Molly was undeniably beautiful. Her hair, which had been pinned up earlier, now cascaded over her shoulders like dark seaweed.
Her skin was porcelain-pale, her features exquisitely delicate. Sitting in the passenger seat, she dabbed concealer over the tiny mole on the tip of her nose, then applied a bold red lipstick. The effect was striking—elegant yet commanding.
Miles glanced over. "Why cover it up?"
It took Molly a moment to realize he meant the mole.
"It's too cutesy."
Miles understood. A twenty-six-year-old female executive couldn't afford to look endearing. That little mole on her nose gave her an innocent, almost provocative charm—not exactly the image that commanded respect in a boardroom.
He said nothing more, focusing on the road.
Molly didn't attempt small talk either, her gaze drifting to the window. The silence between them felt natural enough.
Still, knowing Miles was driving her to a matchmaking session left a bitter taste she couldn't quite name.
The whole thing had started before dinner. She'd been in the Vance family kitchen preparing a dish when Kirsten called. Her mother-in-law had answered on speakerphone.
"Princess, I've lined up a batch of young studs at July Club for you—tall, gorgeous, perfect for a young heiress like yourself to take her pick..."
Molly had frozen.
The kitchen staff stared at her, horrified disbelief written across their faces.
It was her mother-in-law who spoke first. "Wonderful, Kirsten. After dinner, we'll have Miles drive Molly over."
Her car was still parked at the Industrial Park. At the dinner table, Mrs. Vance had asked Miles to take her to the matchmaking event, and he'd agreed without hesitation.
Even though she'd already decided on divorce, uprooting someone who'd taken residence in your heart still took time.
Miles's complete indifference sent an involuntary pang through her chest.
When they arrived at July Club, Molly thanked him politely.
He gave a brief nod, then drove off.
Miles was satisfied with how they'd handled things. Molly's lack of clinginess had even earned her a few points in his estimation.
Fifteen minutes later, stopped at a red light, he opened a photo Felix had sent him.
Molly stood in the corridor outside a private room, phone pressed to her ear, wearing a backless sweater.
From the front, the dark gray knit looked unremarkable—a basic cut. But the back was open from the shoulder blades down, the fabric only resuming where a large bow cinched at her waist. Her black hair spilled over her jade-pale skin, the stark contrast neither jarring nor obvious, but creating something subtly sensual—an atmosphere of intimate allure.
No wonder she'd kept her jacket on throughout dinner, never once complaining about the heat.
She'd been afraid that taking it off would shatter her good-daughter-in-law image in front of his mother.
...
Molly sat on the private room's sofa, surveying the row of handsome men standing before her. She frowned slightly.
"Not a single one?" Kirsten asked.
"They're all pretty enough, but 'pretty' isn't really a compliment for a man."
Kirsten flopped sideways on the sofa, shooting her a look. "Compared to that devastatingly handsome face of his, these guys do fall short."
Miles's appeal came from the inside out—that presence, that bearing. His looks were almost secondary.
Molly had sharp taste. Having snagged someone like Miles, of course everyone else seemed bland by comparison.
Molly flipped through the stack of résumés, pulled out four, and handed them over. "Your studio's talent auditions have turned into some kind of imperial consort selection."
"This selection is just for you. He never satisfied you anyway—let these four make up for your three wasted years."
Felix had been standing at the door for a while. Only after Miles stalked off with a thunderous expression did he push it open. "Molly, my brother wants to see you about something."
Molly blinked, confused. "Didn't he go home?"
The largest VIP room at the July Club was dimly lit, shadows mingling with silhouettes. Yet Molly spotted Miles immediately, seated in the center.
It wasn't his striking looks that drew her eye. In this den of indulgence, every man had a woman draped over his arm—except Miles. He sat alone, a cigarette between his fingers, watching the room through a veil of smoke with detached indifference.
As a wife, she supposed she should feel some satisfaction that her husband kept himself so... pristine.
But when that same husband wouldn't lay a finger on his own wife? That was infuriating.
In this moment, Molly truly envied Sibyl.
Miles had noticed her the instant she walked in—specifically, her waist. A gray blouse tucked into high-waisted black trousers, the cut accentuating how slender she was, how easily his hands could span her.
"Ms. Harding, I could wrap one hand around that waist and lift you right up," someone called out, punctuating the comment with a whistle.
Molly glanced at him. "Why don't you try later? Let's see if you actually can."
As she spoke, Miles rose from the sofa.
When he reached her side, she caught his scent—sandalwood and tobacco, faint but unmistakable. She followed him out.
He stood close, his shadow falling over her. Molly instinctively stepped back, but before she could, he spoke: "We're still married. Watch yourself."
She studied his cold expression and realized he'd misread what happened inside.
She considered explaining, but the divorce settlement was already finalized. What was the point?
Besides, the hypocrisy was rich. He and Sibyl hadn't exactly been discreet.
She kept that thought to herself. The brooch was still in his possession. He'd promised to return it, but if she annoyed him, he could drag his feet for days, and she'd have no choice but to wait.
"Fine. I won't cause you any trouble," she said, her tone perfectly agreeable.
Miles looked down at her—the subtle makeup, the understated elegance, beauty without ostentation.
She'd been shy and eager to please before. Yesterday, sharp-tongued. Now, excessively compliant.
He couldn't tell which version was real.
"Are you leaving?" Molly asked. "I'll stay half an hour, then go."
She was being more than reasonable. They were getting divorced, yet here she was, maintaining appearances.
Miles swept her with a cool glance and returned to the room without a word. Clearly not pleased.
Molly thought he was impossible. She was doing him a favor, and he couldn't even manage a civil expression.
Back inside, she found Kirsten in the most secluded corner, and they talked quietly.
Kirsten seemed distracted. Molly followed her gaze.
Miles was smoking, the ember flickering at his fingertips. From this angle, his profile was arresting—the clean line of his jaw, the sharp planes of his face. The phrase raw magnetism came to mind.
"God, he's..." Kirsten breathed. "You should sleep with him. Otherwise it's just a waste."
Someone killed the music right at that moment.
The words hung in the sudden silence. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward them, laden with speculation.
Awkward didn't begin to cover it.
Aside from Felix and a few others, no one here knew about her connection to Miles.
The guy who'd offered to lift her—Douglas James, she remembered—leaned forward with a smirk. "So, Ms. Harding, who exactly are you looking to sleep with?"
"Douglas, back off. None of your business," Felix cut in.
Douglas scoffed. "What's your problem? A woman this beautiful—can't a man express some admiration?" He winked at Molly. "I'm very well-behaved, you know."
The sleazy grin was almost too much to look at.
"Doug, why don't you take a guess," Felix said, an edge of amusement in his voice. "Who do you think Ms. Harding has her eye on?"
Molly was well-known in Harbor City's circles—beautiful, sharp, and a force in business. She'd crossed paths with nearly everyone in this room. The only exception was the man who'd just returned from abroad, untouchable and aloof: Miles Vance.
All eyes shifted to him. Molly opened her mouth to explain, but Felix shoved her toward Miles before she could get a word out.
The room erupted in catcalls and whistles.
Then a voice cut through—low, cold, final.
"Enough. She's my sister."
