"To the newest acquisition of Ascendant Group," Ethan raises his champagne flute, the crystal catching the candlelight as we sit in a private dining room at Le Cirque. "And to its brilliant president."

I touch my glass to his, the soft chime echoing in the intimate space. "Thank you. Though I suspect your toast has more to do with the fact that I outmaneuvered Cassandra Morgan than the actual business value of the acquisition."


Ethan's smile turns wry. "Can't it be both? The acquisition is strategically sound, and watching you best Cassandra was... satisfying."

"You really don't like her, do you?" I observe, taking a sip of the excellent vintage.

"Few people do, once they get to know her," Ethan replies. "She's built her career on taking credit for others' work and manipulating her way into positions she's not qualified for."


The assessment is accurate, if incomplete. What Ethan doesn't know—what no one knows except Diana and Nathaniel—is how far Cassandra was willing to go to secure her position at Morgan Group. Drugging me, destroying my reputation, possibly even being complicit in my mother's death.

"She seemed particularly hostile toward you today," I say, curious about his perspective. "Has she always been that way?"


Ethan considers this as he cuts into his perfectly seared steak. "Not always. There was a time when she was quite... friendly."

The implication is clear. "You were involved with her?"

"Briefly," he admits. "Years ago, before I knew better. She pursued me aggressively when I first took over as CEO of Knight Industries. I ended it after a few months when I realized she was more interested in my company's proprietary information than in me."

"She tried to steal trade secrets?" I ask, genuinely surprised. This was one detail my research hadn't uncovered.

"Nothing so obvious," Ethan explains. "But I caught her going through my files one night when she thought I was asleep. When confronted, she claimed she was 'just curious' about my work." He shakes his head at the memory. "I ended things the next day. She didn't take it well."

"Hell hath no fury," I murmur, filing this information away. Another motive for Cassandra's hatred of me—I'm married to the man who rejected her.

"Enough about Cassandra Morgan," Ethan says, clearly wanting to change the subject. "Tonight is about celebrating your success. The acquisition is a significant achievement."

"It is," I agree, allowing myself a moment of genuine pride. Whatever my ulterior motives, the business strategy behind the acquisition is sound. I've worked hard to build Ascendant Group into a legitimate force in the financial world, not just a vehicle for my revenge.

"Leo was disappointed he couldn't join our celebration," Ethan comments, his expression softening at the mention of our son. "Though the promise of ice cream with Mrs. Chen seemed to console him."

I smile, picturing Leo negotiating his way into extra dessert. "He's becoming quite the little businessman already. This morning he tried to convince me that dinosaur pajamas are appropriate school attire because they 'increase his productivity.'"

Ethan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "He gets that from you, you know. That persuasive ability."

"Me?" I raise an eyebrow. "I think the Knight negotiation genes are equally responsible."

"Perhaps," Ethan concedes. "Though I've never managed to talk my way into wearing dinosaur pajamas to board meetings."

"There's still time," I tease, surprising myself with how easily the banter flows between us.

This is happening more frequently—these moments of genuine connection, of shared humor and parental pride. It makes maintaining emotional distance increasingly difficult, especially when Ethan looks at me the way he is now, his blue eyes warm with something that goes beyond our arranged marriage.

"Olivia," he begins, his tone shifting to something more serious. "About what I said last night—"

"Mr. Knight! What a delightful surprise!"

The intrusion comes from a statuesque blonde approaching our table, her smile wide and practiced. I recognize her immediately from my research—Isabella Pierce, Nathaniel's sister and, according to society columns, once considered Ethan's most likely match before our sudden marriage.

"Isabella," Ethan acknowledges, his expression cooling noticeably. "I wasn't aware you were dining here tonight."

"Last-minute plans," she replies, her gaze shifting to me with barely concealed curiosity. "And you must be the mysterious Mrs. Knight. The whole city is talking about you."

"Olivia," I supply, extending my hand. "And you are?"

"Isabella Pierce," she replies, her grip firmer than necessary. "An old friend of Ethan's."

"How nice," I say neutrally, though I'm immediately on alert. The timing of this "coincidental" meeting seems suspicious, especially given today's events with Cassandra.

"Isabella is Nathaniel Pierce' sister," Ethan explains, his tone making it clear this is not a welcome interruption. "Her family and mine have known each other for years."

"Practically grew up together," Isabella adds, placing a manicured hand on Ethan's shoulder with familiar ease. "So many shared memories."

The gesture is deliberately possessive, a clear message to me: she has history with my husband that I can never match. I notice Ethan subtly shifting away from her touch.

"How lovely," I reply with a practiced smile. "It's always nice to meet Ethan's old friends."

The emphasis on "old" is slight but unmistakable. Isabella's eyes narrow fractionally.

"I was devastated to miss your wedding," she continues, undeterred. "Such a whirlwind romance! One minute Ethan's New York's most eligible bachelor, the next he's married with a child. Quite the fairy tale."

The probing comment, disguised as small talk, confirms my suspicion that this encounter is no accident. Isabella is fishing for information, likely at her brother's or Cassandra's behest.

"Life can be unpredictable," I reply smoothly. "When you find the right person, why wait?"

"Indeed," Isabella agrees, though her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Though I've always known Ethan to be more... deliberate in his decision-making. This sudden marriage seemed out of character."

"Perhaps you didn't know me as well as you thought," Ethan interjects, his tone carrying a subtle warning. "Olivia and I would like to enjoy our dinner now, Isabella."

The dismissal is clear, but Isabella persists. "Of course, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to invite you both to my charity gala next weekend. For children's literacy—a cause I know is close to your heart, Ethan."

The invitation is a strategic move—difficult to refuse without appearing rude, especially with the charitable angle.

"Send the details to my office," Ethan replies noncommittally. "We'll check our schedule."

"Perfect," Isabella beams, finally taking the hint to leave. "Enjoy your evening. Lovely to meet you, Olivia. I look forward to getting to know Ethan's new wife better."

The threat underlying her friendly words is unmistakable. As she sashays away, I turn to Ethan with a raised eyebrow.

"Another ex?" I inquire, keeping my tone light despite the tension her visit has created.

"Not exactly," Ethan sighs. "Isabella has been trying to become Mrs. Knight for years, but there was never anything between us beyond friendship. At least not on my side."

"She seems to feel differently," I observe, watching Isabella rejoin a table across the restaurant where—not coincidentally, I'm sure—Nathaniel Pierce sits with several business associates.

"Isabella Pierce is accustomed to getting what she wants," Ethan says dismissively. "My marriage was... unexpected from her perspective."

"From everyone's perspective," I point out. "We didn't exactly follow the traditional courtship timeline."

Ethan's expression softens as he reaches across the table to take my hand. "No, we didn't. But I don't regret it."

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. This isn't part of our public performance—we're alone in a private dining room, no audience to impress. This is Ethan speaking genuinely, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm in a gesture that sends unwelcome warmth through my body.

"Ethan," I begin, uncertain how to respond to this shift in our dynamic.

"You don't have to say anything," he interrupts gently. "I know our arrangement began as a practical solution for Leo's sake. But these past weeks, watching you with our son, building this life together... it's become more than that for me."

The confession hangs between us, honest and dangerous. Because the truth is, it's becoming more for me too—these domestic moments, these shared laughs and parental conspiracies, the undeniable chemistry that flares whenever we touch. But acting on these feelings would complicate everything, especially when Ethan still doesn't know my true identity or my reasons for returning to New York.

"I don't know what to say," I admit finally.

"Say you'll think about it," Ethan suggests. "About making this marriage real in all ways. We're good together, Olivia. As parents, as partners. We could be more."

The possibility he's offering—a genuine relationship, not just a paper marriage—is tempting in ways I hadn't anticipated when I agreed to this arrangement. But it's built on a foundation of lies and omissions. How would he feel if he knew the truth? That I orchestrated our meeting, that I've been using him as part of my revenge plan?

"I need time," I say, echoing my response from last night. "This is... complicated."

"Life usually is," Ethan replies with a small smile. "But sometimes complications lead to the best outcomes."

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. I glance at the screen—it's Marcus, who knows not to interrupt unless it's urgent.

"I'm sorry, I need to take this," I say, grateful for the interruption despite the potential bad news it might bring. "It's my CFO."

Ethan nods understanding as I step away from the table to answer.