His smile curved, mock-friendly.“I hope you can do better with this space than my wife.She’s absolutely hopeless at decorating.”
The words were sugar-dipped venom.Natalie caught the way Henrietta’s cheeks flushed as she stared at the floor.But Natalie knew this game.She had played it before.And she’d barely escaped with her sanity.
Closing her notebook, Natalie slid it into her tote with deliberate precision, as if each movement hammered a nail into her decision.“I’m sorry,” she said, turning her full attention to Henrietta, her voice calm but edged with finality.“I’m not the right designer for this project.I wouldn’t be able to meet your husband’s expectations—and I won’t set either of us up for that kind of failure.”
Henrietta’s eyes widened, panic flashing bright before it dimmed into resignation.Natalie’s heart squeezed.She recognized that look—the mix of fear and shame that came from living in someone else’s shadow.
Mark, of course, rocked back on his heels, smugness radiating off him like cheap cologne.He thought he’d cornered her.He thought she’d fold.
Natalie rose, smoothing her skirt with a practiced sweep, and met Henrietta’s gaze again with determination.“You deserve a home that feels like yours,” she said quietly, letting the words linger as a lifeline before she turned toward the door.Her heels struck the Brazilian cherry floor in sharp, even beats that echoed like punctuation.
At the threshold, Natalie hesitated and turned back to look at the couple.Henrietta sat frozen, her shoulders curved inward as if under the weight of chains no one else could see.Mark stood behind her, eyes glinting with the kind of satisfaction Natalie used to fear.Now it only fueled her contempt.
She shook her head once, not at Henrietta, but at him—a silent promise that he hadn’t won anything.
Outside, the crisp autumn air rushed over her like a cleansing tide, filling her lungs and cooling the heat still burning in her chest.She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, feeling the tightness in her muscles begin to unwind.
By the time she reached her car, her steps had quickened.She tossed her bag onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, her hands steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her.Never in her career had she “fired” a client, but today it had been the only choice.
Mark hadn’t changed.He was still the manipulative narcissist, still thriving on making others feel small.
Her jaw clenched as she pulled onto the street.It had taken four years to rebuild her life, her confidence, her career brick by painstaking brick.Seeing him again had rattled her—but it would not break her.
Not this time.
Her grip on the wheel tightened, eyes fixed on the road ahead.Mark Soloman no longer had any power over her.She wouldn’t give him an inch.Not today.Not ever.
Chapter 3
Prince Rylan el Sandir tapped his pen against the binder in front of him, each strike precise, controlled—like a clock counting down.The speaker’s voice droned on, but his thoughts were nowhere near the conference room.They were still back in the lobby.
The image of the gorgeous woman refused to fade—the green eyes, bright and unflinching, lips so soft they’d haunted his thoughts from the second she’d met his gaze.Those beige heels had brought her closer to his height, but even without them—five foot six, maybe—she carried herself with the presence of someone taller.Her curves were unapologetic, made to be admired, the kind of beauty that demanded a man take notice whether he wanted to or not.
And he did want to.
Her purposeful stride had caught his attention first, but he wasn’t fooling himself.It was her legs—long, toned, and made lethal by those heels—that had tightened his chest.His gaze had climbed higher, taking in the lush curve of her hips, the narrow waist, the full swell of her breasts, and he’d known one thing with absolute certainty: she wasn’t simply beautiful.She was dangerous.Distracting.And already under his skin.
He wanted her.And Rylan never wanted without acting.
“We should just go for it,” someone said, snapping him back to the present.
His pen stilled mid-tap, the faint click echoing in the sudden quiet of his own mind.He drew in a slow breath, dragging his focus back from the memory of green eyes and sexy heels to the here and now.
The proposal lay in front of him.He flipped it around with a practiced flick, his gaze sweeping over the columns of figures.Years of negotiations and billion-dollar infrastructure deals had trained his mind to cut through fluff and find the truth in seconds.His eyes narrowed.The numbers weren’t just optimistic—they were reckless.
A grim smile curved his mouth as he set the binder flat.“Absolutely not.”His voice was calm but carried the finality of a gavel strike.“We’re not risking eighty million on projections without accurate numbers to support them.”He let the weight of his words settle before adding, “Rework the data.Fix the bottleneck at the south port.Then I’ll consider it.”
The room fell into line as easily as if he’d pulled invisible strings.That was the thing about being both prince and Interior Minister—people listened.His job demanded precision: overseeing the roads, bridges, tunnels, ports, and harbors that kept Lativa moving and safe.He didn’t make guesses.He made decisions based on hard data.
Across the table, Max Diatras lounged in calculated ease, a predator at rest.The man’s reputation from Seattle was well-earned—brilliant ideas wrapped in the kind of quiet menace that made allies nervous.Max’s technology proposals for harbor security were sound, but his endgame… Rylan wasn’t sure yet.And he always knew the endgame.
Their eyes met across the polished table.For a fraction of a second, the hum of conversation faded, replaced by a silent exchange between two men who understood the game better than most.Alpha to alpha.Predator to predator.The faint lift of Max’s brow said he’d noticed Rylan’s momentary lapse in focus earlier—but his lack of comment was deliberate, a tacit acknowledgment that even the sharpest hunter might have his attention caught for a reason.
The subtle curve of Rylan’s mouth in return carried its own message:it won’t happen again.The moment hung between them, an unspoken pact layered with the respect only two apex players in the business world could share.
As the meeting broke, Max pushed back his chair and joined Rylan by the door.“Drinks soon?”Max asked, tone easy but eyes sharp.
Rylan gave a short nod.“Name the night.”
