Patrick Jordan glanced at his phone, barely masking his indifference. Charley Jenkins had pinged him with a dinner invite on messaging app, but he couldn’t muster a single ounce of enthusiasm. His mind was still tangled up in the mess Noelle Kelley had made earlier at the office. If he didn’t come home tonight, who knew what she'd pull next? He told himself it was safer to just go home—keep the peace, keep control.
He’d barely settled into the backseat and told his driver to head home when Charley’s video call flickered through.
"Patrick, are you busy? Did you miss my message earlier?" Her voice dripped with that familiar, coaxing warmth that had carved out a soft spot in his heart years ago—thanks to some childhood memory he could never shake. He'd never been able to say no to her. Never wanted to let her down.
"Hmm," he answered, noncommittal.
Before she could push further, he cut in, "Charley, I’ve got a meeting tonight, and I’m already running late. Make sure you rest after work."
"Okay," she replied with a tight smile, failing to hide the disappointment creeping into her face. She hadn’t gotten a reply to her earlier text, so she’d decided to call a few of Patrick’s contacts to find out if he had dinner plans. Every single one had said no.
Now her mind was spiraling. Was Patrick dining with strangers? Or worse—was he heading home to Noelle? She couldn’t focus on the shoot. Feigning illness through her assistant to the director, she set out to stake out the area near Patrick’s villa.
Her assistant, already worn thin, was less than thrilled. The job was brutal enough—and playing babysitter to Charley’s mood swings, doing her laundry, running her errands, was all part of the gig. She hated meddling in other people’s family affairs, but as an assistant, she didn’t exactly have a choice. So she swallowed every complaint.
Patrick walked into a dark, silent living room. Where was everyone? No matter how late it got, Noelle always waited for him in that room—sometimes even asleep at the table, and he’d be the one to gently wake her and guide her upstairs.
He shrugged off his jacket, hung it by the entrance, and announced himself to the empty house. "I’m back." Silence.
A moment later, Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper, hurried in from another room, startled. "Mr. Jordan—you’re home tonight?"
Clearly, everyone had assumed he wasn’t coming back. So much so that no one had even bothered to wait up for him. He asked about Noelle.
"She mentioned she talked with you, said she was going to her parents’ house," Mrs. Smith replied, looking confused.
Patrick frowned. Left? Was she actually serious about the divorce?
He pictured the halls without her presence—empty, silent, no trace of her. The thought stirred an unexpected irritation in his chest. He dialed her number immediately.
Meanwhile, Charley’s car sat parked in the shadows nearby, her hopes pinned on the chance that Patrick had just popped home to change. She gripped the wheel, watching the villa like a hawk. If he’d gone inside, he wasn’t coming back out.
Noelle, meanwhile, had made it back to her family’s house, heart hammering in her chest. Facing them again filled her with dread—and shame over the wreckage of her past choices, when she’d kept going to her grandfather for money to prop up Patrick, a man who’d ultimately swallowed the Kelley family’s assets whole.
She wanted to see her family, but she was also relieved to find that the elders were all away on business. A small mercy.
Living a second time around, Noelle was painfully aware of how the world had shifted. Women were increasingly standing on their own—valuing their beauty, their wealth, and most of all, their own capability over romantic fantasies. The Kelley family looked solid on the surface, but they were always under threat—from betrayal within, pressure from without.
This time, Noelle was determined to fortify herself, to shield her family. She picked up a real estate proposal left on the table—the "Majestic Estate" project. She remembered it well: a villa development in a small town, modest in scale. Her grandfather had originally meant it as a training ground for her, but she’d been too caught up in chasing love to pay it any mind. The project had fallen into the hands of distant relatives—and later became a total mess.
"Noelle’s home!" Her grandfather, Walter Kelley, burst in with a delighted shout, returning from his trip earlier than expected. Overwhelmed, Noelle threw herself into his arms, tears streaming down her face—tears of regret for all her past mistakes.
In her previous life, she hadn’t been there during his final days. She’d been too tangled up in arguments with Patrick, her phone switched off for days, unreachable.
Walter patted his beloved granddaughter, sensing her distress. "What’s happened, Noelle? Did that boy Patrick bully you again? Grandpa will handle him."
Noelle shook her head, reassuring him. "He won’t bother me anymore."
Her phone buzzed with an unknown number. She ignored it, and announced instead, "I’m divorcing Patrick. The Jordan Group will pay back every cent they borrowed. The Kelley family won’t lose a dime."
Walter sighed, his expression heavy with concern. "How can you call that no loss? My precious granddaughter..." Her first marriage was over before it had truly begun.
Then he reconciled himself. "Better to leave an unhappy marriage. Grandpa will take care of you, always."
Noelle managed a smile, her eyes steady. "I’m going to grow fast, Grandpa. I promise. You’ll have a peaceful retirement."
Walter patted her head lovingly. "Seeing you happy every day is peace enough for me."
Noelle lifted the project proposal from the table. "Grandpa, can I take on this project?"
"Of course—it was always meant for you," Walter said, then instructed his secretary, "Announce tomorrow that Noelle will lead the 'Majestic Estate' project."
He walked her through the project’s core challenges, stressing, "Understand the relocation policies inside and out. Learn from the experienced staff tomorrow."
"Got it!" Noelle nodded.
Her phone buzzed again—this time, it genuinely annoyed her.
Walter glanced at the screen. "Who is it?"
"Just spam!" Noelle dismissed, blocking the number on the spot.
But learning from the company’s veterans wasn’t as easy as it sounded. They were friendly on the surface, yet kept her at arm’s length.
The executives were busy analyzing the situation, careful not to pick a side too soon or offend the wrong people. Nobody was sure if Noelle genuinely wanted to reclaim her place in the Kelley family, or if her sudden return was just a little spat with Patrick that would blow over in a few days.
If it was the latter, and Noelle bailed halfway, leaving the project to her relatives—well, anyone who’d coached her would be digging their own grave. So the seasoned executives offered her nothing of substance.
Damir Palmer caught wind through his inside source that Walter planned to hand the "Majestic Estate" project to Noelle. He couldn’t just sit back and let that happen. He’d already pocketed half the relocation fees. Shifting the project to her could put his embezzlement front and center. He soothed himself with the thought that Noelle—who’d always put romance before responsibility—would be clueless about the project’s inner workings.
When he reached the office and saw her, he faked surprise.
"Well, if it isn’t Noelle! What brings you here?" Damir exclaimed, still trying to play her for the naive girl she’d once been.
But Noelle was ready. She’d organized the project files into clearly color-coded sections for easy reference, and now she confronted him calmly.
"Damir, I have a few questions. First—why hasn’t the project, scheduled to start this month, shown any progress? Second—why hasn’t the relocation work, which began last year, moved forward at all? Third—how is it that more than half the relocation budget has been spent with zero results? Where’s the money?"
With each question, Damir's smile faded. He had underestimated her.
