Eugene didn’t move until her car disappeared around the corner. Then, with a sigh, he walked to his own car, shaking his head at himself. "Experimenting," he muttered under his breath. "Right." But even as he said it, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

A few feet away, parked in the shadows, another pair of eyes had been watching. Winn sat in the back seat of the Maybach, every muscle in his jaw locked tight. Apparently, that was the younger guy Ivy had been referring to.

"Reese? Find out who that is."

"Yes, sir." Reese lifted his phone, angled it, and snapped a discreet photograph of the car’s license plate. The soft click of the camera was the only sound in the car before he started the engine and drove away from the curb.

Winn didn’t say another word. His eyes stayed on the road ahead, but his mind was a storm of fury and jealousy.

*****

By morning, Winn was still incredibly sour. He hadn’t slept. He’d spent most of the night pacing the Orchard mansion and replaying every second of what he’d seen.

The image of Ivy smiling up at that man—laughing, letting him kiss her—burned behind his eyelids. Every time he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter, another wave of possessive rage crashed over him.

He shouldn’t have agreed to giving her space. What the hell had he been thinking? Space? He snorted bitterly at the word. He had given her one year’s worth of space already. A whole year of waiting, wanting, bleeding quietly.

"Space now just means Mr. Younger Guy gets to earn more points," he muttered to himself, "and she gets to forget what it was like to be with me."

Besides—what the hell did she mean by younger? Winn dragged a hand down his face, irritation sharpening every line of his expression. He wasn’t old.

Thirty-eight was not old. Thirty-eight was prime. Thirty-eight was power, stamina, experience, and a body most men in their twenties couldn’t keep up with.

Younger, my ass. Since when did his age bother her.

He was still muttering when Lydia knocked gently and stepped inside. "Mr. Kane?"

Winn looked up sharply. "Is she here?"

"No, not yet," Lydia said, clearing her throat. "Your wife would like to speak with you. She has been calling the office phone."

Winn’s temples throbbed. And his patience snapped clean in two.

"Are you stupid, Lydia?" he asked. "How many times have I told you to just take a message? I don’t want to speak to her. Get the fuck out of my office. And send Miss Morales in as soon as she gets here."

Lydia paled. "Yes, Mr. Kane." She practically sprinted out of the office.

Winn leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. If Sharona had been calling, that meant Maurice Heathcliffe had reached out to her already. Damn, the man was fast. But then again, that was why Winn chose to tell him everything.

Maurice was in his sixties, sharp as a dagger, and had a reputation in Manhattan’s elite circles.

Winn had stressed—very clearly—how important and time-sensitive this divorce was. Because every second he remained married, every hour that the title Mrs Kane belonged to a woman who was not Ivy, his chances with her evaporated.

Maurice had been disappointed though. He thought Winn was stupid to have picked the nearest acceptable option and tricking his late grandfather like that. But it was a decision made under pressure.

Now that one single decision had become the bane of his existence.

Ivy pushed open the glass door to Winn’s corner office, her bag slung over one shoulder, a slim folder tucked under her arm.

"Good morning, Mr Kane," she said pretending she didn’t feel his eyes sweep over her the second she walked in.

"Quit calling me that!" Winn snapped, not even looking up fully from the paper in his hand. It was instant, reactive.

Ivy arched a brow. "It is your name, isn’t it?"

He cut her a sharp look, but she stood there unfazed, calm.

Winn pushed away from the desk and walked around to her just as she took a seat. "So," he exhaled, sinking into the chair beside her, "what do we got?"

Ivy opened the folder, flipping through crisp sheets. This was her element—organized, articulate.

"Based on the architect’s report," she began, "these are the updated projections for the foundation materials. A good number of items have arrived already. But since there are nearly three hundred workers on ground, we’ll need to reorder before the end of the week. If work continues at this pace, the supply will run out quickly."

Her voice was smooth, steady, and Winn found himself watching her mouth move instead of the documents. She explained for a couple more minutes and he heard only about half of what she said.

"Right," Winn muttered, dragging his attention back. "I’ll stop by to see Evans tomorrow. We both have to sign off on the withdrawal of funds."

"I’ll pass the message on to him," Ivy said, closing the file with a quiet snap. Efficient. Practiced. Emotionally locked down.

She gathered her things, ready to retreat.

"You want to grab lunch together?"

"No," Ivy said simply, standing. No hesitation. No crack in the armor.

Winn stood before she could step around him, planting himself directly in her path. He didn’t touch her. She stiffened but didn’t step back.

"Ivy..." Winn murmured, frustration and longing tangled in his voice. "What can I do? Come on. Cut me some slack, babe."

"Winn, nothing. I have moved on," Ivy said.

"Have you? How about this," he said. "I’ll wait for you at the Orchard Estate tonight. We’ll talk. And then you try to convince me—if you can convince me beyond reasonable doubt, Ivy..." He leaned in slightly, breath brushing her cheek.

"I promise you, I will not bother you anymore."

She swallowed.

"I have school after work," Ivy told him.

The shift in his expression was immediate—surprised, curious. Winn straightened a little, eyes narrowing with interest.

"You went back to school." He smiled down at her.

"Yes," she said. "Why? Is that surprising?"

"No," Winn said, shaking his head, still grinning. "I’m just impressed." His gaze softened in a way that made her chest ache. "I thought now that you are an Everest heiress, you wouldn’t bother."

"Well, I wasn’t always an Everest heiress," Ivy smiled back.

It was small, reluctant. Winn soaked it in.

"No," he murmured, stepping closer, "but it suits you."

He reached for her, fingers gentle as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His touch burned through her. His thumb lingered near her jaw, not touching, just hovering.

"I miss you," he whispered. "I miss you so badly, Ivy. It kills me. It kills me that you would be this way... out of my reach."

Ivy forced her lashes down. When she lifted her eyes again, they were glossy.

"I’ll be there," she whispered. "After school though. But I have to be home by 11pm or my grandpa will worry."

"How did he find you? Evans, I mean." Winn asked.

Ivy’s throat bobbed. "I...uhm... he... I don’t want to talk about it with you."

Winn inhaled sharply. His mouth tightened with frustration.

"God! I hate what we’ve become." Winn dragged a hand through his hair, pacing now, a low growl in his chest. "Strangers! Jeez! We used to... god fucking dammit! We were fire together!" He turned his back to her for a second, breathing hard.

"This... this ice in between us..." A grunt tore out of him. "It’s killing me."

"I also remember something," Ivy said, softer now. "We used to work great together." Her eyes found his and held. "I completed you. You brought out the best in me."

"Do you think we could go back to that," she continued, "and maybe do great things with Kane Designer Mall?"

"It used to be my dream before I met you," Winn said. "All I wanted was to build something monumental... something the city would remember my name by long after I’m gone, just like my grandfather."

"Somewhere after we met... my dream changed." He swallowed. "My dream became you."

"Winn..." she whispered.

Winn took a slow step forward, then another.

"I know..." he murmured. "I know..." His thumb almost reached for her cheek but stopped just shy of touching her, trembling. "Just meet me tonight."

"Can Reese pick you up?" Winn asked.

"No..." Ivy breathed, turning slightly to wipe at her eyes. She forced steady into her voice even though her knees felt weak. "I’ll... uhm... I’ll find my way."

"I’ll walk you out," Winn suggested.

"It’s fine," Ivy said, waving him off. "We don’t want Lydia doing what she does best... gossiping."

Winn groaned under his breath. "Ah—yeah, fair point. Alright. I’ll see you tonight."

She nodded—just a small dip of her head. He watched her leave.

Ivy stepped out into the open floor.