"I’m sorry," he said, softer now, thumbs rubbing a useless rhythm over the back of her hand. "I promise I’m still working very hard to make sure you get contact with him. He already agreed to the semi-merger. Trust me on this."

He glanced down the corridor, eyes picking out every exit and camera. "I cannot lose my family again."

"I can’t stay hidden forever though," she said finally.

"No. Just until you have the baby," he assured her. "And when it’s safe, we’ll do this properly. We’ll set things right — for you, for the child." He sounded absurdly parental.

"Okay," she said.

*****

By late afternoon Winn was discharged, still pale but steadier on his feet. The nursing staff had flushed the drugs from his system.

The news that greeted Winn once he regained consciousness was a tangle of astonishment but not as astonishing as realising that Ivy was in town.

He hadn’t hallucinated her when he’d been drugged; he’d actually seen her—saw her bending over him, heard the tremor in her voice when she said his name, felt the warmth of a kiss.

His mouth turned into a small, private smile. It was silly, embarrassingly tender. "I’m coming for you, honey," he thought, loud enough that the thought vibrated through his ribs.

"And I’m gonna cuff you to a bedpost if I have to," he added in a private vow. It was ridiculous and somehow perfectly him: possessive, theatrical, but utterly honest.

"Reese!" Winn called sharply. He was in the backseat of the Maybach now. "What’s the status on Sylvia?" he demanded. That was the next shock he’d barely managed to digest. Sylvia. His little sister. The pampered baby.

The idea that she’d fought someone — fought for him —. The thought rolled around in his head. His sister, both the princess of the Kane and Orchard family, had bled for him. There was pride there, twisted up with guilt.

He hadn’t been there to protect her; she had done the protecting. And somehow, that burned him more than the drugs Sharona had slipped him.

Reese adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "Mr. Heathcliffe says she’ll be held in custody until Monday," Reese said. "Then she can be bailed out. If Mrs. Kane wants to press charges—"

"Don’t call her that!" Winn’s roar filled the car. "Don’t you ever call her that again, Reese. She doesn’t deserve that name."

"Noted, sir. If Miss Priestley wants to press charges, then Mr. Heathcliffe will argue self-defense. Without throwing a microscope on the details of your marriage to her."

Winn sank back into his seat, exhaling heavily. "Good," he said finally.

"Anything else, sir?" Reese asked.

"Yeah," Winn said after a pause. "Get someone to speak with Angel Dove’s administration. I want their security tapes from this morning."

Reese frowned slightly, glancing at him through the mirror again. "Is there anything specific you’re looking for, sir?"

"I’m looking for my actual wife," he said simply.

"I’m coming for you, Mrs. Kane," he murmured to himself. "And this time, I’m not letting you walk away."

******

ONE YEAR LATER

(A lot has happened in this time, but I didn’t think it would take so many Chapters to keep Winn and Ivy apart. Poor planning on my part, I guess—but there will be flashbacks of what has happened in the skipped time period. If there’s any particular part you want explained, let me know, and I’ll make sure it finds its way back into the story. Promise.)

It had been one year. The project, a designer mega-mall that would redefine Manhattan City’s skyline, was finally ready to break ground.

It sprawled across a vast expanse of land—so large that, as the papers boasted, "you could fit four professional football fields."

And yet, for Winn Kane, none of it mattered. None of it could fill the space where she used to be. Ivy.

The entire site had been transformed into a temporary wonderland of luxury and corporate celebration. A massive white marquee tent stretched across the central area.

Winn stood near the champagne tower, holding a glass he hadn’t touched. His gaze swept over the glittering crowd of politicians, influencers, and family—all of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves far more than he was.

His mother was there, glowing in a silver gown, her husband, Tom, at her side. Winn hadn’t spoken to either of them since the revelation that he was a bastard.

Joey approached. "Smile. You’re about to make history. Maybe pretend you like people for ten minutes?"

Winn shot him a dark look. "I like some people."

"Uh-huh. Any of them attending tonight?" Joey teased.

"Why the hell did you invite my mother?"

Joey sighed, shifting his weight. "Because it would be remiss of you not to invite the woman who gave birth to the brilliance that will begin on Monday."

The investors were present. Conversations blended into a hum of ego and money. It was a hive of activity, cameras flashing, journalists murmuring about the empire of the decade. Every powerful handshake felt rehearsed, every laugh just a little too loud.

It was a beautiful circus, and Winn Kane was its grumpy ringmaster.

But one face was notably missing. Sylvia.

She had left for Canada six months ago, chasing peace. Winn still remembered the day she told him she was leaving. "I can’t breathe here anymore." It was Tom. Winn hadn’t argued. He knew she needed out—away from the mess their family had become.

He missed her, though.

But any trace of that fond amusement died the moment another name crossed his mind.

Evans.

His so-called partner.

The son of a bitch hadn’t even shown up.

Winn’s jaw tightened as he looked around, scanning the crowd again as if Evans might materialize out of thin air just to piss him off. No such luck. "I swear to God, Joey," he muttered.

"I have no idea how I let you talk me into partnering with Everest. We’ve been breaking our backs for this project, doing all the work—and he’s just sitting somewhere in his fancy office waiting to collect profit without lifting a damn finger."