Ryan’s POV
I finished scrubbing the last pot in Serena’s kitchen, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows and my thousand-dollar watch carefully set aside.
Who would’ve thought that Ryan Blackwood, CEO of a billion-dollar empire, would be elbow-deep in dish soap at midnight? Certainly not a few weeks ago.
"That’s the last one," I announced, drying my hands on a kitchen towel.
Serena looked up from her spot on the couch, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "You actually did a decent job. I’m impressed."
"Does that earn the right to stay a little longer?" I asked, moving toward her with deliberate slowness.
She tucked her legs underneath her, a protective gesture I recognized imdiately. "It’s late, Ryan. And pregnant won need their sleep."
"Just one more cup of tea," I pressed, not ready to leave her presence yet.
Serena hesitated, then glanced at the clock. "It’s almost midnight."
"Since when does Serena Quinn worry about proper bedtis?" I teased, rembering how she used to work until 3 AM on her designs.
"Since there is a little Blackwoods using my organs as punching bags," she retorted, but there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips.
I conceded defeat, grabbing my jacket. As I headed toward the door, Serena suddenly called out, "I’ve been craving that salmon avocado bowl from Marlow’s. The one with the spicy aioli."
I paused, hand on the doorknob, montarily confused. "Okay...?"
"For tomorrow," she clarified, not quite eting my eyes. "If you’re planning on bringing lunch again."
The implication hit , and I couldn’t suppress my smile. She was giving permission—no, an invitation—to see her tomorrow.
"Salmon avocado bowl. Extra aioli. Got it," I confird, feeling ridiculously pleased with myself.
Serena nodded, trying to look nonchalant. "Good night, Ryan."
"Sweet dreams, Serena," I replied, stepping out into the hallway with a lightness in my step I hadn’t felt in years.
Back in my own apartnt next door,I poured myself a nightcap and looked out at the city lights.
For the first ti in months, I felt like I was making actual progress.
The wall she’d built around herself had a small crack in it now, and I intended to widen it.
---
The next morning, Simon was waiting for with an envelope and a concerned expression.
"Mr. Blackwood, there’s an invitation from Mr. Harrison Wells for an exclusive gala dinner next week. His assistant specifically requested that Ms. Sophie Hart also attend."
I nearly spat out my coffee. "Sophie? Who the hell authorized her return?"
Simon shifted uncomfortably. "According to HR records, Mr. Kane approved her transfer back from the Boston office last month."
Of course it was Kane. My uncle never missed an opportunity to undermine .
"And the Wells project—was she involved with that?" I asked, my mind racing through the implications.
Simon nodded. "Yes, sir. According to the project logs, Ms. Hart handled the preliminary negotiations quite successfully."
I fell silent, weighing my options. Harrison Wells was a major potential partner, and if Sophie had built rapport with him...
"Have soone monitor her closely," I finally said. "I don’t want any office gossip or drama while she’s here."
"Understood, sir. Regarding the invitation—should I inform Ms. Hart about it?"
I nodded reluctantly. "Send her the invitation. Tell her attendance is mandatory."
Wells had specifically requested her presence, and I couldn’t afford to offend a potential business partner worth millions.
"Will do, sir."
As Simon turned to leave, a thought struck . The last thing I wanted was to attend this event alone with Sophie.
"Simon, wait." I pulled out my phone, my fingers hovering over Serena’s number. "I need to make a call first."
After Simon left, I dialed Serena, hoping she wasn’t in the middle of sothing important.
"Ryan?" Her voice ca through, sounding surprised. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything’s fine," I assured her quickly. "I was calling about sothing else." I paused, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. "There’s a business dinner next week with Harrison Wells. Would you consider attending with ?"
The silence on the other end stretched uncomfortably long.
"You want to be your date to a business dinner?" she finally asked, her tone unreadable.
"Not exactly a date," I backpedaled, then reconsidered. "Unless you want it to be."
I heard her soft laugh. "Why do I feel like there’s sothing you’re not telling ?"
Damn, she always could read well. "Sophie will be there," I admitted. "Wells specifically requested her presence for so reason."
"Ah," Serena said, understanding dawning in her voice. "So I’d be there as, what? A buffer? Your pregnant human shield?"
"No," I replied firmly. "You’d be there as the mother of my children and the woman I—" I caught myself before saying too much. "As my guest. An important guest."
Serena was quiet for a mont, and I found myself holding my breath.
"Fine," she finally said. "But you’re buying a new dress. This bump doesn’t fit into anything fancy anymore."
Relief washed over . "Done. I’ll have my stylist send over so options."
"No need," she countered. "I’ll pick sothing myself. You can just foot the bill."
I couldn’t help but smile. "Whatever you want, Serena. And thank you."
After we hung up, I leaned back in my chair, feeling a strange mixture of dread and anticipation.
A business dinner with my ex-wife, my ex-girlfriend, and one of the most powerful n in the industry. What could possibly go wrong?
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