I could hear the soft hum of the air conditioning sy
Eve’s POV The message was brief. She could not protect you either. The words hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs and leaving me gasping. My mother. The car accident. The tampered brakes that the mechanic had found and documented and that my father had ignored. Martin had killed her, or had her killed, and now someone was using her memory, her precious heirloom, her own name, to threaten me and my unborn child in the most vicious way imaginable. I set the rattle down on my desk with exaggerated care because if I did not place it gently I was afraid I might throw it against the wall and watch it shatter. My hands were shaking badly now. Priya was watching me with wide eyes, her professional composure finally crumbling in the face of something so far beyond normal workplace boundaries. "I am calling Mr. Cresswell right now," she said, reaching for her phone. "No." My voice c
Eve’s POVI slept poorly the night before the security team arrived, my dreams fragmented and dark, filled with images of my mother's face and the sound of a baby crying somewhere I could not reach. Devin held me through it, his arms wrapped around me in the darkness, his voice a steady murmur against my hair. He told me everything would be alright, that we would find whoever sent the letter and make them pay, that our child would be born healthy and loved and protected from all the darkness that had plagued my family for so long. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to sink into his certainty the way I had learned to sink into his embrace, trusting that he would catch me if I fell. But the fear was a cold knot in my stomach that would not loosen, and when I finally drifted off near dawn, I dreamed again of my mother's handwriting on those yellowed letters and the terrible knowledge that she had seen her death coming and been powerless to stop it.The security team arrived at seven o'c
Devin's POVThe letter sat on the coffee table between us like a live grenade, its words still echoing in the silence of the apartment. I had read it seven times now, and each reading revealed nothing new except another layer of cold, calculated menace. The phrasing was careful and precise, almost clinical in its cruelty, as if the author had drafted and redrafted each sentence to maximize the psychological damage while leaving no trace of their identity.I called Marguerite at six in the morning. She answered on the second ring, her voice alert despite the hour. Marguerite Chen was not a woman who slept late or was caught unprepared. She had been the executor of the Lovelace estate for over twenty years, and in all that time she had never once been surprised by the depths of human greed and cruelty. I suspected this would not be the exception."Mr. Cresswell," she said when I explained what had happened. "I'll be there within the hour. Don't touch the letter again. There may be foren







