PART 2 Lucas Moretti’s hand was warm around mine.

PART 2

Lucas Moretti’s hand was warm around mine.

Steady.

Unhurried.

As if he stepped into restaurants every evening to rescue women from emotional disasters disguised as family dinners.

I, however, was not steady.

My heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Across the table, Ethan’s face had gone a shade lighter. Chloe’s fingers tightened around her engagement ring. My mother sat very still, her smile frozen halfway between disbelief and panic.

Lucas looked at Ethan for one long second.

Then he turned to me.

“Savannah,” he said, voice low and calm. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Late.

As if this had been planned.

As if I had not told my family I was dating him out of sheer humiliation and wine-fueled desperation.

I forced myself to breathe.

“You’re here now,” I said.

His eyes flickered with something almost like amusement.

Almost.

Then he bent slightly and brushed his lips against my cheek.

The restaurant seemed to inhale.

It was not an intimate kiss. Not really. Barely a touch.

But from Lucas Moretti, it carried the weight of a declaration.

Ethan stared at us.

“You two know each other?” he asked.

Lucas released my hand only to rest his palm lightly against the back of my chair.

“We do.”

My mother found her voice first.

“Savannah, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Her tone was sweet, but brittle underneath. The same tone she used when asking why I had not worn more makeup to Chloe’s graduation party, or why I had chosen a career in events instead of something “more stable.”

I straightened.

“This is Lucas Moretti.”

“Yes,” my mother said, glancing nervously around the restaurant, where people were pretending not to stare. “We gathered that.”

Lucas gave her a polite nod.

“Mrs. Hayes.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You know who I am?”

“I know who matters to Savannah.”

That sentence should not have affected me.

It was performance.

It had to be.

But after years of being treated like an afterthought at my own family table, hearing someone say my name as if it carried importance nearly cracked something open inside me.

My father cleared his throat.

“Mr. Moretti.”

“Dr. Hayes,” Lucas said.

My father blinked.

He had not practiced medicine in years, but he still liked when people remembered the title. Lucas had either done his homework or possessed the terrifying ability to read a room and find everyone’s vanity within seconds.

Then Lucas’s gaze shifted to Chloe.

She looked down immediately.

“Chloe,” I said carefully, “this is Lucas.”

Chloe lifted her eyes.

“Hi.”

Lucas nodded once.

Not cold.

Not warm.

Simply acknowledging her existence without granting her comfort.

Finally, Ethan stood.

He did it too quickly, his chair scraping against the floor. It was an attempt to regain some height, some control, some dignity in a room that had quietly slipped away from him.

“Ethan Parker,” he said, extending his hand.

Lucas looked at Ethan’s hand.

Then at his face.

Then, after a brief pause just long enough to be noticed, he shook it.

“Parker,” Lucas said. “Real estate development, yes?”

Ethan’s expression tightened.

“That’s right.”

“I’ve seen your proposals cross my desk.”

For a second, Ethan looked pleased.

Then Lucas added, “Briefly.”

A waiter appeared with the pale, alarmed expression of someone approaching a table where the air itself had become expensive.

“Mr. Moretti,” he said. “Would you like a chair?”

Lucas looked at me. “Would you like me to stay?”

There it was.

The choice.

He gave it to me in front of everyone.

Not command.

Not assumption.

Choice.

I swallowed.

“Yes,” I said. “Please.”

The waiter brought a chair immediately.

Lucas sat beside me as if he belonged there, which was something Lucas seemed capable of doing anywhere. A prison cell, a palace, a sinking ship—he would probably sit with the same composed elegance and make everyone else question whether they were underdressed.

My mother recovered enough to smile.

“Well. This is certainly a surprise.”

“Most important things are,” Lucas said.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, attempting a casual expression that failed to reach his eyes.

“So,” he said, “how long have you and Savannah been… involved?”

The pause before involved was not accidental.

Lucas reached for the wine list.

“Long enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” Lucas agreed. “It’s not.”

My sister gave a tiny nervous laugh.

“Ethan.”

“What?” he said. “We’re all family here.”

I nearly laughed.

Family.

A word people used as a blanket to cover the knives they left on the table.

Lucas turned slightly toward Ethan.

“Are you?”

The question was mild.

Too mild.

Ethan’s smile disappeared.

My father finally spoke.

“Perhaps we should order.”

“Yes,” my mother said quickly. “That’s a good idea.”

Menus opened. Glasses were lifted. People pretended to read while sneaking glances at Lucas and me.

Under the table, my knee bounced.

Lucas noticed.

Without looking at me, he placed his hand near mine on the table—not touching, but close enough that I could choose whether to reach for it.

Again, choice.

I did not take his hand.

But I stopped shaking.

Dinner unfolded with the strange politeness of people sitting on top of a crack in the earth.

My mother asked Lucas about his hotel.

He answered smoothly, speaking about restoration architecture, local artists, union contracts, and a rooftop garden that supplied herbs to two of the restaurants inside the Moretti Grand.

No mention of rumors.

No mention of whispered connections.

No mention of the reason half the restaurant still refused to look directly at him.

My father asked about development along the waterfront. Lucas gave thoughtful answers. Ethan tried to insert himself twice and was gently, almost invisibly, outmaneuvered both times.

Chloe barely spoke.

I watched her across the table.

My younger sister had always been beautiful in a soft, effortless way that made people forgive her before she apologized. Growing up, she was the child who cried prettily after breaking things. I was the one who cleaned up the glass.

Tonight, she looked smaller than usual.

Not innocent.

Just uncertain.

Ethan’s hand rested on the back of her chair, but there was no tenderness in the gesture. It looked more like possession than affection.

That unsettled me.

I did not want to feel concern for her.

Concern felt like betrayal of myself.

But emotions rarely arrive with permission.

When dessert menus came, Ethan finally leaned toward Lucas.

“I have to admit,” he said, “Savannah didn’t mention she was seeing anyone.”

Lucas’s eyes moved to mine briefly.

“She doesn’t owe everyone information about her private life.”

My mother stiffened.

“We’re her family.”

Lucas looked at her.

“Yes.”

One word.

Somehow it made her look away.

Ethan’s smile sharpened.

“Savannah has always been private. Or secretive, depending on who you ask.”

I felt the familiar sting. Ethan knew exactly where to press. He had spent years learning the soft places.

Before I could answer, Lucas spoke.

“Interesting.”

Ethan tilted his head. “What is?”

“That you mistake not being trusted for someone else being secretive.”

Silence pressed against the table.

My father’s mouth twitched, as if he almost approved and was ashamed of it.

Ethan’s eyes hardened.

“You don’t know me.”

“No,” Lucas said. “But I know enough.”

For one second, I wondered what that meant.

Then I remembered the private elevator six months earlier.

Let her up.

And the question that had followed me ever since.

What exactly had Lucas agreed to that night?

The memory returned with startling clarity.

The elevator had carried me to the top floor of the Moretti Grand, where the city stretched beyond floor-to-ceiling windows and the air smelled faintly of cedar and rain.

Lucas had been standing behind a desk so clean it looked unused.

“You’re desperate,” he said.

It was not a question.

I folded my hands to stop them from trembling.

“My family is having dinner next month.”

“Many families do.”

“My ex-fiancé will be there.”

His eyes lifted to mine.

“With your sister.”

That made me pause.

“You know?”

“I know many things that people try to make invisible.”

I should have left then.

Instead, I laughed once, bitterly.

“Then you know why I don’t want to walk in alone.”

Lucas studied me for a long moment.

“You want me to pretend to be your date.”

Hearing it spoken aloud made it sound ridiculous.

“Yes.”

“Why me?”

Because everyone fears you, I almost said.

Because Ethan worships power, and my family listens only when power speaks.

Because I want to borrow someone else’s shadow for one night.

Instead, I said, “Because people don’t interrupt you.”

Something changed in his face then. A flicker. Not amusement. Not pity.

Recognition.

He stepped around the desk.

“People interrupt me all the time, Miss Hayes. They just do it carefully.”

“I can pay you.”

That earned the faintest lift of his brow.

“With what?”

“My emergency savings. It’s not much, but—”

“I’m not for hire.”

Heat rushed to my face.

“Of course. I’m sorry. This was stupid.”

I turned to leave.

His voice stopped me.

“Why not simply refuse to attend?”

The question stung because it was sensible.

“Because if I don’t go, they win.”

“They?”

“My family. Ethan. Chloe. Everyone who expects me to disappear because it would make their lives more comfortable.”

Lucas was quiet.

Then he said, “And if I attend?”

“Then they won’t laugh.”

He walked to the window and looked out at the city.

For a while, he said nothing.

When he turned back, his expression was unreadable.

“I will come,” he said.

I stared at him.

“You will?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His answer had been simple.

“Because I dislike cowards who mistake cruelty for confidence.”

Now, sitting beside him at Bellini’s, I realized that answer had never explained enough.

Not nearly enough.

The dinner ended before dessert.

No one admitted that the evening had collapsed. My mother simply announced she had a headache. My father requested the check. Ethan insisted on paying, perhaps to reclaim some control, but Lucas had already handled it with a quiet word to the waiter.

That irritated Ethan more than any insult would have.

Outside, Seattle rain silvered the sidewalk. Bellini’s windows glowed behind us, warm and golden, as if nothing inside had shifted.

My parents’ car arrived first.

My mother kissed Chloe’s cheek, then hesitated before approaching me.

“Savannah,” she said.

I waited.

For a moment, I thought she might apologize.

Instead, her eyes flicked toward Lucas.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I smiled faintly.

“I’m sure we won’t.”

Her lips tightened, and she left.

My father lingered.

He looked tired. Older than he had inside.

“Savvy,” he said softly, using a childhood nickname I had not heard in years.

The sound almost undid me.

Almost.

But then he looked at Chloe, then Ethan, then back at me, and whatever he wanted to say got buried beneath his lifelong fear of conflict.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

Chloe stood under the awning, arms wrapped around herself. Ethan was on his phone near the curb, speaking in a low, irritated voice.

For the first time that night, my sister looked directly at me.

“Savannah,” she said.

“No.”

Her mouth trembled.

“I just—”

“No,” I repeated, softer this time. “Not tonight.”

She nodded.

Ethan ended his call and slid an arm around her waist.

“Come on.”

He did not look at me when he said it.

He looked at Lucas.

And there, beneath the arrogance, I saw something that surprised me.

Worry.

When they left, the sidewalk felt suddenly too quiet.

Lucas stood beside me, hands in his coat pockets, rain gathering in his dark hair.

“I owe you an apology,” I said.

He looked at me.

“For?”

“For dragging you into that.”

“You asked. I agreed.”

“You didn’t know it would be that uncomfortable.”

“I suspected.”

I wrapped my coat tighter around myself.

“Why did you come?”

“I told you.”

“No,” I said. “You gave me a sentence that sounded good enough to end the conversation. That’s not the same as an answer.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“You’re sharper when you’re angry.”

“I’m usually angry. I’ve just been polite about it.”

“That must be exhausting.”

“It is.”

A black car pulled up to the curb. The massive man from the elevator stepped out and opened the rear door.

Lucas glanced at me.

“May I take you home?”

The sensible answer was no.

The independent answer was no.

The answer that protected me from owing Lucas Moretti anything more than I already did was absolutely not.

But the rain was cold, my family had just scraped old wounds raw, and I suddenly did not want to stand alone on the sidewalk pretending I was fine.

“Yes,” I said.

The car smelled of leather and rain.

Lucas sat beside me, leaving careful space between us. The city moved beyond the tinted windows in streaks of blue and gold.

For several blocks, neither of us spoke.

Then he said, “He still affects you.”

I watched the lights pass.

“Ethan?”

“Yes.”

“I wish he didn’t.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

I looked at him.

Lucas’s profile was calm, almost severe. He did not look curious in the ordinary way. He looked attentive, as though every answer mattered.

“He humiliated me,” I said. “Not just by cheating. Not even by choosing Chloe. It was the way everyone expected me to make it easier for them afterward.”

“How?”

“By forgiving quickly. By attending birthdays. By not mentioning what happened. By letting them turn betrayal into an awkward family misunderstanding.”

“And tonight?”

“Tonight was supposed to be my official surrender.”

Lucas looked out the window.

“You did not surrender.”

“No,” I said. “I lied.”

He turned back to me.

“Did you?”

The question made my pulse stumble.

I gave a nervous laugh.

“Well, unless we’re secretly dating and I missed the memo…”

His eyes held mine.

“It would depend on what you consider dating.”

The air in the car changed.

I looked away first.

“Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say things that sound like they might mean something when they probably don’t.”

Silence followed.

Then Lucas said, quieter, “Fair.”

That one word reached me more than flirtation would have.

Fair.

Ethan had never said fair after I told him something hurt me. He said I was sensitive. Dramatic. Misreading him.

Lucas accepted the boundary as if it were obvious I had the right to set one.

The car stopped outside my apartment building.

It was an older brick building in Capitol Hill, charming in the way realtors used when they meant narrow stairs and unpredictable plumbing.

Lucas looked through the window.

“You live alone?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel safe here?”

I frowned. “That sounds like a loaded question.”

“It is a simple one.”

“Simple questions are rarely simple from men like you.”

His expression did not change, but something in his eyes warmed.

“Men like me?”

“You know what people say.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“People enjoy stories more than facts.”

“Are the facts less interesting?”

“No,” he said. “Just less useful to people who prefer fear.”

I studied him.

“Are you dangerous, Lucas?”

The driver did not move. The rain tapped softly against the roof.

Lucas answered after a moment.

“To some people.”

“Should I be one of them?”

“No.”

The answer came without hesitation.

I believed him.

That frightened me more than if I had not.

At my building entrance, Lucas walked me to the door. The driver remained by the car, watchful.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For tonight?”

“For not making me look foolish.”

“You were never foolish.”

I laughed softly.

“I told my family I was dating the head of the mafia.”

His mouth curved.

“An unfortunate exaggeration.”

“So you admit it was an exaggeration.”

“I admit I do not use that job title.”

I stared at him.

He smiled then.

A real one.

Brief.

Devastating.

“Goodnight, Savannah.”

“Goodnight, Lucas.”

I watched him leave, then climbed the stairs to my apartment with my heart still unsettled.

The next morning, my phone began vibrating before seven.

My mother.

Chloe.

Elaine from work.

Unknown number.

Mother again.

I ignored them all until coffee.

Then a message arrived from Chloe.

Please talk to me. Not about Ethan. About Lucas.

I stared at it.

About Lucas?

Before I could reply, my work phone rang.

The Moretti Grand.

My stomach tightened.

“Savannah Hayes,” I answered.

“Miss Hayes,” came the receptionist’s voice. “Mr. Moretti would like to see you when you arrive.”

Of course he would.

By nine, I was walking through the lobby of the Moretti Grand, trying not to notice the way staff looked at me. They were subtle, but not enough. News traveled in hotels faster than room service.

The private elevator was waiting.

So was the massive man from last night.

“You again,” I said.

His expression remained stone.

“Me again.”

“I never got your name.”

“Matteo.”

“Do you always appear when things become uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.”

The elevator doors opened.

Lucas stood in his office, reading a file. Morning light softened the sharp lines of his face, but not by much.

“Miss Hayes,” he said.

Not Savannah.

Not after last night.

Miss Hayes.

Somehow that stung.

“You wanted to see me?”

He closed the file.

“I wanted to ask whether you are all right.”

I blinked.

“That’s why you called me upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

I had prepared for consequences. Rules. Warnings. Perhaps a reminder that last night had been an arrangement and should not be confused with anything real.

Concern was harder to defend against.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

Lucas waited.

I sighed. “I am not fine, but I am functional.”

“That is a more honest answer.”

“I try to offer variety.”

He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

I sat.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he opened a drawer and removed a small folder.

My name was written on the tab.

A chill moved through me.

“What is that?”

“Information.”

“About me?”

“Yes.”

I stood immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

“Savannah—”

“No. You don’t get to investigate me because you played fake boyfriend at one dinner.”

“I investigated Ethan Parker.”

That stopped me.

The room went quiet.

“Why?”

Lucas leaned back slightly.

“Because when you came to me six months ago, you were afraid of being embarrassed. But you were also afraid of something else.”

I swallowed.

“I was not afraid of Ethan.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“What did you find?”

Lucas tapped one finger once against the folder.

“His development company is in financial trouble. Quietly. He has been seeking investors for a waterfront condominium project that has not secured final permits.”

“That doesn’t involve me.”

“Your sister’s engagement may.”

My chest tightened.

“What does that mean?”

“Chloe Hayes has access to your parents’ trust discussions?”

I stared at him.

“My parents’ money?”

“Yes.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Ethan wouldn’t…”

But the denial weakened before I finished.

Ethan loved admiration. He loved comfort. He loved being seen as the man who had already won. And Chloe had always been the easiest person in our family to flatter into agreement.

Lucas watched me put it together.

“I don’t know that he is marrying her for money,” he said. “I know he has a strong reason to want access to it.”

I sat back down slowly.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because your sister texted you this morning.”

My eyes narrowed.

“How do you know that?”

His expression remained calm.

“Because she called me first.”

The floor seemed to shift.

“Chloe called you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Six thirty-two.”

“Why would Chloe have your number?”

“She didn’t. She called the hotel and asked to be transferred.”

“What did she want?”

Lucas looked toward the windows.

“She asked whether I truly cared about you.”

My breath caught.

“What did you say?”

“I asked why she wanted to know.”

“And?”

He turned back to me.

“She said she thinks Ethan is lying to her.”

For several seconds, I could not speak.

My first feeling was not satisfaction.

I wished it had been.

It would have been simpler to enjoy the thought of Chloe’s perfect engagement cracking under its own weight. But all I felt was a heavy, reluctant sadness.

“She chose him,” I said.

“Yes.”

“She knew what he did to me.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t owe her rescue.”

“No,” Lucas said. “You don’t.”

The absence of pressure made my throat tight.

“What else did she say?”

“That Ethan became angry after dinner. Not openly. Carefully. He asked several questions about me, about the hotel, about whether your relationship could affect business relationships in the city.”

I gave a humorless laugh.

“Of course he did.”

“She also said he told her not to speak with you privately.”

My eyes closed.

That sounded like Ethan.

Not dramatic control. Nothing so obvious anyone could object.

Just gentle instructions wrapped in concern.

Your sister is unstable right now.

Give her space.

Don’t let her manipulate you.

I had heard similar lines when I found them together. He had turned Chloe’s guilt into something to be managed and my pain into something inconvenient.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

Lucas’s voice softened.

“Nothing you don’t choose.”

There it was again.

Choice.

It was starting to feel dangerous, not because he took control, but because he kept handing it back to me.

“I need to speak with her,” I said.

“I can arrange a private room here.”

“No. If I talk to Chloe, it won’t be in your hotel like some political negotiation.”

“Where then?”

I thought of our childhood home. Too many memories. Too much history.

“My apartment,” I said. “Neutral enough. Small enough that nobody can perform.”

Lucas nodded.

“If you need anything—”

“I know,” I said.

His mouth curved faintly. “Do you?”

“No. But I’m guessing you were about to imply I should call you.”

“I was going to say Matteo can wait downstairs.”

“That is somehow worse.”

“Safer.”

“I don’t need a guard.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Lucas.”

He held up one hand slightly.

“All right.”

I stood.

At the door, I paused.

“Why are you helping me?”

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he said, “Because no one helped my mother when she needed it.”

The answer was so unexpected I forgot my next breath.

Lucas’s face closed almost immediately, as if the sentence had escaped without permission.

“I’ll send you the information on Ethan,” he said.

And just like that, the door between us shut.

Chloe arrived at my apartment that evening wearing leggings, a camel coat, and no engagement ring.

I noticed immediately.

So did she.

“I took it off,” she said.

“Come in.”

She stepped inside and looked around as if she had never seen my apartment before, though she had been there countless times. Maybe she was seeing it differently now. Not as the place she had betrayed me, but as the place I had survived afterward.

I made tea because I needed something to do with my hands.

Chloe stood near the kitchen counter.

“I don’t deserve tea.”

“No, but I’m making it anyway.”

Her eyes filled.

“Savannah…”

“Don’t cry yet,” I said. “I’m not ready to be kind.”

She nodded quickly and wiped her face.

We sat across from each other at my small dining table.

For a while, the only sound was rain against the windows.

Then Chloe said, “I thought he loved me.”

I looked down at my mug.

“So did I.”

She flinched.

Good, I thought.

Then immediately hated myself for thinking it.

“He told me you and he were already basically over,” she said. “That you were cold. That you made him feel like a failure. That he wanted to end things but didn’t know how without hurting you.”

I laughed softly.

“That sounds familiar.”

“I wanted to believe him.”

“Yes.”

“Because if I believed him, then I wasn’t the kind of sister who would do something unforgivable.”

The words hung between us.

Chloe stared at her hands.

“I am that sister.”

I said nothing.

“I know saying sorry doesn’t fix it,” she continued. “I know you probably hate me.”

“I did.”

Her eyes lifted.

“Did?”

“Hate takes energy. Eventually I needed the energy for rent.”

A broken laugh escaped her, then turned into a sob she tried to swallow.

I did not comfort her.

Not yet.

“What changed?” I asked.

“Ethan after dinner. The way he looked at Lucas. It wasn’t jealousy. It was fear.”

I nodded slowly.

“He asked if you knew anything about his company. Then he asked what Lucas had told you. Then he said you were trying to ruin our engagement because you couldn’t accept that I was chosen.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Chosen.

Ethan had always known how to make ordinary needs sound like destiny.

“I asked him why it mattered if he had nothing to hide,” Chloe said. “He got quiet. Really quiet.”

I knew that quiet.

It had once frightened me more than shouting.

“Then he told me I should ask Dad about moving up the trust distribution before the wedding.”

There it was.

The missing piece settling into place.

I leaned back.

“Chloe.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Her tears spilled over.

“I think he proposed because of the money.”

I wanted to say she deserved it.

The sentence formed easily.

It would have been satisfying for maybe three seconds.

Then it would have lived between us forever.

Instead, I asked, “Do Mom and Dad know?”

“No. I told them I needed time.”

“Good.”

She wiped her cheeks.

“Savannah, I’m sorry. For Ethan. For believing him. For making you sit at that table like you were the problem. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I needed to say it without him standing next to me.”

Her apology did not heal me.

But it entered the room honestly.

That mattered.

“I don’t know what we are after this,” I said.

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I can be your sister the way I was before.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

That answer surprised me.

For the first time in years, Chloe did not sound like the little sister asking life to soften around her. She sounded like a woman staring at the consequences of her own choices.

My phone buzzed.

Lucas.

I glanced at the screen.

One message.

Do not open the door for Ethan. He is on his way.

My blood went cold.

Chloe saw my face.

“What?”

I turned the phone toward her.

She stood so quickly her chair nearly tipped.

“How does he know where you live?”

“He’s been here before,” I said.

“No. I mean tonight. I didn’t tell him I came.”

A knock sounded at the door.

Not loud.

Not violent.

Polite.

That was Ethan’s way.

Chloe covered her mouth.

Another knock.

“Savannah,” Ethan called through the door. “I know Chloe’s there. We need to talk.”

I stared at the door.

Every old instinct rose in me.

Smooth it over.

Don’t cause a scene.

Make it easier.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Lucas.

Matteo is outside. Say the word.

I looked at Chloe.

She was trembling.

For the first time, she looked at me not as the older sister she had betrayed, but as the only person in the room who understood the man outside the door.

I typed one word.

Please.

Thirty seconds later, a deeper voice sounded in the hallway.

“Mr. Parker.”

Silence.

Then Ethan, sharper now, “Who are you?”

“Someone asking you to leave.”

“I’m here to speak with my fiancée.”

Chloe flinched.

I walked to the door but did not open it.

“She doesn’t want to speak to you,” I said.

There was a pause.

Then Ethan laughed softly.

“Savannah. This is exactly what I told her you’d do.”

Chloe stepped beside me.

“No,” she said, voice shaking. “This is what I’m choosing.”

Another silence.

This one longer.

Then Ethan’s voice dropped.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Matteo’s reply was calm.

“Everyone heard that.”

A moment later, footsteps retreated down the hall.

Chloe sank onto my sofa and covered her face.

I stood by the door, breathing hard.

It was over in less than two minutes.

No shouting.

No drama.

Still, something inside me shook as if a storm had passed through.

My phone rang.

Lucas.

I answered.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I closed my eyes.

“Yes.”

“Your sister?”

“Scared. But safe.”

“Good.”

There was a pause.

“Savannah,” he said, “Ethan is not only desperate for your family’s trust.”

My eyes opened.

“What does that mean?”

“I reviewed the documents tied to his waterfront project. One of the investors is hidden behind a holding company.”

“And?”

“The company is connected to my hotel.”

My hand tightened around the phone.

“Your hotel?”

“To a proposed expansion site beside it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I rejected Ethan’s development proposal eight months ago. He has been trying to force the issue through another route.”

“What route?”

“Your family owns a parcel he needs.”

I turned slowly toward Chloe.

She was watching me, pale and silent.

“My family owns what?”

“A narrow piece of waterfront property held in an old Hayes trust. Without it, Ethan’s project cannot connect to the main road. With it, his investors make a fortune.”

My pulse thundered.

I knew almost nothing about my parents’ trusts. Chloe knew even less. We had grown up hearing vague references to old property, inherited land, complicated paperwork our father handled and our mother called boring.

Ethan had not chosen Chloe by accident.

He had chosen access.

Lucas continued, “There is something else.”

Of course there was.

“There always is with men like Ethan,” I whispered.

“The trust does not pass through your father.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“It was created by your grandfather. The controlling beneficiary is not Chloe. It is not your parents.”

My mouth went dry.

“Who is it?”

Lucas was quiet for one beat.