Evans felt the vein in his temple throb. The conversation was going in circles. His jaw flexed as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You’re just like your mother," he muttered. "Throwing away your life and family for love!"

Ivy had inherited more than just her mother’s beauty — the stubbornness, the fire, the recklessness. She stared straight at him. "Wouldn’t you do the same thing for Irene?" she asked. "I saw the way you look at her."

For a moment, the mighty Evans Everest was silent. His lips parted, then pressed into a smirk, a reluctant glint of respect lighting his gaze. "Touché, my dear niece," he said with a quiet chuckle. "Touché. You win this round."

Trish, perched awkwardly at the foot of the bed, cleared her throat. "Um, can I come see her every day?"

Evans turned his head slowly toward her, and Trish immediately regretted opening her mouth. "No," he said simply.

"No as in... no, or no as in, let me bribe you?"

"No as in, I cannot risk Winn’s tail on you finding Ivy."

"Please..." Ivy cut in. "I’m bored out of my mind, and Mum’s recovery is slow. I need company."

Evans looked at her. "Are you saying I’m not all the company you need?" he asked finally.

Ivy managed a small smile. "You know," she said, turning her head toward Evans, "there isn’t much difference between you and Winn. You both wear arrogance like perfume."

Trish snorted with laughter. "Must be a millionaire thing," she said, shaking her head as if she’d just discovered some genetic flaw that came with expensive suits.

Evans turned slowly toward her, the corner of his lips curling with quiet arrogance. "My dear girls," he began, "I am not a millionaire. I am a billionaire. And so are you." His finger wagged in mock authority at Ivy. "Better learn to start wearing that perfume."

The remark made Ivy giggle despite the ache that shot through her ribs. The laughter eased some of the heaviness that had been pressing down on her chest since she woke up.

"Come on, Mr. Everest," she teased softly. "Be nice."

Evans arched a brow, pretending to consider her plea. "Fine," he relented with exaggerated reluctance. "Only if you stop calling me Mr. Everest. And she—" he tilted his chin toward Trish "—has to be extra careful when she visits. No social media posts. No loose lips. We can’t afford anyone finding out where you are."

Trish lifted her hands in mock surrender. "You have my word."

"What am I supposed to call you then?" Ivy asked with a mischievous tilt of her head. "Uncle Evans?"

"That will do," he said.

"Ugh..." Ivy groaned, covering her face with both hands. "This is so weird. My uncle is the guy that stole my fiancé’s ex-girlfriend." She peeked at him through her fingers, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

Evans’ brows shot up. "I didn’t steal anything! Winn was just careless — the same way he’s being careless with you. A smart man should have known you didn’t just develop cold feet and disappear from the face of the earth."

"But Winn and Irene were dating when she cheated with you," she pointed out.

Evans groaned. "Must we go down that lane?" He rubbed a hand over his face.

"Yes, we must," Ivy said, grinning despite herself. "Because it’s deliciously messy."

"We were friends," he said finally. "Good friends. Yes, I... I had a thing for her, but Winn was just so petty and childish—he basically drove her into my arms. I mean, what was I supposed to do? She was one hell of a woman. I was charming."

Ivy gave a small laugh. "I don’t think he believes that," she said.

Evans groaned. "Can we stop talking about Winn with my wife now?" he said, throwing up his hands.

Trish gasped dramatically. "Oooh, someone is still jealous."

Evans shot her a glare that might’ve terrified a board of directors, but Trish only grinned wider. Ivy watched, amusement tugging at her lips.

"No, no... I am angry," he corrected, pointing at Ivy accusingly. "Of all the men in the city, you chose him? He’s two years older than I am! You are twenty-one for God’s sake!"

"Twenty-two in a month," Ivy corrected him.

Evans leaned forward, eyes narrowing in mock warning. "Oh, my mistake. Twenty-two is so much better," he said, sarcasm dripping. "He’s going to be the same age forever, while you—" he gestured at her dramatically "—are just going to catch right up."

Trish burst into laughter, slapping her thigh.

"You’re going to be an overbearing uncle, aren’t you?" Ivy noted. The truth was, she found his protectiveness oddly comforting, even if it came wrapped in arrogance and unsolicited lectures.

******

The cemetery smelled of roses and rain. The sky had been threatening a downpour since morning, clouds swollen and heavy.

Winn stood a few feet from the open grave, his broad shoulders squared. He looked immaculate in his tailored black suit. Beside him stood Joey, trembling slightly, a pale shadow of the man he’d been before losing Diane.

As people approached with murmured condolences, Winn kept a hand on Joey’s shoulder, his presence a silent barrier between his friend and the sea of sympathy. He didn’t allow the pitying hands, the drawn-out words about what a "wonderful soul" Diane had been.

Winn hated funerals—hated the hypocrisy of people who only remembered the good once it was too late. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He knew he was one of those hypocrites.

"Thank you," he said curtly, again and again, his jaw tightening each time someone lingered too long.

When the last mourner turned away, he wrapped his arm around Joey and began steering him toward the waiting car. Joey’s head was bowed, his face pale against the dark wool of his coat. "Let’s go," Winn murmured.

Then, just as Winn reached for the car door, a voice called out to him.

"Winn."

Winn turned sharply. Standing there, framed against the gray sky, was Sharona. Dressed in all black. A wide-brimmed hat shielded her eyes. Minimal jewelry, expensive perfume.