By the time the police statement was finalized, darkness had already swallowed the city.
From the office next door, a heated argument bled through the walls—voices raw, as if venting a lifetime of resentment.
Eva hesitated, then approached Mrs. Salazar.
The older woman had calmed considerably. Her head wound had been dressed and bandaged.
"I dragged you into this," Mrs. Salazar said, her voice weary. "But you're loyal. I appreciate that. I'll contact you once I've sorted out the chaos on my end."
Eva nodded. "Take care, Mrs. Salazar."
In their world of fame and transactional relationships, polite dismissals were common currency. She knew better than to take the promise seriously.
Eva stepped out into the bright glare of streetlights. Immediately, she spotted a figure leaning against a sleek sports car—white shirt, black dress pants, cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke curled around his face, unable to obscure the arrogant set of his brow.
Elliot.
She'd assumed their entanglement ended at the hotel. She hadn't expected him to be waiting here.
Her phone buzzed. A glance at the screen explained his presence.
In less than a day, the rumor mill had spun a new narrative: Eva Sullivan, desperate to help Elliot secure a contract, seduced Blake Salazar and was caught red-handed by his wife.
The story had spread like wildfire.
A dry, humorless laugh escaped her.
She shoved the phone back into her bag and descended the stairs, intending to walk right past him.
But Elliot was waiting for a confrontation. He pushed off the car and blocked her path.
"Still throwing a tantrum?"
He looked down at her with those signature heavy-lidded eyes—the kind that appeared deeply affectionate no matter who they focused on. A gaze that had deceived her for eight years. A trap she'd wasted her youth falling into.
Now, her heart remained still.
She took a deliberate step back. Her face was a mask of indifference.
"Move."
Elliot rubbed the space between his brows, a patronizing smile playing on his lips as he closed the distance again.
"Eva, come on. Stop making a fuss. I sincerely apologize for what happened. I know I'm still in your heart. Just be good, okay?"
"I'm married," Eva said flatly. She had no energy left for these games.
Elliot's expression faltered. A moment later, a smirk tugged at his mouth.
"You mean the arrangement with the Farley family?"
Eva didn't answer. She neither admitted nor denied it.
To Elliot, her silence was an admission of a lie.
"Hudson's in Melbourne right now."
Eva raised an eyebrow. "So what?"
Elliot frowned, subtle anger simmering beneath his calm. "So you're telling me you actually got the certificate with Hudson Farley?"
People in their circle knew the score. They knew why the Farleys had chosen Eva Sullivan—a placeholder, a band-aid for a scandal. There would be no grand wedding. And even if there were, the Farley banquet wasn't something Elliot could attend on a whim.
Eva didn't know if Austin intended to make their marriage public yet. She couldn't risk exposing him, so she chose ambiguity.
"You should worry about your girlfriend's situation, not mine," she said coldly. "My life is none of your business. Stay away from me."
She tried to sidestep him.
A shadow detached from the background. A man in a dark suit stepped forward, intercepting them with practiced smoothness.
"Good evening, Ma'am." His tone was respectful but firm. "I'm Lincoln Cross, Mr. Farley's personal bodyguard. He instructed me to escort you home."
Eva paused. This bodyguard was different from the usual muscle-bound security. Lincoln was tall and lean, radiating a sharp, lethal elegance. The black suit didn't make him look like corporate staff—it gave him the air of a refined hitman.
Her gaze shifted past him to the luxury sedan idling at the curb.
She recognized the license plate—a distinctive sequence of auspicious numbers. The same car Austin had used to pick her up from the Mason estate.
She nodded.
Lincoln turned and opened the rear door.
Eva bent to get in, but Elliot lunged forward, disbelief warring with anger. He wanted to grab her, to demand how long she planned to keep up this charade.
Lincoln moved instantly. He didn't just block Elliot—he became an impassable wall.
"Mr. Henson." His voice dropped to a warning chill. "Have some self-respect."
Elliot froze. He had never expected a bodyguard to lecture him on dignity.
His hands clenched into fists, veins bulging. "Get out of my way."
Lincoln didn't flinch.
Elliot laughed in sheer fury. He was about to swing when the wail of a returning patrol car cut through the air. The siren grew louder—a sharp reminder of where they were.
The noise forcibly suppressed the fire in his chest.
He watched as Eva entered the car. The door shut with a solid thud, sealing her away from him.
The sedan merged into traffic and disappeared into the night.
Elliot cursed and kicked the tire of his sports car.
Damn it.
He didn't understand this feeling. He had never truly cared about Eva Sullivan. But watching her leave in another man's car clawed at his pride. It felt wrong.
Later, at a private club.
When Elliot arrived, his usual entourage was waiting.
"Boss! How'd it go? Did you get the contract?"
A man stood, poured a glass of premium liquor, and handed it to Elliot with a grin.
Wrong question.
Elliot's face darkened. With a violent sweep, he kicked the coffee table over. Bottles and glasses shattered, liquid splashing across the expensive carpet.
The room went silent. The men and women who'd been joking froze. They'd followed Elliot for years, but they'd never seen him lose his temper like this.
The man who'd offered the drink quickly waved his hand, dismissing everyone. Once the room cleared, he lit a cigarette and handed it over with trembling fingers.
"Boss... what happened?"
Elliot took a drag, exhaustion lining his features. "Check Hudson Farley's itinerary. And his marital status."
"Did something happen with the Farleys?"
Elliot shot him a glare cold enough to freeze water. The man shut his mouth, nodded, and hurried out.
The door clicked shut.
Elliot leaned back against the sofa, a dull ache radiating from his stomach.
Instinctively, he pulled out his phone to call Eva. His thumb hovered over her name. But the image of her walking away without a backward glance flashed through his mind.
That license plate... if he wasn't mistaken, it really did belong to the main Farley household.
Rumors of Eva climbing the social ladder had circulated for weeks, but he'd dismissed them as nonsense. He knew Eva. He knew her obsession with him. It was impossible for her to leave him for real.
Or so he'd thought.
Tonight had shattered that certainty. Something had quietly, irrevocably changed.
The thought made him inexplicably irritable. He crushed the half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray, stood, and stormed out.
Downstairs, the dance floor was a sea of writhing bodies. In the past, he would've sat at the bar, letting beautiful women throw themselves at him. Tonight, the prospect made him sick.
He drove home alone.
Standing in his dark, empty living room, his mind was a mess. Filled with Eva Sullivan.
From the moment she stepped into that Farley car, an uncomfortable sensation had taken root in his chest—like a vital piece of himself was being slowly ripped away.
He let out a scoff of self-mockery.
Pulling out his phone, he dialed Catherine.
It's just a woman, he told himself.
What Elliot Henson lacked least in this world was women.
