For three long years, Millie endured Zoey's petty performance without saying a word.

There was a time when she still cared, and back then it felt like a splinter lodged deep in her heart. However, that feeling had faded, and she no longer wanted to waste energy on it, so she decided that indifference would be her final answer.

Without sparing Darren even a single glance, Millie walked straight past the two of them and made her way toward the private room where Ruben was waiting.

Before she could take another step, someone seized her arm. Darren's fingers tightened around her wrist, and the force of it made pain shoot up her arm.

"You heard Zoey speak to you, so why are you pretending otherwise?" Darren asked, and his voice carried a chill that left no room for refusal.

"What law says I have to respond just because I heard her?" Millie lifted her gaze to meet his. Although her tone remained steady, her words landed with unmistakable distance.

The calm detachment in Millie's expression was nothing like the woman he once knew, and it unsettled Darren more than anger ever could.

Trying to paint Millie as a villain, Zoey stepped forward and arranged her face into something fragile. "Millie, we may not be close, but we are still acquainted. Do you really have to treat me like this?" she asked gently.

A faint curve touched Millie's lips, though there was no warmth in it. "Acquainted? I am acquainted with the stray dog that lingers at the corner of the street. If it starts barking at me, should I rush over and bark in return?"

A crease formed between Darren's brows, and the shift in her tone unsettled him more than he expected.

Color drained from Zoey's face, and she quickly looked to him for support. "Darren, she just said…"

Before Zoey could finish, Millie stepped in and silenced her. "He is not deaf, and he heard every word I said."

For a brief second, Darren stood motionless, as if the ground had shifted beneath him. That pause was all she needed. She tore her arm free from his grasp, spun on her heel, and walked away without granting him another glance.

Left behind, Darren stared at his own hand, and the fading warmth of her skin lingered against his palm. As her figure grew smaller in the distance, his expression tightened, and confusion flickered behind his eyes.

In the past, she would have rushed toward him the instant he appeared, whether to argue or to plead, because she had never treated him like a stranger.

"Darren, could it be that she is switching strategies since the old ones failed? Maybe she is pretending not to care so that you will chase her." Zoey broke into his thoughts as she leaned closer and spoke in a low voice.

Without turning toward her, Darren gave a quiet order to the man beside him. "Brice, take Miss Murray home." His tone was clipped and devoid of warmth, and then he headed after Millie without hesitation.

By the time he caught up, she had already reached Ruben's private room and was about to push the door open. Suddenly, he seized her again, pressed her back against the wall beside the doorway, and trapped her there with his body blocking any escape.

The moment his fingers brushed against her, Millie stiffened, and her body shifted into guarded alertness.

Lowering his voice, Darren glanced toward the door. "Do you want to wake your brother?" he asked.

At those words, she froze, and disbelief flashed across her face. "So Brice called me because you told him to, and you wanted me to walk in on my brother in that state?"

Without offering any apology, Darren met her stare head-on. "I did it because I needed you to face reality."

A bitter laugh escaped her, though there was no humor in it. "Are you planning to use Morgan Group as leverage so I will surrender?" Millie asked. "If that is your plan, then you should stop now, because I will not give you what you want."

Instead of answering directly, Darren lifted his hand and moved it toward her cheek. Before his fingers could reach her, Millie tilted her head away and denied him even that small contact.

Something in her expression had turned hard, and the softness that once lingered there had long since disappeared. Even after their wedding, she had never spoken to him with such cold finality, and that difference struck him more sharply than any insult.

A slow breath left him as his gaze deepened. "Good," he said at last. "I am curious to see how far you can take this."

With that, he stepped back and walked away.

Silence settled after his footsteps faded, and Millie let her back rest against the cold wall as she struggled to steady the storm inside her chest. For several seconds, she remained there, forcing her breathing to slow until her pulse no longer raced. Once she gathered enough strength, she straightened up, turned the handle, and stepped into the room. Inside, Ruben was bent forward and clutching his abdomen as sweat soaked through his shirt, and the strain on his face made it clear that he was barely holding on.

"Ruben!"

...

Before the night was over, Millie had already rushed Ruben to the hospital and refused to leave his side. Only then did she learn the full truth, because he had been drinking day after day just to secure investors, and his stomach had been bleeding for quite some time without proper treatment.

Right there in the hospital corridor, she insisted that he remain admitted, and she also made up her mind that she would personally step in to handle Morgan Group's crisis.

Although Ruben tried to shield Millie from the mess and told her he did not want her involved, she would not retreat, and her resolve left him with no choice but to let her take a chance.

While they were heading to the restaurant the next evening, Jonathan approached her and carefully placed a folder in her hands. In a cautious tone, he said, "Ms. Morgan, this file contains detailed information about Mr. James, the client we are scheduled to meet tonight. Mr. Morgan has spoken with him several times in the past, but the man is extremely calculating, and his demands are high. I do not believe this discussion will be simple."

Understanding flickered in Millie's eyes as she accepted the folder from him. "I am aware of the situation," she replied calmly. "Convincing anyone to step forward and support Morgan Group at a time like this was never going to be simple."

Long before this meeting, she had already measured the depth of the crisis and braced herself for whatever resistance might come.

Guided by a server, the two of them made their way down the hallway toward the private room that had been reserved.

Just outside the door, Millie paused briefly and drew in a steady breath. Composure settled over her features, and a polished smile replaced the tension on her face as she reached for the handle and pushed the heavy door inward.

Bright light spilled across the room, and at the head of the long table sat the man she had come to see, Walter James, who was speaking animatedly with someone beside him.

Leaning back with careless ease, that companion held a cigarette between his fingers as smoke curled upward. Recognition struck her instantly because the man seated there was Darren.

Without warning, Millie's stomach tightened, and a chill traveled through her chest.

Why was Darren sitting here?

Had he arranged this because of her?

A trace of irony brushed against her thoughts. In the past, when she had chased after him, she exhausted every contact just to learn his whereabouts, and even then, she was often turned away without seeing him.

Now that she had decided on divorce, he appeared before her again and again, as though fate had suddenly grown attentive.

With a polite curve to his lips, Walter broke the silence. "Ms. Morgan, you have arrived late," he said, and there was no warmth behind the civility.

Keeping her composure intact, she walked further inside and deliberately checked her wristwatch. "Mr. James, I arrived exactly at the time we agreed upon," she replied evenly.

Instead of arguing, he kept smiling as if the matter amused him. "Jonathan, perhaps Ms. Morgan is unfamiliar with Morgan Group's customs since she is newly involved," he said lightly. "However, you should understand them well."

Adopting the tone of someone delivering guidance, he leaned back in his chair. "For a dinner of this nature, the host is expected to arrive no less than thirty minutes in advance."

Before tension could escalate, Jonathan stepped forward. "Mr. James, that responsibility falls on me, and I owe you an apology," he said in a controlled voice.

With a slight gesture of his hand, Walter stopped him mid-sentence. "That will not be necessary, because I did not come here to receive apologies from an assistant," he said calmly. His gaze shifted toward Millie. "If Morgan Group intends for me to treat this discussion with respect, then demonstrate that sincerity, Ms. Morgan. Share a drink with us first, and then we may proceed with business."

A courteous expression stretched across Jonathan's face, although it was clearly forced. "She has only recently begun handling matters at Morgan Group, so there is still much for her to learn. This oversight was mine, so I hope you can overlook it."

Instead of softening, Walter arched a brow in mild challenge. "And if I choose not to overlook it, what then?" he asked.

Tension crept into Jonathan's features because he understood better than anyone that Morgan Group could not afford to offend a potential ally.

While the exchange continued, Millie's gaze drifted toward Darren. Their wedding had once drawn nearly every prominent figure in the industry, so there was no chance that Walter had been unaware of who she was.

But here he was, repeatedly addressing her as "Ms. Morgan" and placing her in an awkward position, all while Darren observed from the sidelines as if he were merely a spectator.

The intent behind the arrangement was impossible to miss, and Darren made no effort to disguise it.

Breaking the silence herself, Millie reached for a glass and lifted it calmly. "You are correct, Mr. James," she said evenly. "I will have the drink."

Alarm sharpened Jonathan's tone as he stepped closer. "Ms. Morgan—"

Concern pressed on him because he knew how protective Ruben was of her, and he also knew the consequences if this crossed a line.

To reassure him, Millie met his eyes with a quiet look that told him not to interfere. Without hesitation, she tilted her head back and emptied the glass in a single swallow.

A satisfied grin spread across Walter's face. "Very good," he said as he brought his hands together in applause. "That spirit deserves another round."

Without waiting for her response, he personally filled a second glass to the brim and placed it in front of her.

Concern sharpened Jonathan's expression as he stepped forward once more. "Mr. James—" he said, already anticipating trouble.

Before he could continue, Walter dismissed him with a casual wave. "It is a tradition," he said lightly. "Three glasses, no exceptions."

Heat was already spreading through her stomach, yet Millie reached for the glass anyway. "It is alright," she replied, steadying her voice despite the burn.

Only after the third glass was drained did everyone finally take their seats.

While Jonathan attempted to shift the focus toward the contract, Walter smoothly sidestepped every effort and then redirected the attention back to her. With deliberate ease, he suggested that she raise a toast specifically to Darren.

If humiliation were a skill, Darren had mastered it long ago.

Alcohol had never been her strength, and the effects began to surface quickly as her thoughts blurred and nausea twisted in her gut. Unable to endure it any longer, she offered a brief excuse and left the private room, hoping the cool air outside would steady her senses.

From his seat, Darren observed the uneven rhythm of her steps, then quietly set his glass aside. Once in the hallway, he closed the distance behind her and caught her by surprise, sliding an arm firmly around her waist to stop her from moving forward.

It had been so long since they had stood this close that the memory felt distant. Once, that kind of proximity would have made her heart race, yet now all she felt was a wave of revulsion rising in her chest.

With what strength she had left, Millie pushed against him and tried to break away, but the gap between them was undeniable, and the alcohol in her system made her movements slower and weaker.

Fear crept into her voice as she called out, "Jonathan!"

Calm and unhurried, Darren tightened his hold. "There is no point," he said evenly. "Walter is keeping him occupied, and this room is fully soundproofed, so no one will hear you."

At once, Millie went still.

Mistaking her silence for surrender, Darren leaned closer and lowered his tone. "Now you understand, do you not? Unless I give my approval, you could drink until you collapse tonight, and Morgan Group would still walk away empty-handed."

Before his last word faded, a sharp surge of pain shot through his foot. Millie had driven the pointed heel of her stiletto straight down onto him.

Air rushed from his lungs as he drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

The instant his grip loosened, Millie twisted free and hurried down the corridor without looking back. She barely made it a few strides before her momentum carried her straight into someone solid.

"Watch your step," a deep, smooth voice said above her.

Unsteady, Millie tilted her head up and found herself staring at a man whose features were so refined that they demanded a second glance.

Alcohol blurred the edges of her vision, and she blinked several times while shaking her head in an attempt to clear it.

Even through the haze, she could see that he was strikingly attractive, and there was something especially distracting about his lips.

Whether it was the liquor clouding her judgment or the anger still simmering in her chest, her hand rose without much thought. Lightly, her fingers brushed against his mouth as she muttered, "You look like you are a good kisser."

Reason had clearly taken a step back.

Amusement flickered across his face, and a slow smile curved at the corner of his lips. "Is that so?" he replied playfully. "Would you like to test that theory?"

From behind them, Darren's voice cut sharply through the hallway. "Millie!"

The sound of his voice should have grounded her, yet instead it sparked something reckless and defiant inside her. Acting on impulse, Millie stood up and pressed her lips against the stranger's.

Caught off guard, Kieran Ashford had not anticipated the kiss either. But the warmth of Millie's lips and the faint trace of jasmine clinging to her did not repel him, and for a fleeting second, instinct nearly urged him to respond.

Before that impulse could turn into action, Millie had already stepped back and created distance between them.

A faint edge entered his voice as he regarded her closely. He asked quietly, "Do you have any idea who I am, and you still choose to provoke me?"

His question hung in the air, but an answer never came, because Darren strode forward and pulled Millie firmly into his arms.

Unruffled, Kieran adjusted his cuff and offered a composed greeting. "Mr. Evans. I did not expect to see you here."

Recognition flashed across Darren's face, and his jaw hardened. "Mr. Ashford," he said, clearly displeased by the encounter.

Within Vantrelle's elite circle, two names carried equal weight and equal caution, and they belonged to Darren Evans of the Evans family and Kieran Ashford of the Ashford family. Since childhood, rivalry had defined their relationship, and as adults, that competition had only deepened into open hostility within the business world.

With a slight tilt of his head, Kieran gestured toward them. "Care to explain what is happening here?" he asked, though his gaze lingered briefly on the woman held against Darren.

The alcohol had clearly drained the strength from her limbs, and she appeared unsteady in Darren's hold, yet the softness of her mouth remained difficult to ignore.

Noticing the direction of Kieran's gaze, Darren tightened his hold and pressed Millie's face firmly against his chest, shielding her from view as though even a glance was too much to allow.

Instead of looking offended, Kieran lifted his thumb and brushed it lightly over his own lower lip, then let out a gentle chuckle. "It does not bother me. Opportunities like that do not come to everyone."

The deliberate way he lingered on the memory of the kiss made his intention obvious.

Although Darren immediately recognized it as a calculated provocation, his hand still curled into a tight fist before he forced himself to loosen it. Keeping his tone restrained, he said, "I will not take up more of your time, Mr. Ashford. I am taking her home."

With unhurried calm, Kieran tilted his head slightly. He replied, "From where I stand, Mrs. Evans does not appear eager to leave with you."

A chill entered Darren's voice as he responded, "This concerns my wife and me. Your opinion is irrelevant."

"Your wife?" Kieran asked with a faint, knowing smile. "I was under the impression that the two of you were preparing to end that arrangement."

Darkness gathered in Darren's eyes. "Are you attempting to take her from me?"

Unflinching, Kieran held his gaze and did not disguise the curiosity in his tone. "Mr. Evans, if you wish to keep something, then do not leave it within another man's reach."

A scoff slipped from Darren's lips. "You can forget about that." Without another word, he bent down, lifted Millie into his arms, and carried her straight toward the elevator.

…

High above the city, inside the penthouse suite of the Verve Hotel, the night felt unnaturally quiet. Carefully, Darren laid Millie down on the bed. Intoxication still clouded her senses, and a faint crease marked her brow as if even in her sleep she was troubled.

Almost without realizing it, he lifted his hand and tried to smooth away that small frown. However, when his fingers brushed against her lips, the memory of her kissing Kieran surged back into his mind.

A low question slipped from him before he could stop it. "Why did you kiss him?" The roughness in his tone surprised even him.

Unaware of his turmoil, Millie remained silent and unmoving.

Frustration coiled tighter in Darren's chest, growing sharper with every second. "Why would you kiss another man?"

The thought refused to leave him.

Restless even in sleep, Millie shifted and turned her face slightly, as if trying to retreat from whatever disturbed her dreams.

Before she could move farther, Darren caught her chin in his hand and held her in place. Driven by a surge of anger and something far more complicated, he lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers in a hard, claiming kiss.

A muffled sound escaped her in response.

Instinct drove Millie to fight back, yet no matter how hard she pushed against him, he did not budge. Instead of easing, his kiss turned harsher and more possessive, as though he intended to wipe away any reminder that another man had ever touched her.

Each attempt she made to pull away only seemed to fuel the storm inside him, and that unspoken fury grew hotter by the second. In a sudden surge of temper, he caught her lower lip between his teeth and bit down.

A gentle cry slipped from her throat, yet the sound was trapped between them, and he caught the faint metallic taste that followed.

Even that did not calm him.

Driven by a force he refused to examine, he deepened the kiss and refused to let her retreat. What had begun as anger shifted into something heavier and far more dangerous, and he no longer tried to rein it in.

"Stop… let me go…" she whispered through uneven breaths as her hands pressed weakly against his chest.

Ignoring her plea, Darren pulled off his tie and wound it tightly around her wrists, binding them above her head before she could struggle again. Then he let instinct take over, and she began to sink under his passion until she could no longer fight back.