All Chapters of My Dearest Beautiful Cousin: Chapter 31 - Chapter 37

ENOCHHe slammed the door of the penthouse behind him, the sound echoing through the empty space like a gunshot.Daniel. That smug bastard actually thought he stood a chance with Anna. The memory of her kissing him played on repeat in Enoch's mind, especially the satisfied look on Daniel's face.Did she want him?The question gnawed at Enoch as he paced the living room. He had barely held it together on that stage. He spoke completely on autopilot, his mind entirely consumed by the memory of her in that red dress, and then of her lips on Daniel's.He poured himself a drink but didn't touch it.She was supposed to come home. They needed to talk. Really talk. No more running. Enoch had been patient. He had given her space. But tonight she had pushed every limit he had.Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour.He called Marcus."Where are you?" Enoch asked, voice tight.A pause. "Sir… they wanted to go to Lumina. Miss Maya insisted."Enoch's grip tightened on the phone. "And you let them?""

ANNAThe click of the conference room door is the loudest sound I’ve ever heard.I stand there with my hand still burning where his fingers touched mine, staring at the empty space where Enoch just was. He’d reached across just to take it from me, to let his skin brush mine for one second, and then he walked away.No. Not again I am not doing this. I am not standing here like a scolded child while he plays his ice-king routine and then ghosts out of the room like touching me was a mistake. Seventy-two hours of polite emails and corridor nods and him looking through me like I’m office furniture. And now he touches my hand and runs?Hell no.I grab my blazer from the back of the chair and I move.The corridor outside is already emptying, people drifting back to their desks with coffee cups and half-finished conversations. I don’t care who sees me. My heels strike the polished floor like gunshots. I pass Lara’s desk. She opens her mouth to say something and I shoot her a look that could

ANNA My finger hovers over the trackpad for one heartbeat. Two. The anonymous file glows on my screen like a wound, that terrible label seared into the metadata—A. Wade — Legacy Archive—and I know, with the kind of knowing that lives in your gut before your brain catches up, that opening this is stepping through a door that locks behind you. I click. The folder expands. Documents bloom across the screen like black flowers. I recognize them instantly. The font. The color-coded headers. The way the margin notes curl against the text like familiar handwriting. These are my campaigns. The originals. The confidential pitch decks I wrote at 3:00 a.m. in Jack’s cramped second office while he slept in the master bedroom and the city hummed outside like nothing was watching. The market analysis I spent six weeks building for the Meridian account. The rebranding strategy that won Jack his first industry award—the one he accepted alone, smiling into the flashbulbs while I sat in the audience