Caroline rose gracefully from her seat and approached Mr. Cooper. Leaning down, she poured him a glass of wine with a practiced ease.

Mr. Cooper’s gaze traced her face with a lazy deliberation. His hand lifted, fingers aiming for her waist, but she sidestepped deftly, holding the wineglass up like a shield. “To you, Mr. Cooper.”

He froze, his hand lingering in mid-air before retreating awkwardly. With nowhere else to direct his energy, he downed the wine in one gulp. The bitterness on his face had little to do with the drink.

Caroline returned to Ethan’s side like a well-trained bird, her posture demure and composed, once again the picture of docility.

Finally, the older men at the table meandered their way to the evening’s real purpose, leaving the flirtations and small talk behind. Once business was concluded, the talk turned—predictably—to someone not present.

“I saw Julian earlier in the lobby,” one of them said. “That presence of his is something else. Do you think the Paige family plans to make the second son their heir? Doesn’t the eldest mind?”

In families like the Paiges, the battles between brothers tended to be lethal, if not literal.

Another man chimed in, stirring his drink with a lazy grin. “The elder Paige is all refinement, soft-spoken and polished from the ground up. Not like Julian—he’s rough and unsparing. I hear even the rest of their family’s afraid of him. Word is, though, the elder brother dotes on him. But who knows? Could be an act.”

“Ha! What do we know about the inner workings of the ultra-rich? I gave Julian my card once. Guy didn’t even glance at it.”

“That’s where you went wrong,” another man crowed, sipping his whiskey. “I saw him at a gala once. Flattered that Watson woman hanging on his arm, and suddenly he was taking my card like we were old friends.”

Ethan, sitting quietly up to this point, glanced over at Caroline. His expression was neutral, though a flicker of something like pity passed fleetingly across his eyes.

If Caroline noticed, she gave no sign. She sat listening, silent and detached, as if the gossip had nothing to do with her.

“Julian’s really devoted to Willow,” someone remarked. “Every event you hear about, she’s there right beside him. I heard they almost got married once, but some low-class woman drugged him and ruined it.”

“Oh, that scandal. Seems like no one’s ever even seen what she looks like, that woman. Rumor is he can’t stand her, maybe hates her so much he’d grind her bones to dust if he could.”

And there it was—the unspoken invitation, hanging in the air like heavy smoke. Ethan was the one to take the bait, his laugh as light as a knife’s edge. “Caroline, you’d know best. Doesn’t he hate her enough to grind her into dust?”

Caroline’s lashes fluttered faintly, but her gaze remained calm as it swept the gathering of eager faces. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft but steady. “This is a society governed by law.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, as one, they erupted into laughter, applauding her dry humor.

Ethan joined in, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Caroline’s response had landed its blow exactly where she intended it to.

She even mustered a faint smile of her own before excusing herself to the restroom. Once there, she leaned over the sink, staring at her own pale reflection under the harsh fluorescent lights. Her forehead throbbed. Waves of nausea rolled through her stomach, but she swallowed them back down. Splashing cold water on her face, she steadied herself.

When she finally stepped back into the hall, her breath hitched for only a fraction of a second. Julian was leaning casually beside the restroom entrance, his expression unreadable as always.

This floor was filled with small, unremarkable rooms, utterly beneath the likes of him. What was he doing here? Not that it mattered.

“Julian,” she addressed him calmly, as though they weren’t separated by oceans of unspoken animosity. “You’re back from your trip? Do you have time tomorrow?”

His eyes lingered on her face, his appraisal sharp and invasive. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Government offices don’t work weekends. Guess that overworked brain of yours is suited only for retirement as a full-time housewife.”

She’d grown accustomed to his sharp tongue, weathering its lash without so much as a flinch. She glanced instead toward Ethan’s private room. “Then I’ll contact Hank on Monday.”

There was a time she used to call Julian directly, despite knowing he’d never pick up. Eventually, she’d learned to go through Hank instead.

Julian scoffed, a low, derisive sound. “Suit yourself.”

She didn’t attempt to continue the conversation. Stepping toward the room, she was halfway past him when his voice stopped her cold.

“Being a housewife has to beat letting a pack of middle-aged men leer at you. Caroline, I remember when your pride towered higher than this.”

In three years of marriage, he’d come home fewer times than she could count on one hand. Her pride—no, not just her pride but so much else—had burned out in the long nights of suffocating depression. She had clawed her way back to some semblance of herself, bit by bit.

“Julian,” she said evenly, turning to meet his gaze. “I find more dignity here than I ever did by your side.”

His entire demeanor shifted, menace rolling off him in waves. His eyes, dark and impenetrable, glinted with lethal intent as he closed the distance between them in two quick strides. He seized her wrist, his grip almost unbearable.

“What did you say?” His voice was low, almost a snarl. “Say that again.”

Her jaw ached where his hand cupped it with bruising force, but her gaze didn’t falter. She stared at him with an unnerving calm.

The tension held, the air between them electric. Finally, he relented, pulling his hand back and shoving it deep into his pocket, as though the violence had drained out of him—but only barely. “Then stay here,” he snapped. “Keep catering to this filth. Don’t come crawling back to me. Caroline, we should’ve ended this ages ago.”

“I know,” she replied with quiet, deliberate clarity. “I have no intention of coming back.”

But a long time ago, she had once wrapped her arms around his and promised that no matter where he went, she would always find him.

Julian didn’t look back as he strode away, but the air felt heavier in his absence.

Caroline refused to flatter herself by thinking his presence on this floor had anything to do with her. Squaring her shoulders, she returned to the private room and slipped inside.

Ethan stood, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. It seemed he and Mr. Cooper had finished concluding their business.

Earlier, after Caroline had left for the restroom, Mr. Cooper had nudged Ethan with a meaningful look, suggesting Caroline accompany him home. It was clear what kind of “courtesy” the man had in mind. Everyone present understood his intent perfectly.

Men like him, tightly leashed by their families, sought release in secret arrangements. And no mistress, no matter how luxurious, could compare to Caroline.

“Look at what you’ve done,” Ethan teased lightly, shoving Caroline playfully toward Mr. Cooper. “You’ve all but cast a spell over poor Mr. Cooper.”

Caroline caught her balance easily and smiled, slipping into her role with practiced aplomb. “My mistake entirely. Next time, I’ll treat Mr. Cooper to drinks. May I have your card, Mr. Cooper?”

The older man beamed, his ego stroked, and handed her his business card with almost indecorous speed. The exchange seemed to smooth everything over. Satisfied, Mr. Cooper signed the contract Ethan presented without question, patting Caroline on the shoulder as if claiming some form of ownership.

“Call me, Caroline,” he said smugly. “You still have plenty to learn.”

She nodded, her smile not faltering for a second. “Of course. Certainly.”

As they made their way down to the lobby, another elevator opened, revealing Julian flanked by his companions. Caroline recognized both instantly—Dakota Thompson, a doctor with as much arrogance as skill, and Mason Clark, whose disdain for her had never wavered from the day she’d met him.

None of them had any love for her.

Caroline kept her distance. But Dakota’s sharp eyes landed on her almost immediately, his expression shifting to one of amused curiosity.

“Look who it is—Caroline.”

The others turned, their attention drawn as if by command. And in that moment, it was impossible to ignore the way Mr. Cooper’s hand rested too familiarly on Caroline’s shoulder, his posture dripping with entitlement.

Mr. Cooper followed their collective gaze, and for the first time, he noticed exactly who had entered the scene. His demeanor crumbled in an instant. He nearly tripped over himself in his haste to approach Julian.

“Mr. Paige! And Mr. Clark! Such a pleasure to see you both. Mr. Paige, you might not remember me, but I had the honor of handing you my card at an event once—”

It was pitiful, the way he groveled, his voice taking on a whiny, fawning quality.

Julian, however, wasn’t looking at him. His gaze had locked onto Caroline. She either didn’t notice or pretended not to, casually speaking to Ethan as though nothing significant was happening.

Ethan returned his gaze with a faintly disarming smile, confident in his footing. It was almost worse for Julian, somehow, to see the ease with which she distanced herself from him.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her truly smile—alive with light and vitality. Years ago, perhaps.

His jaw tightened. His gaze flicked to Mr. Cooper. “Leave.”

One word, sharp and uncompromising.