Instead of taking his place beside her, Winn deliberately stepped behind her. The crowd thought it was gallant. Joey, standing a few paces away, didn’t. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath, "For the love of God, not today."

The son of a bitch was going to keep feeding the press exactly what they wanted. Ivy could practically feel the camera lenses zooming in on the two of them. The former lovers headline was already being drafted in a dozen minds.

Winn’s arms slipped around her. His fingers brushed hers, guiding the handle of the shovel. Her pulse jumped. Her entire body went rigid, every muscle aware of the heat radiating from him. It was unfair, the way he could still unravel her with a single touch.

He leaned down, close enough for his breath to warm the shell of her ear.

"Relax, love," he murmured. "I’m not going to fuck you here."

Her head snapped slightly toward him, their lips dangerously close. "Winn..." she hissed. Cameras clicked. Her cheeks flushed — from anger, she told herself. Definitely anger.

Behind them, Joey’s patience finally cracked. "Winn! Will you behave?" His eyes darted nervously to the crowd.

But Winn ignored him entirely. He bent slightly, guiding Ivy’s body lower with him until both their hands pushed the shovel into the ground. The motion was supposed to be graceful, symbolic. Instead, it was sin incarnate.

As he pressed down, her back met his chest, and the subtle grind of movement made her gasp. Her hips shifted, and her ass brushed his groin. He swallowed hard. His body responded before reason could intervene. Perfect. Just perfect.

Ivy froze for a heartbeat, realizing exactly what had just happened — and feeling every inch of it. The crowd cheered, mistaking her flustered expression for excitement. She straightened too quickly, her breath uneven.

The earth at their feet was broken, symbolic of progress and new beginnings, but inside her, old wounds split open too.

He stepped back, jaw tight, pretending to adjust his cuffs while in reality trying to deal with the very visible problem pressing against his trousers. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over his arm, covering his erection.

Joey caught sight of it and groaned audibly.

"Unbelievable," Joey muttered.

Winn didn’t even bother replying. His gaze stayed on Ivy. He wasn’t sure if she’d betrayed him from the start or somewhere along the line, but right now, none of that mattered.

"You got a boner, uhn?" Joey hissed, unable to keep the amusement out of his whisper. He kept his voice low but his eyes were pure mischief.

"Yup. Stiff one," Winn muttered back. He said it with his teeth clenched. The flush under his jaw betrayed him.

"Why do you make it so hard to work for you? Go, I’ll handle this," Joey said, throwing up his hands and sounding simultaneously defeated and delighted. With a quick, efficient sweep, he moved to redirect the momentum of the event.

He hustled around to the investor pit, clapping his hands, and began inviting the financiers to take their ceremonial shovels. "come along—your moment to dig!" He made the shift seamless.

Winn stepped away from the ceremonial mound. He scanned the crowd for Ivy. She was no longer within easy view. The absence of her silhouette where it should have been made his chest ache.

Reporters closed in. Microphones were shoved into his face, bright lights blinking. "Mr. Kane, can you comment on Miss Morales joining Everest? Why is she appearing at your groundbreaking—are there unresolved personal issues here?"

"Did you expect her return?" "Are you concerned her presence signals a fracture in the partnership?" The questions were no longer about the mall.

One thing threaded through all of the madness: Evans. Fury rolled up his spine until rational thought became background noise. He wanted a single, simple resolution: to make Evans understand, in terms that would stick, that he had crossed a line.

He walked through the rest of the crowd—he would find Evans, and settle what had been left unsettled for years. He knew, with the certainty that frightened him, he was going to kill Evans.

*****

Ivy’s breath was shallow, too fast. The drive home blurred around her — streetlamps smeared into watercolor streaks.

Inside, the temperature of her body felt wrong: her skin hot, her palms clammy, little tremors running through her fingers that wouldn’t stop.

Hyperventilating had nothing to do with the air and everything to do with the way memory and desire and grief had tangled into one tight knot inside her chest.

The courtyard was quiet. Ivy swung the car door open. Her legs felt unsteady as she stepped onto the pavement. She clawed at her throat as if she could physically hold the sobs down, fingers scrambling.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she was fighting them back as if the very act of weeping would dissolve the careful scaffolding she’d built for her plan.

Inside, the memory of the shove of Winn’s chest against her back while they dug, the accidental press of movement, the way his voice had sounded—replayed and doubled back..

She saw Irene hurrying toward her across the courtyard. Without a word, she held out a cold bottle of water. Ivy snatched it and twisted the cap open with shaking fingers, drinking half of it in one greedy pull.

The cool liquid did nothing to ease the fire in her throat; it only reminded her of how dry and tight it had been while she tried to act composed in front of cameras and Kane men.

"You did great, honey. You did great," Irene soothed, her hand rubbing slow circles between Ivy’s shoulder blades. The contact was grounding.

"How did you know?" Ivy asked.

"Live stream," Irene said with a soft, rueful smile. "Front row seat from my phone. You looked composed." She tilted her head, studying Ivy’s face.

"He’s messing with me," Ivy said bitterly. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything toward Winn Kane. Anger was fine—rage was productive. But this? This trembling awareness, this pulse that wouldn’t die down?