Eva stared at the pulsing green call button, her stomach twisting into a tight knot.

When the call finally connected, the man's deep voice traveled through the receiver, carrying a magnetic, almost seductive cadence.

"This is my private number. Save it."

"Okay."

Silence stretched between them after the single word fell.

Eva, usually so adept at social navigation, found her mind completely blank when faced with the man on the other end. She couldn't understand why he made her so nervous.

"It's getting late," she managed finally. "You should rest. Good night."

A few seconds of static passed before his voice returned, low and heavy. "Mm."

Miles away, Austin stood before the hotel's floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the harbor lights reflecting off the dark water.

"Good night," he said into the void.

But the line had already gone dead.

The next morning, Eva woke to a phone on the verge of exploding. Her notifications were flooded.

The headlines screamed one thing: Elliot Henson Officially Announces New Girlfriend.

For years, Elliot had played the field, indulging in every fling, but he had never brought anyone into the public eye. The only constant presence by his side had been Eva Sullivan.

The announcement sent shockwaves through their social circle.

Calls poured in from "friends" claiming they wanted to verify the news, though Eva knew better. They were vultures circling, waiting to see if she would snap, lose her dignity, and run to Elliot begging for an explanation.

Eva ignored the gossip. Like someone possessed, she opened her social feed.

The first post that assaulted her vision was a heavily edited couple's photo. In it, Elliot looked rakish and unbothered, his expression lacking any real affection. The woman nestled in his arms, however, looked as if she had secured the crown jewels—chin lifted, her entire posture radiating smug triumph.

Eva studied the image until her eyes burned. Then she turned off her phone, climbed out of bed, and went to wash up.

She had more important things to do today than mourn a dead relationship.

When she went downstairs, Amelia had already laid out breakfast.

"Good morning, Aunt Amelia. Where's Uncle?"

Amelia smiled, ladling porridge into a bowl. "He went to the company at the crack of dawn. Austin is a man of his word—the funds were credited last night. Your uncle rushed over to cash out and cover the back wages."

So fast.

Eva hadn't expected Austin to move with such efficiency. Was that what he had called to discuss last night?

As she headed out the door, she hesitated, thumb hovering over her screen. Finally, she typed a message to Austin: Thank you.

It sank like a stone in the ocean. No reply.

Eva didn't mind. A man like Austin didn't have the idle time to wait around for text messages. They weren't familiar enough for instant replies or exchanging pleasantries about the weather.

However, just as her taxi pulled up to her destination, her phone buzzed.

Austin: How do you intend to thank me?

Eva stared at the words, her pulse skipping a beat. After a long pause, she typed back: I'll treat you to dinner when you return.

This time, the silence was permanent.

Eva pocketed her phone, pushed open the heavy doors of the Western restaurant, and headed straight for the second floor.

By the window, seated on a plush leather sofa, a woman waited. She was in her thirties, possessing a depth and elegance that transcended her age.

"Michelle. It's been a while."

Eva smiled as she approached, placing a blue gift bag on the table. "For you."

It was a limited-edition luxury item, unavailable domestically. Eva had pre-ordered it six months ago, originally intending it as a birthday gift. Thankfully, Michelle's birthday hadn't passed yet.

In the past, the woman across from her would have torn into the packaging, cooing over the item and calling Eva "darling" while threatening to kiss her cheek.

Today, Michelle merely glanced at the bag. "Thanks. But I'm not really in the mood."

Eva ordered an orange juice and studied her friend's face. "What's wrong? Who upset our queen?"

Listless, Michelle picked up the glass of hard liquor beside her and downed it in one burn.

A moment later, her dull eyes sparked with a desperate, frantic light. She looked at Eva as if she were a lifeline. "Will you come somewhere with me? Please?"

Eva assumed she wanted a drinking companion to drown her sorrows. She never expected Michelle would drag her along to catch a cheater.

The elevator ascended, the silver walls reflecting their grim expressions.

Neither looked well.

After the Mason family catastrophe, Eva's family business was still on shaky ground, even with Austin's investment. She had been banking on securing a partnership with Salazar Group, hoping to convince her uncle to expand their production lines.

During her call to set up this meeting, Eva had subtly prodded Michelle about who Salazar Group intended to partner with next quarter. As she feared, it was the Sullivan family—her estranged relatives.

Publicly and privately, Eva couldn't afford to let that order fall into the Sullivans' lap. She had planned to pitch her case again today.

But now...

Whether this confrontation succeeded or failed, the moment Eva stepped into that hotel suite with Michelle, the order was gone. It was professional suicide.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open. The plush carpet swallowed the sound of their heels as Eva followed Michelle to the innermost suite.

Michelle's hand trembled as she tapped the key card against the sensor. The lock clicked. She pushed the door open gently.

From the bedroom, the sounds of a woman's high-pitched moaning and a man's low teasing drifted out.

Eva didn't need to see to know exactly what was happening.

Michelle began to shake violently. Her grip on the golf club she had brought along tightened until her knuckles turned white.

"Sorry to drag you into this, Eva," she whispered, her voice flat and hollow. "Wait for me outside."

Eva stood in the doorway, watching the woman's frail, trembling back. An impulse to rush forward and support her surged, but reason held her feet to the floor. She stepped back into the hall.

Her own life was a tangled mess of lies and contracts—what right did she have to play the savior?

From inside the room, a hysterical scream shattered the quiet.

Accusations flew like shrapnel. Question after question, piercing and raw, striking at the heart of the betrayal.

Eva leaned against the corridor wall, staring at an expensive abstract painting. Her heart felt like it was being seared in hot oil.

The scene was too familiar.

Chaotic memories, like a ball of tangled yarn, began to unravel in her mind. The more she tried to pull away, the tighter they constricted.

She forced herself to breathe, to ground herself in the present. A notification chime from her phone peeled her away from the past.

Entertainment news. Another headline.

This time, the photo was crystal clear.

It was Austin.

Eva stared at the man's striking, cold features for a long moment before the realization hit her: Right. I married him.

A sharp crash from inside the suite snapped her back to reality.

Eva instinctively turned and looked through the open door. Michelle was struggling to scramble up from the floor, lunging to scratch at the man again.

"You lunatic, let go!" the man roared in pain.

In the scuffle, Michelle was shoved violently aside. Her head cracked against the corner of a table. Bright red blood gushed from her temple, dripping onto the pristine carpet.

The two culprits stood over her, watching coldly, offering no help.

Eva thought she heard a faint, mocking laugh.

The man she had once loved tore off his mask, while the woman he drove to madness was the one bleeding out.

Michelle let out a broken, furious laugh. In a flash, she grabbed a heavy vase from the table and hurled it at the pair.

The man barely dodged. "Damn it!" he cursed, stepping forward with a raised fist.

Eva didn't think. She swung the door wide and sprinted into the room, shoving the man back with all her strength before shielding Michelle.

"Blake, stop! The law still exists, you know!"

Blake sneered, his face twisted with rage. "This is family business. Get lost!"

Eva pulled Michelle back, her expression hardening into stubborn, icy resolve.

"I recorded everything," she lied, her voice steady. "The video is already with a friend. If we don't walk out of here safely, you know what happens to your stock price."

The vicious aura around Blake faltered. He narrowed his eyes. "Eva Sullivan. I treated you well in the past, didn't I? Why interfere?"

"I don't want to be enemies with you, Blake. But you're bullying her too far."

Blake chuckled darkly. He walked to the sofa, picked up a silver cigarette case, and tapped one out, clearly intending to negotiate.

But the adrenaline hadn't left Michelle. With a wail of pure anguish, she launched herself at him again, scratching and kicking.

Terrified she would be hurt further, Eva rushed to pull her back.

And then...

Before the brawl could escalate, the wail of sirens cut through the air. The police arrived faster than anyone expected.

By the time the police statement was finalized, darkness had already swallowed the city.

From the office next door, a heated argument bled through the walls—voices raw, as if venting a lifetime of resentment.

Eva hesitated, then approached Mrs. Salazar.

The older woman had calmed considerably. Her head wound had been dressed and bandaged.

"I dragged you into this," Mrs. Salazar said, her voice weary. "But you're loyal. I appreciate that. I'll contact you once I've sorted out the chaos on my end."

Eva nodded. "Take care, Mrs. Salazar."

In their world of fame and transactional relationships, polite dismissals were common currency. She knew better than to take the promise seriously.

Eva stepped out into the bright glare of streetlights. Immediately, she spotted a figure leaning against a sleek sports car—white shirt, black dress pants, cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke curled around his face, unable to obscure the arrogant set of his brow.

Elliot.

She'd assumed their entanglement ended at the hotel. She hadn't expected him to be waiting here.

Her phone buzzed. A glance at the screen explained his presence.

In less than a day, the rumor mill had spun a new narrative: Eva Sullivan, desperate to help Elliot secure a contract, seduced Blake Salazar and was caught red-handed by his wife.

The story had spread like wildfire.

A dry, humorless laugh escaped her.

She shoved the phone back into her bag and descended the stairs, intending to walk right past him.

But Elliot was waiting for a confrontation. He pushed off the car and blocked her path.

"Still throwing a tantrum?"

He looked down at her with those signature heavy-lidded eyes—the kind that appeared deeply affectionate no matter who they focused on. A gaze that had deceived her for eight years. A trap she'd wasted her youth falling into.

Now, her heart remained still.

She took a deliberate step back. Her face was a mask of indifference.

"Move."

Elliot rubbed the space between his brows, a patronizing smile playing on his lips as he closed the distance again.

"Eva, come on. Stop making a fuss. I sincerely apologize for what happened. I know I'm still in your heart. Just be good, okay?"

"I'm married," Eva said flatly. She had no energy left for these games.

Elliot's expression faltered. A moment later, a smirk tugged at his mouth.

"You mean the arrangement with the Farley family?"

Eva didn't answer. She neither admitted nor denied it.

To Elliot, her silence was an admission of a lie.

"Hudson's in Melbourne right now."

Eva raised an eyebrow. "So what?"

Elliot frowned, subtle anger simmering beneath his calm. "So you're telling me you actually got the certificate with Hudson Farley?"

People in their circle knew the score. They knew why the Farleys had chosen Eva Sullivan—a placeholder, a band-aid for a scandal. There would be no grand wedding. And even if there were, the Farley banquet wasn't something Elliot could attend on a whim.

Eva didn't know if Austin intended to make their marriage public yet. She couldn't risk exposing him, so she chose ambiguity.

"You should worry about your girlfriend's situation, not mine," she said coldly. "My life is none of your business. Stay away from me."

She tried to sidestep him.

A shadow detached from the background. A man in a dark suit stepped forward, intercepting them with practiced smoothness.

"Good evening, Ma'am." His tone was respectful but firm. "I'm Lincoln Cross, Mr. Farley's personal bodyguard. He instructed me to escort you home."

Eva paused. This bodyguard was different from the usual muscle-bound security. Lincoln was tall and lean, radiating a sharp, lethal elegance. The black suit didn't make him look like corporate staff—it gave him the air of a refined hitman.

Her gaze shifted past him to the luxury sedan idling at the curb.

She recognized the license plate—a distinctive sequence of auspicious numbers. The same car Austin had used to pick her up from the Mason estate.

She nodded.

Lincoln turned and opened the rear door.

Eva bent to get in, but Elliot lunged forward, disbelief warring with anger. He wanted to grab her, to demand how long she planned to keep up this charade.

Lincoln moved instantly. He didn't just block Elliot—he became an impassable wall.

"Mr. Henson." His voice dropped to a warning chill. "Have some self-respect."

Elliot froze. He had never expected a bodyguard to lecture him on dignity.

His hands clenched into fists, veins bulging. "Get out of my way."

Lincoln didn't flinch.

Elliot laughed in sheer fury. He was about to swing when the wail of a returning patrol car cut through the air. The siren grew louder—a sharp reminder of where they were.

The noise forcibly suppressed the fire in his chest.

He watched as Eva entered the car. The door shut with a solid thud, sealing her away from him.

The sedan merged into traffic and disappeared into the night.

Elliot cursed and kicked the tire of his sports car.

Damn it.

He didn't understand this feeling. He had never truly cared about Eva Sullivan. But watching her leave in another man's car clawed at his pride. It felt wrong.

Later, at a private club.

When Elliot arrived, his usual entourage was waiting.

"Boss! How'd it go? Did you get the contract?"

A man stood, poured a glass of premium liquor, and handed it to Elliot with a grin.

Wrong question.

Elliot's face darkened. With a violent sweep, he kicked the coffee table over. Bottles and glasses shattered, liquid splashing across the expensive carpet.

The room went silent. The men and women who'd been joking froze. They'd followed Elliot for years, but they'd never seen him lose his temper like this.

The man who'd offered the drink quickly waved his hand, dismissing everyone. Once the room cleared, he lit a cigarette and handed it over with trembling fingers.

"Boss... what happened?"

Elliot took a drag, exhaustion lining his features. "Check Hudson Farley's itinerary. And his marital status."

"Did something happen with the Farleys?"

Elliot shot him a glare cold enough to freeze water. The man shut his mouth, nodded, and hurried out.

The door clicked shut.

Elliot leaned back against the sofa, a dull ache radiating from his stomach.

Instinctively, he pulled out his phone to call Eva. His thumb hovered over her name. But the image of her walking away without a backward glance flashed through his mind.

That license plate... if he wasn't mistaken, it really did belong to the main Farley household.

Rumors of Eva climbing the social ladder had circulated for weeks, but he'd dismissed them as nonsense. He knew Eva. He knew her obsession with him. It was impossible for her to leave him for real.

Or so he'd thought.

Tonight had shattered that certainty. Something had quietly, irrevocably changed.

The thought made him inexplicably irritable. He crushed the half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray, stood, and stormed out.

Downstairs, the dance floor was a sea of writhing bodies. In the past, he would've sat at the bar, letting beautiful women throw themselves at him. Tonight, the prospect made him sick.

He drove home alone.

Standing in his dark, empty living room, his mind was a mess. Filled with Eva Sullivan.

From the moment she stepped into that Farley car, an uncomfortable sensation had taken root in his chest—like a vital piece of himself was being slowly ripped away.

He let out a scoff of self-mockery.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed Catherine.

It's just a woman, he told himself.

What Elliot Henson lacked least in this world was women.