By late afternoon, Emma had tried everything in reaching out to the assistants, circling old contacts, even offering discreet bribes but hit wall after wall. It was as if the man’s identity had been scrubbed clean or never written down at all.
She returned to Jean’s office, empty-handed but not defeated.
"I tried," she confessed, placing a file on Jean’s desk. "Even Alex’s junior assistant acted like she didn’t know anything. But the weird thing is... she got nervous when I ntioned your na and ’wedding’ in the sa sentence."
Jean’s brows pinched together. "So she knows sothing."
Emma nodded. "Yes. And she’s scared to talk."
Jean stared blankly at the file, then pushed it away. "This is insane. They’re hiding the man like he’s so kind of secret weapon."
"Maybe he is," Emma said quietly. "A weapon ant to keep you in line."
Jean’s heart thudded painfully. That nagging feeling returned again... the sa chill that ran down her spine at the dining table.
"Who the hell are you," she whispered, "and what do you want from ?"
Emma sat down across from Jean with a hesitant smile. "By the way... your mother’s assistant called this morning. She wants to start booking your designer and salon appointnts."
Jean didn’t react at first. Then she let out a quiet breath and muttered, "The gala."
"You knew?"
"She ntioned it at breakfast," Jean said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "So high-end corporate parade, right? All those snakes under one glittering roof."
Emma chuckled dryly. "That’s one way to describe it."
Jean gave a sardonic smile. "Going to a party with my family is like sitting in a lion’s den. It’s never pleasant to put on a fake smile throughout the night."
"I figured you’d say that," Emma said, her voice gentler now. "That’s why I’m giving you an out for tonight."
Jean raised a brow. "What kind of out?"
"A peaceful dinner," Emma grinned. "Just you and . Sothing low-key. No pressure. No rich fiancés lurking in the shadows."
Jean let out a soft laugh, the first genuine one in days. "A girl’s night, huh?"
"I’m always down for a girl’s night," Emma said with a wink.
Jean leaned back in her chair and nodded. "Okay. Let’s do it. Before the madness of designer gowns and forced smiles takes over."
Emma stood. "I’ll pick the place. And I’m paying. You’ve had enough stress for a lifeti already."
Jean smiled again, softer this ti. "Thanks, Em. I needed this."
__________________________
The rooftop restaurant Emma picked was cozy, modern, and dimly lit with strings of golden fairy lights weaving around rustic beams. The scent of rosemary and roasted garlic hung in the air. It was everything Jean needed... quiet, intimate, far from the chaos of ho.
For a while, it was perfect.
Jean swirled her wine glass lazily, letting Emma’s chatter about the interns and recent pitch etings distract her. They laughed... genuinely and for the first ti in days, Jean didn’t feel like she was holding her breath.
Until she turned her head.
And saw him.
Logan Kingsley.
Tall, poised, in a crisp charcoal suit that hugged his fra like sin. Sitting at a long table just across the room... with his mother, father, and younger sister. His family.
Jean’s stomach twisted. Her grip on the wine stem tightened.
Emma followed her gaze and froze. "Oh no."
Logan looked up at that exact mont. Their eyes t... just for a second and Jean felt it like a slap to her soul.
Cold, sharp and far too familiar.
His expression didn’t flicker. No recognition. No anger. Just...nothing. Like she was just another stranger in the room.
She took a sharp breath and turned back to her plate, stabbing a piece of grilled asparagus like it had personally wronged her.
Emma leaned closer, whispering, "We can leave."
"No," Jean said, forcing a calm tone. "We ca here first."
"But..."
"I’m not going to run," Jean added, smiling tightly. "Let him pretend I don’t exist. Two can play that ga."
Across the room, Logan’s mother nudged him and said sothing with a smile. Logan gave a nod, his jaw clenched just enough for Jean to notice.
They were all pretending. Must be.
Jean raised her glass toward Emma. "To girl’s night," she said, her voice low but firm.
Emma tapped her glass gently. "To enjoy our girl’s night."
But even as they toasted, the warmth of the evening had already cooled. Because peace, as Jean was learning, never lasted long in her world.
Logan Kingsley had been doing fine.
The restaurant his mother picked was tasteful, elegant, and peaceful. His father was enjoying the wine, Hannah was sharing her latest university drama, and Martha... his ever-attentive mother... was beaming at how nicely the family had co together for once.
Until Martha leaned in with a whisper that shattered the illusion.
"Isn’t that Jean Adams over there?"
Logan paused mid-cut, his knife hovering over the steak. He didn’t even have to look. His jaw tensed, his stomach coiled. But against his better judgnt, his eyes followed his mother’s subtle gesture.
And there she was.
Jean.
Looking infuriatingly composed, dressed in effortless elegance, laughing at sothing Emma said. Like nothing had ever happened.
Like he hadn’t signed away his silence just days ago for her sake. Like she hadn’t torn through his principles, left his pride bleeding on the floor of that hospital room, and walked away.
"Relax your face, big bro," Hannah teased, grinning. "You look like you just saw your ex with soone hotter."
"She’s not my ex," Logan muttered, eyes narrowing. "She’s a lesson."
"Ooh, soone’s bitter," Martha said, chuckling softly. "You used to say she wasn’t worth your ti."
"She’s not," Logan said, too quickly.
But even as he said it, he couldn’t stop watching her. The way she lifted her glass, the slight arch of her brow when she smiled at sothing Emma said. She looked... untouchable.
As always.
He hated that about her.
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