lissa frowned. "The land?"
"Yes."
"Which one?" she asked, already sensing the shift in his tone.
"The Willowood land," he said. "The remote one."
Her brows knitted. "What about it?"
Gregory ran a hand over his face. "For the past couple of years, I have been getting offers for it, serious ones. Double the market price, sotis triple."
lissa straightened. "That doesn’t make sense."
"Exactly," he replied. "It’s isolated. No proper infrastructure, no imdiate developnt plans in that area."
"Then why would anyone—" She stopped. "Unless they know sothing we don’t."
"That’s what worries ," Gregory said. "Everyone keeps calling it an ’investnt opportunity’ without explaining why."
lissa was quiet for a mont, then asked slowly, "Isn’t that land in Evelyn’s na now?"
Gregory nodded. "It is."
Her expression shifted—concern replacing curiosity. "Since when were the offers coming?"
"Before and after the transfer," he said. "But they have beco more aggressive recently."
lissa folded her arms, thinking. "Have any of them ntioned what they want to do with it?"
"No," Gregory replied. "Just vague promises, partnerships and future projects."
"That’s never a good sign," she said flatly.
Gregory looked out into the darkness again. "I didn’t want to burden Evelyn with this before the wedding. She has enough on her plate."
lissa placed her hand over his. "You are protecting her. That’s not a mistake."
"But I don’t like coincidences," he said. "And I don’t like how suddenly everyone seems interested in sothing that was ignored for decades."
lissa squeezed his hand gently. "Then we stay alert. Quietly, no panic."
He nodded. "That’s the plan."
She rested her head briefly against his shoulder. "Whatever it is, we will handle it together."
Gregory looked down at her and managed a small smile. "Like always."
The night stretched on around them—calm on the surface, uneasy beneath—while sowhere far away, a piece of land sat waiting, holding secrets neither of them yet understood.
.....
[Reid Mansion — Benjamin’s Study]
The study was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the desk lamp casting a tired glow over scattered files and half-read reports.
Benjamin sat behind the desk, one hand pressed to his temple, the other holding his phone.
"Yes," he said quietly. "He rejected it again?"
A pause.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"When you doubled the amount?"
Another pause, longer this ti.
Benjamin leaned back in his chair, eyes lifting to the ceiling as if patience itself were running thin. "Then triple it," he said calmly. "If that’s what it takes."
There was hesitation on the other end.
"I don’t care how unreasonable it sounds," Benjamin continued, voice low but unyielding. "Make the deal happen. He doesn’t need to like it—he just needs to agree."
He ended the call without waiting for a response.
The silence that followed was oppressive.
Benjamin set the phone down slowly and closed his eyes. A dull ache throbbed behind them, the kind that ca not from exhaustion alone but from too many things piling up without resolution.
First Alexander’s accident, then Jack’s disappearance and now Pauline’s sudden return.
Each one, on its own, would have been manageable but together, they felt like a reckoning.
He pushed his chair back and stood, walking toward the window.
Outside, the mansion grounds were quiet, bathed in soft lights that made everything look deceptively peaceful.
Twenty years ago, he would have stood here believing he was invincible—untouchable, certain that every choice he made was justified but now, he wasn’t so certain anymore.
His thoughts drifted back, uninvited, to a younger version of himself, to the arrogance of youth and to the thrill of being wanted without responsibility, without history, without expectation.
Olivia had been easy then—easy admiration, easy affection, easy escape.
And he had been weak.
The mory hit sharper than he expected.
He still rembered Pauline standing in the doorway that night silent and still. Her eyes steady, not raised in anger or desperation, not asking questions or demanding explanations.
All he could see in her eyes was betrayal.
He rembered thinking she would argue, cry, fight but she hadn’t.
She had turned around and left the mansion as if sothing inside her had shut forever.
That had been the mont he truly lost her—not when he brought Olivia ho, but when he underestimated Pauline’s strength.
Benjamin exhaled slowly, fingers curling at his side.
The lust he had once felt for Olivia had burned bright and fast, then faded into habit, convenience, obligation. What remained now was a hollow partnership propped up by appearances and inertia.
What he had felt for Pauline had never gone away even after twenty years. It had simply been buried under pride, guilt, and ti.
His feet carried him out of the study without conscious thought.
The corridors were quiet as he moved through the mansion, each step echoing softly until he reached the master bedroom door.
He paused there.
Twenty years.
That room had remained untouched in spirit, even when cleaned and aired, even when the house continued to live around it.
He took a deep breath and opened the door.
Pauline was already in bed, lying on her side, facing away from him. The lamp was off, the room dim except for the faint light spilling in from the hallway.
She didn’t turn when he entered, she didn’t acknowledge him at all.
Benjamin closed the door quietly behind him.
He changed in silence, his movents careful, restrained, as if any sound might fracture what little peace existed between them.
When he finally lay down on the other side of the bed, there was space between them—not hostile, not cold but unmistakably deliberate.
They lay back to back with no words exchanged yet Benjamin felt her presence more acutely than he ever had before.
He stared into the darkness as the weight of regret pressed heavily against his chest.
He wanted to speak—to apologize, to explain, to confess that everything he had once believed important had proven hollow.
But apologies offered after twenty years felt almost insulting.
So he stayed silent.
Pauline didn’t move.
And as sleep slowly claid him, Benjamin Reid ca to terms with a truth he had avoided for decades:
The woman he had loved was still beside him and the life he could have had had never truly left but he was just too late to reach for it.
....
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