Chapter 5 THURSDAY EVENING

Dylan's POV

The elevator opened with a soft chime, but the silence that met me on the 48th floor of The Marlowe was absolute. My penthouse always welcomed me like this: pristine, modern, and empty. Too empty.

I dropped my briefcase on the polished console table by the door, loosened my tie, and rolled my shoulders as if I could shrug the day off. But the echo of it followed me in-a boardroom charged with tension, a bold pitch, a spilled coffee, and Elena Reyes standing tall even after she'd stained my shirt and made my pulse stutter.

There was something in her eyes-familiar, but not. Not in a way I could name.

I poured myself a drink, the amber liquid catching the recessed lighting. The view from the glass wall looked out over Manhattan like a throne surveying its kingdom. But even with the city sprawled beneath me, it didn't feel like enough tonight.

A door clicked open behind me.

"You really should consider hiring a housekeeper," a familiar voice called. Smooth. Sharp. Displeased.

Veronica Lancaster.

I turned slowly. There she was, framed in the doorway in heels that didn't belong in a home and a white dress that was too polished for someone just dropping by. She walked like the floor owed her something, all grace and calculation.

"This place always smells like concrete and ambition," she said with a wrinkle of her nose, glancing around. "No food, no music. Just you, your silence, and overpriced whiskey."

"Did you come here to insult me or just to remind me I don't live in a Pottery Barn catalog?" I asked dryly.

She smirked. "Touché."

I leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her as she dropped her coat over the back of a bar stool.

"You weren't invited."

"Since when has that mattered between us?"

I said nothing. Her presence scratched at my patience, and yet I tolerated her. Not because I wanted to. Because the merger between Harper Corp and Lancaster Holdings was still very much on the table. And she was still very much her father's favorite pawn.

"I saw the pitch notes from this afternoon," she said, idly opening the fridge, unimpressed. "Elena Reyes. Reyes & Bloom. She's ambitious."

I watched her closely. "You reading pitch decks now?"

"Just keeping tabs on what might become mine one day," she said, flashing that cold smile.

"This isn't a marriage, Veronica. It's business."

She closed the fridge, eyes sharp. "You think I don't know that?"

"Then act like it. Don't drop in unannounced. Don't snoop. And stop pretending this-whatever this is-has anything to do with us."

There was a moment, sharp and still.

Then she smiled faintly. "Touchy tonight."

"I had a long day."

"So did I. Just thought I'd unwind."

"Not here."

That landed.

Veronica studied me, then gathered her coat with a dramatic flip of her hair. "Fine. But don't keep me waiting too long for that dinner you promised my father."

"I never promised him anything."

"Same difference," she said with a wink, and she was gone.

The door clicked shut. Her perfume lingered longer than she did. I exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of my neck.

A shower didn't fix the weight between my shoulders, but it helped. The water beat down, hot and unforgiving, dragging my thoughts back to Elena-the way she'd stood her ground, even with wet coffee down her blouse. I hadn't meant to look again. But I did.

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, I opened my laptop and tended to what couldn't wait. Internal memos. Overseas calls. A breakdown from legal. And one stubborn pitch replaying in my head.

The next morning, I was already in the office before 8 a.m. Lucas, my assistant, hovered near the espresso machine.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Black. Double shot. And pull Elena Reyes' file. I want a background check. Keep it discreet."

Lucas blinked. "Personal or professional?"

"Both. Just cover your bases."

He nodded slowly. "Noted."

I barely glanced at him as I took the coffee and walked into the first of three back-to-back meetings.

Throughout the morning, I kept half an eye out. I told myself it was just strategy. If Reyes & Bloom was our newest partner, I had to know who I was dealing with. But part of me just wanted to see if she'd show up. If she'd find a reason to cross paths with me again.

She didn't.

By noon, my schedule had thinned, and I retreated to my office. Lucas appeared five minutes later with a manila folder in hand and a slight hesitation in his step.

"This is... everything," he said, placing it on my desk. "There are a few things you might want to see."

He left, and I opened the folder.

There she was. A scanned copy of her driver's license. A list of previous addresses. One in New Orleans. Educational records. Public interviews. Business filings.

And then-a photo.

Not a headshot. Not professional.

It was grainy, like it had been pulled from a neighborhood newsletter. Elena in jeans and a faded shirt. Laughing.

Holding hands with a little boy.

My chest tightened.

The boy was maybe four, maybe five. Hair dark. Eyes striking. Something about the way he tilted his head...

I stared.

The next page: a news feature. "Local Entrepreneur Makes Waves in New York Market."

Below it, a quote from Elena: "Everything I do is for him."

Him.

I reread the line twice.

My pulse kicked up.

I closed the file slowly.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't know if the next move was mine-

Or hers.