ROWANNE'S POV.

"It was murder." Her voice was a hollow whisper. "Someone murdered my son. Your husband."

The words hit me like a blade to the chest, and like a flash, the air seemed to have vanished from the room and from my lungs. My heart pounded, while my thoughts scattered like broken glass. Murder? Not an accident?

I staggered back, Jennifer's hands slipping from mine. My lips parted, but no sound came, only silence and the furious hammering of blood in my ears.

Jennifer dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief, her breath hitching as she steadied herself. "The police... they said the brakes. They weren't just worn down, Rowanne. They were tampered with. It was cut."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she pressed her hand to her chest as if holding herself together.

The room tilted again.

"They also found glass in the tread of his tyres, consistent with broken bottles, deliberately placed. It wasn't bad luck." Her tears streamed, but her voice grew harder and brittle with fury. "It was planned."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Oh my God..." My voice was barely a whisper as my hands clutched my stomach.

Jennifer stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was afraid the walls might be listening. "The police don't know who yet. They said it could have been anyone who wanted him gone. I don't know why someone would want my son sweet. Jett was perfect, he was sweet. But they said it could be someone close or someone he trusted."

Her eyes flickered over me, searching.

"But they believe the killer is still out there. And until they know who... You must be careful, Rowanne. You hear me? Very careful."

Her grip found my wrist again, shaking. "Don't go anywhere alone. Don't trust easily. And if anything... anything feels wrong, you come straight to me. Do you understand?"

My breath trembled, caught between the horror of her words. "I... I understand," I managed, though my voice cracked, weak and broken.

*****

"I think. You know what I think, Rowanne? You'd better stay out of this. That whole family. Did she call her son sweet? Perfect? Why didn't you tell her what he did, huh?" Kalea yelled.

"Lea..." I sighed.

"He cheated on you! He was in love with some woman, that's why he refused to make love to you. His wife! Perfect? I think it's a good thing he died."

"Kalea! That's enough," I snapped, breaking heavily.

A knock interrupted her next words, and I immediately answered, tearing my glare from her to the door. "Come in."

"Oh, Mrs Carter, I wanted to confirm if you would be going to the charity dinner tonight?" Rita asked.

"Yeah, I would, Rita. Thank you."

"No problem, ma. Your dress just arrived at your mansion. Do you need me to call Jamie?"

"Yes. Yes," I sighed as I rose, grabbed my coat, and turned away from Kalea. "We will be heading home now," I finished.

"Alright, Ma. I'll prepare the car," Rita finished, closing the door after her.

"No, I am not following you to some boring party to watch rich people gamble over shit and call it charity."

"I don't want to go alone. That place is going to be filled with the Carters and everyone related to the Carters."

Kalea stared at me, and I managed to pull a smile. "I ordered a dress for us and there's gonna be food. Oh, I remember one of the chefs is Lamar."

Her mouth pressed into a thin line, and I could see I had succeeded in buying her.

Hours later, I stood before the mirror in the bedroom, the ivory silk gown draping over me.

"You know. I love how silk looks on you. I feel like you shouldn't give that up. That's your fabric. And this dress matches your skin tone."

"Really?" I smiled, looking back at Kalea before turning back to the mirror.

The fabric was soft and hugged my waist before flowing in effortless folds to the floor. The plunging neckline dipped tastefully but was held by pearl straps that kissed my shoulders.

A small rosette sat just beneath the bust, subtle but deliberate, like a secret detail. My hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that fell like a dark ribbon against my spine, exposing the pale line of my neck.

Gold hoops glimmered at my ears, a matching pendant resting against the hollow of my throat.

For the first time in weeks, I almost looked like myself. Almost. Beautiful.

On our way, Kalea fussed with her hem. Already complaining even when we weren't there yet but she still had this amusement in her eyes. Although she wouldn't admit it, she liked the effect the dress had on her too.

The Carter Foundation's annual charity gala was held at the Grand Carter Hotel, a towering glass structure that glittered against the night sky. Inside, the ballroom was all chandeliers, and waiters moved with silver trays, glasses of champagne.

Men in tuxedos and women in couture gowns like mine, some even better and beautiful, swayed between conversations, and the orchestra beneath the hum of a live jazz band.

It was elegant and so suffocating.

Kalea looped her arm through mine as we descended the staircase into the ballroom.

My chest tightened with every step, a hundred eyes sweeping over us, some curious, some pitying especially because of Jett. I forced a smile, nodded here and offered a polite word there.

As we blended into the crowd. I scanned the crowd possibly for Jennifer. I haven't heard from her since the last time she came over. No one in Carter's mansion would tell me anything, but then, something caught my gaze. Eli Carter.

He stood across the room in a tailored black suit, the cut precise against his lean frame. His tie was done this time, so clean enough to make him look both composed and dangerous.

His hair was slicked back with his jaw tight, and his expression was almost irritated as he conversed with a man I didn't recognise.

And then his eyes found mine like a punch to the chest, so blue, burning and icy all at once.

I froze, caught in that stare for a second as heat prickled down my neck, through my arms and pooling low in my belly where guilt already sat heavy. My breath hitched, and before the tension could shatter me, I tore my gaze away.

A waiter swept past, silver tray glinting beneath the chandelier light. I caught a glass of champagne before he could move on, my fingers tightening slightly against the stem.

The bubbles kissed my lips in a rush almost punishing. I swallowed too quickly, the fizz biting my tongue, but it was better than drowning in those blue eyes I'd just seen across the room.

I forced myself to turn away, to breathe. And yet, I didn't feel composed. I felt watched.

My hand tightened around the stem of my glass as my gaze swept the crowd. Then I spotted Jennifer.

My mother-in-law. Her eyes locked on mine, and she lifted her hand slightly.

"Rowanne? Come here," she called softly.

I adjusted my posture, forcing a small, polite smile. Each step toward her felt like I was walking through water.

My pulse thudded in my ears, but I managed to hold her gaze, pretending not to notice the whispers that trailed behind me.

Just as I reached her, her expression shifted and her focus flicked up, over my shoulder. The warmth in her face bloomed into delight. I didn't have to turn around to know why.

It could only be Eli.

The air seemed to change when he walked in, like he carried with him a quiet dominance that made heads turn without trying.

"Hey, Mom," his deep voice brushed against my back like velvet.

And then his hand grazed my waist barely a touch, almost nothing.

But it was enough. Enough to send a tremor through me so fierce I forgot to breathe for a heartbeat.

I froze, but only for a fraction of a second, forcing my lips into another smile, one that didn't quite reach my eyes.

"Oh, Eli," Jennifer cooed, beaming. "This party is really amazing. You did a fine job, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Mom," he smiled at her, polite and controlled. Then, slowly his gaze slid to me.

When our eyes met, my stomach twisted. His look was calm and blank, yet there was something underneath it. I turned away at once, pretending to adjust my dress, pretending I didn't feel the weight of his attention burning into me.

Panic clawed up my throat, tight and hot. It felt like everyone could see it. The thing that shouldn't have happened. The kiss. Something I couldn't scrub off no matter how many times I told myself it was a mistake.

It hadn't even been two months.

Two months after my husband's death, I crossed a line with his brother. I wanted to disappear.

"Ro?" My name left his lips and the sound of it froze me mid-step.

I turned, hiding behind another smile, though it felt brittle, stretched too thin. I was running out of fake smiles.

"Hey," he chuckled softly. "You look lovely. Beautiful."

ROWANNE'S POV

I turned, hiding behind another smile, though it felt brittle, stretched too thin. I was running out of fake smiles.

"Hey," he chuckled softly. "You look lovely. Beautiful."

The compliment slipped through my skin, gentle but his eyes said something entirely different. I didn't dare look too long.

Jennifer clapped as her face brightened again. "Oh, Rowanne, this is Madam Tira. She owns O.P. Electronics. Most of which Jett..." she faltered, the name cutting through her like glass.

Her voice trailed off, and I could see the grief flicker in her eyes again.

Eli's hand found her shoulder, holding her steady and comforting her but his gaze never left me.

Not once. Every time I looked up, I found him watching.

My pulse stuttered, and I lifted my glass again, needing something or anything to do with my hands. I had to leave before anyone noticed how his eyes never left me.

"Jett kept most of them at the mansion after your wedding," Jennifer finished softly, and I nodded, pretending to listen.

But all I could feel was Eli's stare and the ghost of his touch at my waist.

The party had split up into the gardens, where the air was cooler and quieter. Fairy lights draped along the stone walls shimmered like scattered stars, and the night breeze played gently with the hem of my gown.

I'd slipped away the moment no one was watching.

Now, sitting on a marble bench beneath a climbing arch of white roses, I held the neck of a half-empty wine bottle like an anchor.

The champagne hadn't helped earlier. This definitely wouldn't either but at least it numbed the ache sitting heavy in my chest.

But pretending only worked until the footsteps came.

I stiffened. My fingers tightened around the glass neck of the bottle, and I even turned.

Eli stopped a few steps away, the moonlight catching on his jaw, his tie loosened now and his eyes darker than I remembered.

I stood abruptly, brushing invisible wrinkles off my dress. "Don't."

"Don't what?" he asked quietly. His voice carried that low, steady timbre that could command a room or undo me.

I took a step back. "You shouldn't be here. Not with me."

He moved closer. "Don't run from me, Ro."

His words sank into me.

"I'm not-" I started, but he closed the distance before I could finish, his hand coming up to catch my waist.

The wine bottle nearly slipped from my grip as his warmth pressed through the fabric of my gown.

"Eli," I whispered, glancing nervously toward the ballroom. "We're at a charity event with your mother!"

His lips curved, though it wasn't a smile, but his head dipped closer, and his breath brushed against my hair. I felt him inhale slowly. Like he needed it.

My heart was a frantic thing, thrashing inside my chest.

"Dinner," he murmured, his voice so low, like a deep mumble that vibrated my veins. "Have dinner with me. We can talk."

I shook my head, though my body betrayed me by staying still.

"There's nothing to talk about," I lied.

His grip softened, one hand still at my waist and the other brushing down the side of my arm just once, enough to make my skin come alive.

I wanted to move. To say no. But when I looked up, his gaze caught mine and the rest of the world fell away again. His breath. The pulse in my throat refused to calm.

"I can't," I whispered, though it sounded weak, even to me. Eli's eyes searched mine, the softness fading to something deeper.

"Yes, you can," he said. "I promise to be gentle and nice"

I should've moved. I should've walked away before his voice, that low velvet rasp, could undo me again. But instead, I stood there motionless with every nerve alive beneath his touch.

His thumb traced slow circles at my waist, grounding me. I hated how much I still wanted him, hated that my body didn't seem to remember the Jett, only the way he made me feel like I was seen.

"Eli..." My voice trembled, the sound barely a breath. "Please, don't make this harder."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in that unreadable way that made my pulse trip. "Harder?" he echoed. "You think being ignored by you has been easy?"

I blinked, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. His hand brushed my jaw, his fingers just shy of my skin.

"That's torture."

I exhaled shakily, "Eli, people will see," I murmured.

My words didn't even sound like mine anymore, they were thin.

He leaned closer until the space between us vanished. His breath was warm against my temple as he whispered, "Then tell me to stop."

My knees felt weak. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sigh.

His hand moved from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers threading into my hair. The only sounds were my unsteady breaths and the faint rustle of the roses swaying above us.

My lips trembled as I met his gaze. I opened my mouth to speak, but I heard footsteps lightly against the stone path.

Eli's reflexes were fast. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me flush against his chest. His scent was deep and filled my lungs as I heard the intruder's voice.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," a woman gasped softly. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

I remained still. Eli's grip loosened but didn't fall away entirely until the woman turned and hurried back toward the ballroom. When her footsteps faded, silence rushed in again.

I stepped back, my pulse still erratic. I couldn't trust my voice, not after what almost happened, not after the way my body betrayed me. So I didn't speak.

Not one word.

I turned on my heel and walked away. My steps were quick as I forced myself not to look back.

I needed air.

I headed toward the restroom. My hand was on the door when I heard a voice coming from the side alcove.

Jennifer's voice.

I froze.

"I hate to say it, but yes, I do suspect her," she was saying. "Rowanne had the motive... I mean, who else? Everyone knows how Jett didn't adore her."

My throat went dry.

"She would be surprised to hear Jett didn't leave anything for her," Jennifer continued. "Not the house, not the cars, not a single cent. Jett didn't leave her anything."

A pause followed.

"No, I'm not accusing her outright," Jennifer said. "But tell me, what kind of woman stays that calm after her husband's death? She barely shed a tear at his burial. I just- I don't know what to think anymore. She could have killed him."

ROWANNE'S POV

It was just dinner. That's what I told myself over and over like saying it enough times could make it true.

Yet here I was, standing in front of my mirror, looking nothing like a woman who was just going to dinner.

The gown I'd chosen was far too short, clinging to my thighs.

The silk shimmered faintly under the light, the red soft enough to pass for innocent, though there was nothing innocent about the way it hugged my body.

My hair loose and cascading in waves down my back was a deliberate kind of carelessness. I'd spent nearly an hour perfecting it, running my fingers through until it fell in that effortless, seductive way that looked like I hadn't tried at all.

The scent of my shower gel lingered on my skin, honey and peony. I had used the expensive one, the one I saved for rare occasions, the one Jett had once said made me smell like temptation itself.

My chest tightened. I pressed a hand to my heart, as if I could steady the rhythm.

"It's just dinner," I whispered again, but my reflection didn't look convinced.

She looked... conflicted. Nervous and guilty. And underneath all of that, she looked alive.

It was the kind of aliveness I hadn't felt in so long it scared me.

I reached for my earrings, gold hoops that brushed against my neck, then added a touch of gloss. Every small movement felt indulgent. The kind of ritual a woman performed when she knew someone would be watching.

When she wanted to be watched.

My pulse stuttered at the thought. Eli's eyes. The way they followed me.

I turned away from the mirror, grabbed my clutch, and took a deep breath before stepping toward the door.

When I stepped outside, the air was cool enough to bite, wrapping around my bare legs.

But the sight of the sleek black car waiting at the curb killed that thought almost instantly.

A tall man in a fitted suit stood by the door. "Ms. Carter?"

"Yes," I murmured, clutching my purse a little tighter.

"I'm Aaron," he said, offering a curt nod. "Mr. Carter's assistant. He sent me to pick you up."

The way he said Mr. Carter made my stomach twist. For a second, I wasn't sure which one he meant.

Aaron opened the door for me and I stepped inside.

I folded my hands in my lap while my heart had other plans, pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

When we pulled up to the restaurant, Aaron was already out, circling to my side.

"We've arrived, Ms. Carter," he said smoothly, opening the door once again.

"Thank you," I whispered, stepping out. The ground beneath my heels felt too steady for how unsteady I was inside.

The restaurant was quiet and elegant with dim lighting and soft music.

Aaron led me through the narrow hall toward what looked like a private wing. My pulse quickened with every step. The space grew quieter, more intimate.

And then, there he was.

Eli sat at a table near the far corner, phone pressed to his ear, head slightly tilted as he spoke in low tones. He wore a dark suit that fit him too perfectly, the fabric catching just enough of the light to make him look carved out of something dangerous and divine.

But then he saw me.

And the world stopped moving.

He ended his call immediately, not even finishing his sentence. The faintest smile ghosted across his lips but his eyes told another story entirely.

No man, not even Jett, had ever looked at me like that.

Like I was something he shouldn't touch but couldn't resist. Like an angel who had fallen into his reach and he was deciding whether to worship or ruin her.

My breath caught, trembling in my chest.

Eli rose as I approached, the smooth motion. The low light from the chandelier brushed along his jaw, catching the edge of a smirk that wasn't really a smirk just that faint, knowing curve of a man who noticed everything.

"Rowanne." My name left his mouth like it was a secret.

I exhaled softly, forcing a smile that felt too practiced. "You could've just texted me the address, you know."

He ignored the remark, stepping closer. His scent reached me before his touch.

He pulled out my chair, his fingers grazing my bare shoulder for only a second. It shouldn't have made me shiver. It did.

"Thank you," I murmured, sitting down, though my body was far from relaxed.

He sat across from me, resting one hand loosely on the table, the other on the armrest.

The silence that followed was awkward.

"You look..." his gaze lingered."...breathtaking."

I smiled, feigning a lightness I didn't feel because the truth was my insides were trembling from his gaze.

He didn't smile back. His voice was quiet, but it hit me like a pulse. "Dangerous... breathtaking."

The words sank into me, slow and deliberate. My pulse leapt. I brought the glass to my lips, taking a sip that was far too long, hoping the cool sting of wine could drown the heat rising in my throat.

"You invited me to dinner," I managed, trying for composure.

He leaned back slightly with his eyes still locked on me. "Dinner's just the excuse."

I swallowed hard. "Excuse for what?"

"To see you," he said simply, like that explanation should have been enough. "Without pretending we don't remember what happened."

My breath hitched. "Eli... what happened that night was a mistake." My voice was softer than I wanted it to be, fragile. "I'm married to your brother even though he is gone... I still am and I accepted dinner because I thought I should clear the air... I don't... we shouldn't do this."

His gaze didn't waver. "But it wasn't a mistake," he said, tenderly, as if saying it too harshly might break me. "You don't have to say it, Ro. I know you replayed that night a thousand times. Every second of it."

It was just him and me now. And damn him, he was right. I had replayed it. His touch. His voice. That kiss that still lingered like smoke on my lips because no man had ever kissed me like they were obsessed with me.

I looked down, trying to steady the tremor in my hand. "We can't- don't you get it. It can never happen. You are Jett's younger brother. What would people say if they find out?"

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't wake up wishing I'd stopped you before you kissed me?"

His eyes darkened, his tone splintering between restraint and confession.

"But I didn't," he went on, softer now. "And I don't regret it. I don't regret kissing you. I want you, Rowanne."

The sound of my name on his lips nearly undid me. I looked up slowly, meeting his gaze.

A breath left me, shaky and low. "You should regret it," I whispered. "You should because I'm your brother's wife. You think Jennifer would accept us? You think anyone would?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks. I only care what you think, peach."

I forced myself to breathe, to find the pieces of reason scattered inside me. "I do... I care what Jennifer thinks. What they all think, Eli. I can't do this. Not like this."

I rose from my seat, grabbing my purse.

"We can't see each other for a while. If this keeps happening. If it keeps coming up."

For a moment, he didn't move and just watched me with his expression cold and jaw tight.

Then, quietly, almost too quietly, he said, "I'll take you home."

"No, you don't need to."

"I wasn't asking, peach," he said, rising. Just as he reached me. I felt his hand on my back, directing me.

I straightened.