Chapter Twenty -One

The autumn sun hung high over the rolling private crest of the Axerold Estate, casting long, sharp shadows across the terraced lawns. Up here, three hundred meters above the sprawling city basin, the air was crisp and clear, carrying the clean scent of crushed pine needles, fresh timber, and mountain air.

It was a world completely removed from the suffocating, concrete heat trapped in the city streets below.

Matt leaned against the raw pine framing of the main gatehouse, a heavy steel tape measure clipped to his leather work belt. Sweat glistened on his broad neck, but unlike the stagnant moisture of the lower districts, this was the honest sweat of physical labor. Around him, the rhythmic hum of high-end construction filled the afternoon—the deep thrum of a hydraulic lift positioning reinforced steel beams, the sharp bite of a circular saw cutting through thick oak planking, and the steady clatter of pneumatic nail guns.

"Hey, boss!" one of the senior framers shouted over the noise, wiping his brow with a blue bandanna as he walked out from the temporary break tent. "Where do you want the second load of dark marble slabs staged? Driveway's blocked if we drop 'em near the main portico."

"Stage them by the west pavilion," Matt called back, his voice deep, grounded, and easily carrying over the machinery. "Keep the main turning loop clear. The client’s going to be back soon, and I don't want her luxury SUV squeezing past raw stone."

"Got it," the framer nodded, turning back before pausing with a wide grin. "By the way... pass my thanks to Miss Axerold for that lunch. I don't know what kind of roast beef and reduction that was, but half the boys are ready to lay marble for free if she cooks like that every time!"

Matt gave a low, quiet grunt of agreement, but his expression remained thoughtful, his dark eyes drifting down the winding asphalt driveway toward the distant, hazy skyline of the lower district.

He thought back to two hours ago. He remembered standing in her pristine executive kitchen, the subtle shift in the air when his hand had briefly brushed against hers over the handle of the chef's knife. There had been no flirtatious flutter in her demeanor, no pretense. Just an undeniable, magnetic intensity that had left his pulse hammering against his ribs long after she stepped away.

More than that, he remembered when she packed that identical, piping-hot portion of gourmet prime beef into the insulated thermal bag.

“I can drive you,”Matt had offered, his tone firm, stepping around the marble island to block her path for a brief second. “Whatever business you have, you shouldn't be heading into those blocks alone.”

She had barely blinked. “I appreciate it, Matt,”* he had replied, her voice soft, cool, and entirely unyielding as she bypassed him. “But this is a private delivery. I need to handle it myself.”

Matt reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pair of thick leather work gloves and slapping them hard against his palm. He regretted letting her walk out that door. He should have insisted. He should have insisted on taking the wheel himself or sitting in the passenger seat, regardless of how private she claimed the trip was.

He didn't know the full details of her personal life or what specific war she was going down there to fight, but he knew the lower district was a sun-baked grid where desperate, vicious people turned dangerous when they had nothing left to lose.

What is she really doing down there?Matt asked himself, checking his watch again. Two hours. She had been gone far too long for a simple drop-off.

*I should have insisted,* Matt thought, a sharp spike of anger flaring in his chest—anger at himself for stepping back just because she gave him that calm, impenetrable look.

He tossed his leather gloves onto the workbench and unclipped his tape measure. Enough was enough. He couldn't just stand here supervising timber frames while she was down in the gut of the city alone. He didn't care if she got angry at him for interfering.

Turning on his heel, Matt strode purposefully across the gravel lot toward his heavy-duty pickup truck parked near the staging area, pulling his truck keys out of his pocket. He was going down there to find her.

He was three steps from his driver’s side door when a low, powerful rumble echoed up through the dense pine treeline.

Matt froze, his hand stopping inches from his truck's door handle as he turned his head back toward the bottom of the hill.

The heavy, custom-built black SUV rounded the final bend of the private road, its dark tinted windows gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. It glided through the temporary construction opening with absolute grace, bringing itself to a smooth, noiseless stop right in front of the main portico.

Matt stood by his truck, quickly palming his keys and trying to force his tense posture to relax as the driver’s side door clicked open.

Vanessa stepped out onto the crushed gravel.

She looked entirely unchanged. Her tailored ivory linen suit remained crisp, immaculate, and utterly untouched by dust, sweat, or physical struggle. Her dark hair fell in perfect, silky waves over her shoulders, carrying the exact same unshakeable authority she had departed with two hours prior.

"Oh... you're back," Matt said, stepping away from his truck and catching himself just in time to keep his voice grounded.

Vanessa stopped beside the rear of her vehicle, her keen dark eyes instantly picking up on his stiff posture and the fact that he was standing by his driver's side door instead of supervising the framing.

"Something wrong?" she asked softly, her gaze searching his face.

"No, of course not," Matt lied quickly, adjusting his work belt to anchor himself.

Vanessa tilted her head slightly, her eyes drifting down to his hand where his keys were still partially hooked around his finger. "Where are you going?" she asked, a faint, curious arch in her brow. "It's a bit too early to close up, if you ask me."

Matt swallowed down the heat in his throat. There was no way he could admit he was three seconds away from speeding down the mountain to search for her—or that he had carried a quiet, unspoken torch for her for years.

"I just... came to carry something from the truck," Matt lied smoothly, gesturing vaguely toward the bed of his pickup. "Needed some extra fittings for the west pavilion."

Vanessa’s lips curved into a soft, knowing smile—a quiet, unreadable look that suggested she saw right through him, yet spared him the embarrassment of pressing further.

"Okay," she murmured gently, her dark eyes lingering on him for one warm, suspended second.

She gave him a polite, elegant nod and turned toward the grand double doors of the main house, stepping inside and leaving Matt standing alone in the crisp mountain air.