Vincent's introduction carried more weight than a simple greeting. There was no mistaking the underlying message.

He had witnessed the exchange between Dayna and Michael, missing nothing.

"We're leaving." With quiet authority, Vincent drew Dayna close and steered her toward the waiting car.

The drive back unfolded in silence, tension filling the space between them.

Noticing the shift in Vincent's mood, Dayna wondered if Michael's sudden appearance had rattled him. Perhaps it left him uneasy—or maybe even irritated.

She hesitated, unsure if Vincent was upset, but felt compelled to speak up. "We just planned a simple dinner with old friends from university. I had no idea Michael would be—"

Before she could finish, Vincent reached for a small shopping bag and set it on her lap. "I got you something."

Her eyes widened in surprise as she accepted the gift.

Though their marriage had lasted three years, Vincent's work kept him away most of the time. Still, he never returned without bringing her a token from his trips.

Now she questioned if he was truly upset.

The package felt almost too warm in her hands. Unsure, she bit down on her lip and sneaked a glance at him.

Vincent leaned back with his eyes closed, head resting on the seat, making it clear he had nothing more to say.

Without pressing further, Dayna rolled the window down a little, letting the night air brush against her skin and clear her mind, still hazy from the evening's drinks.

Recollections surfaced from three years ago, when Roberts Group stood on the brink of collapse. Glenn Roberts, her father, seized on the family's old agreement with the Clarkes, insisting she honor the childhood engagement and marry Vincent. Glenn believed this union was the only way to keep their company afloat.

Roberts Group was her mother's legacy, the only thing she had left to remember her by. Letting it fall apart wasn't something she could accept. At the same time, her relationship with Michael had been rocky. He was unpredictable, overwhelmed by the pressure of building his company from the ground up, and their constant arguments eventually pushed her to walk away.

Marriage to Vincent followed, though his manner stayed cool and reserved. Conversation between them was minimal, but he always treated her with respect.

Their home in Crescent Bay had become her new world after the wedding.

Once the car glided into the underground garage and settled in its spot, David Cooper glanced back at them. "We're here, Mr. and Mrs. Clarke."

Dayna, nearly dozing, snapped awake at the announcement, just in time to hear Vincent say, "Go on, David. Head home for the night."

"Of course, sir." With that, David stepped out and disappeared into the evening.

Dayna started to open her door, but Vincent's fingers circled her wrist, stopping her.

A gentle tug brought her tumbling right into his lap.

Surprise escaped her lips. Her knees bent, landing her astride him without warning.

Blush spread from her cheeks to her neck as she realized their positions. She tried to move, pushing herself up, but Vincent refused to let go. His hand pressed firmly at her back, bringing her even closer until their bodies met, heartbeat to heartbeat. The warmth radiating between them left no doubt about his intentions.

"Vincent, let me go," she whispered, her voice trembling with embarrassment and anticipation. She understood the situation all too well and tried to slip away.

Vincent didn't answer. Instead, he cupped her chin, lifted her face, and captured her lips in a deep, possessive kiss.

Muted lights washed the garage in shadow, turning the car into a private pocket of darkness where their movements melted together, charged and impossible to ignore.

Flustered, Dayna braced her palm against his chest and tried to create distance. Vincent had never been subtle about what he wanted, but he always knew where to stop. Tonight, restraint was nowhere to be found.

Warm hands framed her face as his breathing turned uneven, the kiss deepening until it stole her sense of place. An arm locked around her waist, anchoring her firmly against him.

Minutes slipped by without shape or order. When he finally pulled away, her lips felt tender and damp, tingling from the intensity.

Strong fingers caught her chin, guiding her gaze upward until she had no choice but to meet his eyes. His voice came out low and rough. "So tell me. Did you have fun seeing everyone again tonight?"

Even through the haze of alcohol, Dayna could sense the shift in him.

This wasn't like Vincent. He was controlled, composed. This edge was new.

She started to speak, ready to explain, but his grip tightened around her waist before she could finish a single word, pressure biting just enough to make her gasp.

His gaze lingered on her mouth, dark and assessing. "You drank," he said flatly.

She nodded, unable to deny it.

"And what did I say about that?" he pressed on.

Her teeth caught her lower lip as her hand fisted in his shirt.

Alcohol had never agreed with her. Once, she drank too much and wandered into traffic, ending up in the emergency room. The call went straight to Vincent, and he left an important meeting without hesitation to get to her. After that night, he made it clear. No more drinking.

Still, she had crossed that line tonight. He wasn't sure if Michael's sudden return played a part, but the unease settled heavy in his chest.

Slowly, Vincent's hand traced along her side, the touch deliberate and unhurried. The tension beneath his calm surfaced in the way his fingers tightened, drifting lower until his palm slipped beneath the edge of her dress, making his intent unmistakably clear.

"Everybody kept passing drinks around. I didn't want to make a scene, so I just went along. I promise it won't happen again," Dayna said.

Her words came out gentle and careful, but Vincent's icy silence didn't waver. She tried to offer more, but then his hand made his intentions clear, stealing the breath right out of her.

Color rushed to her face, and she ducked her head, voice barely more than a whisper. "Can we... wait until we're inside?"

"No," he responded, the word brooking no argument, firm and commanding.

There was no escaping him. Flustered, Dayna tried to unfasten his shirt, her hands clumsy and slow, nerves getting the best of her.

Patience had never been Vincent's strong suit. In one swift move, he caught her dress and pulled it free.

A shiver raced over her as cool air brushed her skin, her body revealed beneath the car's subdued glow.

The yellow dress she had chosen for the night proved no match for Vincent's determination. Her undergarments soon followed, slipping away with a practiced hand.

The stillness of the garage was broken only by the metallic snap of his belt buckle, the sound echoing in the empty space.

The Lamborghini rocked gently as they moved together. Each breath mingled, hers shallow and uncertain, his measured and steady, filling the close air with heat.

Night air drifted in from outside, but the heat between them quickly outpaced the chill. Every time her hair swept across his chest, it sent another ripple through him. Their gazes locked, both of them fierce and hungry for more.

Blushing fiercely, Dayna felt torn between embarrassment and the way her body instinctively yielded to his touch. She clung to him, her arms around his shoulders, while Vincent's mouth found the soft curve of her breast.

A sudden, stinging nip made her gasp, her breath stuttering out.

Just as she thought he might stop, Vincent eased her back against the seat, and started again—his hunger undiminished, his movements only more intense.

Her mind went blank, lost in the haze of sensation.

Time slipped away until she was trembling, breathless, and too exhausted to even sit upright.

When it was finally over, Vincent got dressed, wrapping her gently in his jacket before lifting her from the back seat.

By the time they entered the house, Dayna had already fallen asleep. Her cheeks still glowed with color, and sweat dampened her lashes. Even in rest, she looked troubled, softly muttering in her dreams.

Regret crept in—maybe he had let things get too intense.

He carried her to the bathroom, drawing a warm bath to soothe her before settling her into bed. Only when she was tucked beneath the sheets did he slip away to shower.

Soon after, dressed in a robe, Vincent stood in silence at the window. The city stretched out below him as he lit a cigarette, his face ghostly in the shifting shadows of smoke.

A call broke the quiet. Zayne Adams, his assistant, spoke on the line. "Mr. Clarke, someone from Apex Entertainment is asking questions about you."

Vincent's jaw tightened as Michael's name crossed his mind. He didn't respond, simply ended the call after a moment's pause.

He had known the whole story—how Dayna had ended things with Michael and chosen to marry him instead. That had all happened three years ago, well before the wedding.

Now Michael was back, stirring up what Vincent hoped would stay buried.

The tip of his cigarette glowed as he exhaled, smoke curling around his brooding expression. He was supposed to be away for business, his trip scheduled to last a few more days. The second news of Michael's return reached him, he had cleared his agenda and caught the first flight home.

He made it to the restaurant just as Michael cornered Dayna outside. Once, she had loved Michael fiercely. If that man came back, would those feelings come with him?

Gazing out at the city, Vincent let his face slip into shadow, his thoughts hidden beneath the drifting smoke and the hush of midnight.

...

Morning crept in, painting the sky with soft gold before Dayna finally stirred from sleep.

It was nearly nine when she slipped out of bed, stretching off the last traces of exhaustion.

Crossing the hall, she stopped short. Vincent was still at home, seated at the dining table with his laptop open.

Normally, he would have left for work hours ago. Today, he lingered.

Gathering her courage, she made her way over, legs slightly unsteady, and saw that breakfast had already been set for two.

Vincent shut his laptop and set it aside. "Have some breakfast," he said, his voice as steady as ever.

She slid into the chair beside him, and the housemaid appeared with two steaming cups of milk.

Silence settled between them as Vincent began to eat, each motion calm and precise. He never spoke while he was eating—a habit she had come to expect.

After a few minutes, the maid placed his favorite morning magazine at his elbow. He always read something during breakfast, another small ritual.

Glancing down, Dayna caught a glimpse of the cover—and felt her stomach drop.

A familiar image stared back at her.

Noticing her sudden stillness, Vincent picked up the magazine and looked it over.

Splashed across the front page in bold print: "Apex Entertainment's New President Reunites With His First Love—Old Sparks Ignite."

The photo featured last night's encounter outside the restaurant. Michael's face was shown clearly, and though only her profile appeared beside him, anyone who knew Dayna would recognize her instantly.

A knot formed in Dayna's stomach as she caught sight of her own profile on the magazine cover. Without thinking, she glanced at Vincent, worried he would take it the wrong way. "I was just heading home last night—"

Her voice faltered when she saw Vincent open the magazine.

He turned the pages until he reached a full spread that laid out every detail of her history with Michael.

Irritation flared. Why would anyone waste time spinning this into a headline?

She opened her mouth to set things straight, but the phone rang, breaking the tension.

Vincent answered, and Zayne's voice filtered through. "Mr. Clarke, Michael Barnett went public with a press conference this morning. He's telling everyone he and his first love are back together. Apex Entertainment is running with it. It won't take long before people realize he's talking about Mrs. Clarke."

A cold silence filled the room.

Seated so close, Dayna heard every word. Panic shot through her. She leapt to her feet, voice ringing with urgency. "That's a lie. Michael and I haven't spoken in years!"

She reached out to grab the phone, nearly losing her balance in her haste. Vincent caught her around the waist, steadying her without breaking stride, his focus still on the call.

His words were ice. "You have one minute. Make that story disappear."

"Yes, sir." Zayne's reply was crisp before the call ended.

The magazine featured a photo of a pair of matching watches, claiming they were symbols of a love that had never faded.

Vincent remembered seeing a woman's watch—identical to the one in the photo—tucked away in Dayna's vanity drawer, matching the one shown in the spread.

Maybe if she hadn't kept the watch, he would believe her heart was truly free from the past.

Vincent's silence pressed in around her, and worry twisted in Dayna's gut.

Without another word, he rose from the table and strode toward his study. "I have work to do. Eat your breakfast," he said, his tone flat and final.

Once inside, he sat behind his desk, opened his laptop, and stared at the screen without seeing a thing.

His mind wandered back to a call just two days ago. She had answered while visiting her family, and he had overheard the entire conversation.

The pressure from the Roberts family had been relentless—pushing her to give him a child, as if a baby would tie their fates and fortunes together.

For her family's sake, Dayna had stayed in this marriage, bound by responsibility instead of desire.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Dayna found herself restless and uneasy.

She paced the hallway outside his study, then finally tapped on the door.

"Come in."

Vincent's voice, muffled but unmistakable, reached her from inside.

Sunlight filled the room, pooling gold across polished floors.

Behind his desk, Vincent looked every inch the composed businessman, surrounded by piles of documents and quiet command.

He raised his eyes, steady and unreadable. "Is something wrong?"

Dayna stepped closer, her hands twisting nervously. "I don't know if you let that story get to you, but I wanted you to hear my side."

A flicker of surprise crossed Vincent's face, his pen slipping from his grasp and clattering onto the desk.

Dayna kept her voice low and steady. "I had no idea Michael would be there last night. There's nothing between us, not anymore. And about that watch—people have it all wrong. It was a birthday gift from my mother when I turned eighteen. Michael only bought the same one because he liked the style. That's the whole story."

She finished, raising her eyes to see how he would take it.

Vincent's face gave away nothing, unreadable as ever.

He wondered, was she trying to convince him for his sake—or just afraid he would take his anger out on her family?

Just then, her phone buzzed. She glanced down. It was Clara Gordon, her assistant.

Uncertain, Dayna hesitated, but her thumb brushed the answer button by accident.

Clara's voice rang out in the study, slicing through the quiet. "Dayna, the chairman needs you at the office right now."

"Understood." She hung up, turning to say more to Vincent, only to see him already standing, reaching for his jacket.

"I'm heading out too. I'll drive you," he said, pausing only long enough to meet her eyes before moving for the door.

Words still caught in her throat, Dayna hurried after him.

Outside, the car idled by the curb. Vincent stood by the open door, waiting. When he realized she wasn't right behind him, he glanced over his shoulder.

Moments later, she appeared, handbag in hand and dressed for the office—a soft pink silk blouse paired with a sleek pencil skirt, her hair falling in polished waves down her back. Even without makeup, there was an easy grace to her.

Vincent gave her a quick look, then slipped into the car. "Roberts Group," he instructed David.

Vincent spent the entire drive fielding one business call after another, barely leaving a gap for conversation.

Once they reached Roberts Group, Dayna slipped out of the car, her heels tapping softly as she made her way toward the front entrance.

Vincent lingered for a moment, eyes following her silhouette until the glass doors closed behind her. Only then did he finally look away.

From the driver's seat, David glanced back. "Sir, Mrs. Clarke left her bag."

Vincent turned to find a delicate designer purse resting on the seat, forgotten in her haste.