The afternoon sun bathed my office in golden light as Roman sat across from , his fingers nervously drumming against his knee.
"So you're saying..." he began cautiously, "the distributorship will remain exclusively mine? Even after this eting with the Hawthornes and Prescott's group?"
I nodded, taking a sip of tea. "Your performance has been exemplary, Roman. I have no reason to change our arrangent."
Relief washed over his face. The poor man had been fidgeting since he arrived, clearly terrified that I'd been using him as bait for bigger fish. In truth, the thought had crossed my mind—but loyalty deserved reward in this cutthroat world.
"The eting is rely to establish boundaries," I explained. "Let them understand that the Soul Nourishnt Pill exists and will continue to exist in the market, regardless of their interference."
"And Sebastian Hawthorne?" Roman's voice dropped to a whisper, as though the na itself might summon the man.
"Leave him to ," I replied, my tone hardening. "Focus on distribution and nothing else. Can you do that?"
Roman straightened in his chair. "Absolutely. I won't let you down."
After seeing Roman out, I checked my phone to find three ssages from Isabelle. The last one simply read: "Dinner tonight? I'm cooking."
A smile touched my lips. Isabelle Ashworth—cooking? This I had to see.
---
By evening, word of Roman's continued distributorship had spread through Havenwood City's business circles like wildfire. My phone buzzed constantly with calls from numbers I didn't recognize—desperate attempts from various entrepreneurs to secure secondary distribution rights.
I ignored them all as my car pulled up to the Ashworth Estate. The grand mansion stood illuminated against the darkening sky, a monunt to old money and influence. Yet tonight, it felt different, more welcoming.
Isabelle greeted at the door herself—a departure from protocol that would have scandalized her household staff. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she wore a casual blouse rather than her usual designer outfits.
"You ca," she said, a hint of uncertainty in her voice as she led inside.
"You cooked," I replied with a smile. "I wouldn't miss it."
Her eyes brightened as she guided past the formal dining room toward a smaller, more intimate space. A table for two had been set near large windows overlooking the garden, complete with candles and fresh flowers.
"I dismissed the staff for the evening," Isabelle explained. "Except for Mrs. Liu, who refused to leave the property while I attempted to use the kitchen."
I laughed. "Probably wise."
The kitchen told the story of her culinary battle—flour dusted every surface, vegetable peels cluttered the counter, and sothing dark and crusty clung to the stovetop. In the midst of this chaos stood Isabelle, looking proudly at several covered dishes.
"I hope you're hungry," she said, carrying a platter to the table.
I was starving, but that sentint quickly died as she unveiled her creations. What appeared to be so form of pasta had congealed into a grayish mass. Beside it sat vegetables charred beyond recognition and bread that could double as a doorstop.
"I made pasta carbonara," Isabelle announced, her voice tinged with hope. "With garlic bread and roasted vegetables."
I stabbed at the pasta, which resisted my fork with surprising tenacity. The first bite required all my willpower not to grimace—the sauce was simultaneously raw and burnt, with pockets of pure salt that ambushed my taste buds.
"It's..." I searched desperately for words that weren't outright lies, "unlike anything I've had before."
Isabelle watched anxiously. "Is it terrible? You can be honest."
I looked at her hopeful expression, at the flour smudged across her cheek, at the kitchen disaster behind her—all evidence of genuine effort from a woman who had probably never cooked a al in her life.
"It's perfect," I said, taking another heroic bite. "Because you made it."
Her smile was worth every painful swallow. We ate—or in my case, strategically rearranged food on my plate—while discussing the upcoming eting with Havenwood's business elite. Eventually, I steered the conversation toward safer topics.
"What made you decide to cook tonight?" I asked.
Isabelle's expression turned thoughtful. "I realized I've never done anything purely for you—sothing that required effort rather than money." She looked down at her plate. "Though perhaps my effort would have been better spent ordering takeout."
I reached across the table, taking her hand. "No. This ans more."
After dinner, we escaped to the garden. The night air carried the scent of jasmine as we strolled beneath a canopy of stars, the full moon casting everything in silver light.
"My stomach may never recover," I admitted with a laugh.
Isabelle bumped her shoulder against mine. "Next ti I'll stick to what I'm good at."
"Which is?"
"Business. Intimidating people. Supporting you."
If you're not on *, you're viewing a copy.
We stopped beside a small pond where koi fish drifted like living shadows beneath the surface. Isabelle turned to face , suddenly serious.
"Liam, I've been thinking about us—about the future." Her voice was soft but determined. "I have resources, connections. I can help you build whatever empire you envision."
I watched her carefully. "And what would you want in return?"
"Nothing. Everything." She hesitated. "You. Us."
"You're offering to financially support ?" I asked, surprised by her directness.
Isabelle nodded. "Is that so strange? I could arrange our wedding within weeks. We could build a life together while you focus on your research and cultivation."
The offer stunned —not just the practicality of it, but the vulnerability behind it. This woman, who could have anyone, was essentially proposing to .
I took both her hands in mine. "Before I t you, I was just drifting through life. But now..." I paused, searching for the right words. "You've given purpose, Isabelle. Sothing worth fighting for."
Her eyes glistened in the moonlight. "Then accept my help."
I shook my head. "Not like this. I want to earn my place at your side."
"You already have," she insisted.
"Give one year," I said firmly. "One year to build sothing worthy of you. And then, I promise you a proposal and wedding that will make the whole city talk for decades."
Isabelle studied for a long mont. "Is my impatience so obvious?"
"Your support is obvious," I corrected. "And I treasure it more than you know. But this is sothing I need to do."
A smile slowly spread across her face. "One year, then."
I pulled her close, our silhouettes rging in the moonlight. "One year," I repeated, sealing the promise with a kiss that tasted faintly of burnt garlic and sothing sweeter—hope.
---
Later that night, after I'd departed, Isabelle stood at her bedroom window, watching my car disappear through the estate gates.
"You seem different, Miss Ashworth," her secretary observed from the doorway.
Isabelle turned, a serene expression on her face. "Different how, Victoria?"
"Before, you seed focused on Mr. Knight becoming soone important in society. Now..." Victoria hesitated. "Now you seem ready to support him regardless of his position."
"Because I've realized sothing," Isabelle replied, her gaze drifting back to the window. "Success ans different things to different people. Liam's ambition isn't for show—it's about substance, about changing things that matter."
"And that's enough for you? Even if he never reaches the social circles your family expects?"
Isabelle's expression hardened slightly. "My family's expectations are no longer my concern. If Liam wants to succeed, I'll do my best to help him. And if he doesn't..." She smiled. "Then we'll build a different life together. Either way, I've made my choice."
Victoria nodded, recognizing the familiar determination in her employer's voice—the sa resolve that had made Isabelle a formidable businesswoman, now redirected toward sothing more personal, more profound.
As she left Isabelle alone with her thoughts, Victoria couldn't help but wonder which would prove the greater force: Liam Knight's ambition or Isabelle Ashworth's devotion. Both, she suspected, were about to reshape Havenwood City in ways no one could predict.
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