Marco would still talk too much. Fatima would throw jabs with a grin. And they weren’t going anywhere.
Arden pressed her palms to the bar, grounding herself in the moment. “Guess I’m doomed, then.”
Fatima raised her coffee in a toast, tapping it gently against Arden’s glass. “We all are.”
And for once… she didn’t mind the sound of that at all.
Miriam Harrington steppedinto the room trailing winter in her wake—flawless, expected, and cold to the core. Her eyes swept the space, sharp and methodical. And they landed on the bar.
Arden stood there with Fatima and Marco, laughter dancing between them. Light. Human. The antithesis of everything Miriam represented.
She saw it instantly.
Gideon didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But her judgment settled over the room like a veil of ash.
“Evelyn has concerns about… distractions,” Miriam said, each word wrapped in velvet, all blade beneath.
Gideon’s fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the desk. “My priorities are unchanged.”
Miriam’s smile barely moved. “Good. Because Evelyn has invested heavily in you, and she does not tolerate deviation.”
Her eyebrow quirked. “Or attachments that threaten to undermine what we’ve built.”
Not a warning. A verdict.
She started to turn but stopped at the doorway. “Do remind Miss Riverswhere she belongs,” she said.
Her tone was calm. Polished. But sharp enough to draw blood.
“It would be unfortunate if she forgot.”
Gideon’s hand curled against the desk, tension threading up his arm. He said nothing.
The faint trace of her perfume hung heavy in the air, too sweet, too sharp—like something rotting beneath fresh-cut flowers.
Then she disappeared. The door clicked shut.
He exhaled slowly; his fingers unfurling from the desk one at a time.
Arden wasn’t a weakness. She was his line in the sand.
The door opened again—noknock, no hesitation.
Alex.
“Baby brother,” he drawled, smirking like the punchline was loaded. “Still brooding? Or are you finally plotting that family coup?”
Gideon didn’t look up. “Do you need something, Alex?”
“I was just admiring your taste in bartenders,” Alex said, sinking into the chair Miriam had vacated like it had been reserved for him.
Gideon froze.
Alex’s smile sharpened. “Arden, right? Rough edges. Strong presence. Very… compelling.”
“Don’t,” Gideon said, the edge in his tone cutting sharper than any rise in volume.
“Don’t what? Notice?”
