Dinner is served on the terrace as the sun sets over the ocean, casting golden light across the water. The meal is exquisite—locally caught seafood prepared by the estate's chef, paired with wines from the Knight family cellar. Leo, exhausted from his beach adventures, falls asleep over his dessert, his head nodding until Ethan gently lifts him from his chair.

"I'll put him to bed," he offers. "Be back in a few minutes."


As he carries our sleeping son inside, Vivienne watches with a soft expression I haven't seen on her face before. "He always wanted children," she says quietly. "Though he never admitted it, even to himself."

"Really?" I ask, surprised by this insight. "He seems so career-focused."

"That's his father's influence," Vivienne explains, sipping her after-dinner cognac. "Jonathan raised him to believe that business success was the only measure of a man's worth. But Ethan has always had a different heart—more like my father, who built the original Knight fortune but still made time to teach his children to sail and read them bedtime stories."


This glimpse into Ethan's family history fascinates me. Despite all my research before our marriage, these personal details were impossible to uncover—the emotional legacy that shaped the man Ethan has become.

"What was he like as a child?" I ask, genuinely curious.


Vivienne's expression warms with memory. "Intense. Focused. Even as a little boy, when Ethan committed to something, he gave it his all—whether it was building elaborate sandcastles or learning to navigate by the stars. But also surprisingly gentle. He once spent an entire summer nursing an injured seagull back to health right here on this terrace."

The image of young Ethan tenderly caring for a wounded bird contrasts sharply with the ruthless businessman portrayed in financial magazines, yet aligns perfectly with the father I've observed with Leo—patient, attentive, genuinely invested in his son's happiness.

"He's a complicated man," I observe.

"As are you a complicated woman," Vivienne counters smoothly. "Which is perhaps why you suit each other so well, despite the... unusual circumstances of your marriage."

Again, that hint that she suspects there's more to our story than the official version. Vivienne Knight is far too perceptive for comfort.

"What makes you think our circumstances are unusual?" I ask, deciding to address her suspicion directly.

Vivienne smiles, appreciating my directness. "I've been navigating high society for forty years, my dear. I recognize a strategic alliance when I see one. What I find interesting is watching it evolve into something neither of you planned for."

Before I can respond to this uncomfortably accurate assessment, Ethan returns, taking his seat beside me. "Leo's out cold," he reports. "Didn't even wake up when I changed him into pajamas."

"Fresh air and excitement," Vivienne nods knowingly. "Nothing exhausts children more thoroughly."

The conversation shifts to plans for the weekend—a sailing excursion tomorrow if the weather holds, perhaps a visit to the local farmers' market, dinner with some neighbors Vivienne thinks we should meet. Normal family activities that feel both foreign and strangely appealing after years of single motherhood and focused revenge planning.

As the evening progresses, I find myself relaxing in a way I rarely allow—laughing at Ethan's stories of childhood mishaps on the family sailboat, sharing some carefully edited anecdotes about Leo's early years, even accepting Vivienne's invitation to tour her garden in the morning.

When Vivienne finally retires for the night, Ethan suggests a walk on the beach. "The stars are spectacular here, away from the city lights," he says. "Unless you're too tired?"

"A walk sounds nice," I agree, surprising myself with how much I mean it.

The night air is cool but not cold as we stroll along the private beach, the sound of waves creating a soothing rhythm in the darkness. Ethan was right about the stars—they blanket the sky in a dazzling display I haven't seen since leaving Singapore.

"I used to come out here at night when I was a teenager," Ethan says, his voice quiet against the backdrop of the ocean. "Whenever my father and I argued, which was often. The stars helped put things in perspective."

"How so?" I ask, genuinely interested in this glimpse of his past.

"They reminded me how small our problems really are in the grand scheme of things," he explains, looking up at the vast expanse above us. "Whatever I was fighting with my father about—college choices, career paths, girlfriends he didn't approve of—seemed less overwhelming under a sky like this."

"Did it help?" I ask. "With your father?"

Ethan laughs softly, the sound tinged with old pain. "Not really. We're still fighting the same battles, just with higher stakes. But it helped me keep my sanity."

We walk in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the gentle surf and the occasional cry of a night bird. Without conscious thought, my hand finds his, our fingers intertwining naturally. It's a simple gesture, yet intimate in a way that transcends our physical attraction or parental partnership.

"Thank you for bringing us here," I say finally. "Leo is having a wonderful time."

"And you?" Ethan asks, stopping to face me. In the moonlight, his features are softened, his eyes reflecting the stars above us.

"I am too," I admit honestly. "It's beautiful here. Peaceful."

"It's always been my favorite place," Ethan says. "I wanted to share it with you and Leo. To make new memories here."

The simple statement carries weight—an expression of his desire for our arrangement to become something more permanent, more genuine. And standing here under the stars, his hand warm in mine, it's frighteningly easy to imagine that future—weekends at this beautiful estate, Leo growing up with the ocean as his playground, Ethan and I building a life together that has nothing to do with revenge or obligation.

"Ethan," I begin, not entirely sure what I'm going to say.

He steps closer, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. "You don't have to say anything," he murmurs. "Just... be here, with me, right now."

The moment stretches between us, charged with possibility. Then, with a gentleness that contrasts with his usual confident demeanor, Ethan leans down and kisses me.

Unlike our wedding kiss—brief and performative—this is real. His lips are warm against mine, the contact sending electricity through my body. What begins as gentle exploration quickly deepens as I respond, my free hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat accelerate beneath my palm.

When we finally part, both slightly breathless, Ethan rests his forehead against mine. "I've been wanting to do that for weeks," he confesses, his voice husky.

"Why didn't you?" I ask, surprised by my own boldness.

"I was waiting for you to be ready," he replies simply. "For this to be your choice, not just part of our arrangement."

The consideration behind his restraint touches me deeply. In a world where men like Ethan Knight are accustomed to taking what they want, he chose to wait—to let me set the pace of our evolving relationship.

"And now?" I ask softly.

"Now I'm hoping you'll let me kiss you again," he replies with a smile I feel rather than see in the darkness.

I answer by rising on tiptoe to press my lips to his once more, my arms sliding around his neck as his encircle my waist, drawing me closer. This kiss is deeper, more urgent, years of suppressed attraction finally finding expression under the starlit sky.

When we eventually break apart, both breathing heavily, Ethan's eyes are dark with desire. "We should head back," he suggests, though his tone indicates reluctance. "Before this goes further than either of us is ready for."

He's right, of course. Whatever is developing between us deserves more consideration than a impulsive encounter on the beach, however tempting that might be in the moment.

"Yes," I agree, though I make no move to step away from the circle of his arms.

Ethan smiles, pressing one more gentle kiss to my lips before releasing me. "To be continued," he promises, taking my hand again as we turn back toward the house.

As we walk, I'm acutely aware of a shift in our dynamic—a crossing of boundaries we've carefully maintained since the beginning of our arrangement. The physical attraction between us has always been present, but acknowledging it, acting on it, changes everything.

Because despite the genuine feelings developing between us, there's still so much Ethan doesn't know about me—about my true identity, about my reasons for returning to New York, about the revenge that has driven me for five years. Secrets that could destroy whatever is growing between us when they inevitably come to light.

Yet as we reach the terrace, Ethan pulls me close for one more kiss before we enter the house—a kiss that promises more to come, that speaks of desire and growing affection—I can't bring myself to regret this new development, whatever complications it may bring.

For tonight, at least, I'll allow myself this unexpected happiness, this connection I never planned for when I orchestrated our meeting. Tomorrow will bring its own challenges, its own decisions about how far to let this relationship develop while still pursuing the justice I've sought for so long.

But tonight, under the stars with the ocean's rhythm in my ears and Ethan's warmth beside me, revenge seems distant and love—dangerous, complicated, unexpected love—feels surprisingly possible.

---

Miles away in Manhattan, Cassandra Morgan sits in her office, a glass of scotch in one hand and a folder of documents in the other. Across from her, Nathaniel Pierce looks smug despite his recent failure in Chicago.

"Charles may have dismissed the evidence," he says, "but that doesn't make it any less damning. The immigration records are just the beginning. My contact in Singapore has found more—medical records from a private clinic specializing in high-risk pregnancies."

"And?" Cassandra prompts impatiently.

"And they show a patient named Olivia Morgan giving birth to a son five years ago—a son whose birthdate matches Leo Knight's exactly." Nathaniel's smile is cold with triumph. "We have her, Cassandra. Olivia Knight is your stepsister, returned from the dead."

Cassandra takes a long sip of scotch, her expression calculating. "We need more than circumstantial evidence if we're going to expose her. Especially now that she's acquired a significant stake in Morgan Group and married into the Knight family."

"What about a DNA test?" Nathaniel suggests. "If we could get samples from both Olivia and Charles..."

"Impossible without their knowledge," Cassandra dismisses. "And if we tip our hand too soon, she'll have time to prepare a defense."

"Then what do you suggest?" Nathaniel asks, frustration evident in his tone.

Cassandra's lips curve in a slow, malicious smile. "We hit her where it hurts most—her son. The boy is her weakness. And through him, we can get to both Olivia and Ethan Knight."

"What exactly are you proposing?" Nathaniel asks, leaning forward with interest.

"Nothing illegal," Cassandra assures him, though her eyes tell a different story. "Just a little... pressure. To remind my dear stepsister that I destroyed her once, and I can do it again."

As they clink glasses on this ominous plan, the threat to Olivia's newfound happiness takes shape—a shadow looming over the starlit beach where she and Ethan have just discovered something neither expected when they entered their marriage of convenience.

The game is accelerating, the stakes rising. And soon, Olivia will have to choose between her long-planned revenge and the love she never anticipated finding with the man she married for all the wrong reasons.