ded ballroom with an easy confidence. He was handsome, with dark hair and a s

aritone. He offered a hand. "You must be Chloe

s hand briefly

inkling at the corners. "Mr. Sinclair is a lucky ma

was polite, socially acceptable, and utterly demeaning. Ch

r as the daughter of a shipping magnate. His eyes, however, were fixed on Vincent, and they

int flashed in his gaze. He turned to Chloe, his voic

glass of c

l authority of a man dismissing a servant. In front of his riva

lip, hard, and turned without a word, walking

she heard Vincent say behind her

d the exchange. He shook his head with a sigh of weary resignation

's internal Slack

m channel. The message was simple: "Someone le

picture of a used pregnancy test. Two pin

nnel ex

who

l the

in marketing, th

s morning. He'd thought it was just stress. Now, a different, more alarming possibility took root. He looked up, his ga

Julian, her movements stiff, her eye

self back into the conversation. He pulled a business

environment," he said, his voice low and suggesti

ched for the card. It was a lifeline, a small act of r

the fin

d even look at it. He ripped it in half, the sound sha

ncent, his voice a low, menacing

ugged, a knowing smile playing on hi

he murmured, trying to de-escalate. "Did you see the Slack channel? There's s

re still locked on Vincent. "I

a deserted stone terrace overlooking the city, the cool ni

ication from Slack glowed on the

world

nthouse, but the first one-the one she'd taken in a frantic blur in the office stalls that morning. The

e the floor had dropped out from under her. She s

ou alr

standing there, holding a glass of wa

ck into her clutch, her m

a pity that was almost as humiliating as Julian's cruelty. Then he looked pas

Vincent to hear. "Go for it, man. My bro

te act of provocation. And Chloe