He hung up without a goodbye, and a chill crept up her arms.
Seconds later, the address arrived.
She needed to get ready. Fast.
Nina took a deep breath and hurried to the bedroom. While choosing what to wear, her thoughts drifted to Daphne—the ungrateful parasite hadn’t called once since their last conversation. Had she really not understood anything?
"How to explain to her that the only person who’d ever truly be on my side was me? Not her father, and definitely not Daddy’s new darling."
Nina sighed tiredly.
Small children are trouble… grown ones? Twice as much.
She picked a sharp suit and a white blouse. Straightened her shoulders. Curled her fingers into fists.
Almost impossible to tell she hadn’t slept properly in weeks.
Once she got behind the wheel, she inhaled deeply and pulled out of the driveway. Her pulse was too fast. Everything that had happened felt unreal—meeting Jasper, his ridiculous offer, this mysterious man who“didn’t always play clean.”
But she had no alternative.
As soon as she merged onto the road, Nina spotted the tail in her rearview mirror.
She’d known they were following her ever since Frank’s men photographed her outside the hospital. The only question was whether they’d seen Jasper last night—and if they’d reported back to Frank.
She clenched her jaw and pretended not to notice. If they expected her to panic, they’d be disappointed.
The drive took roughly forty minutes. The surveillance car stayed at the exact same distance—never too close, never too far.
Finally she parked at the address Nolan had sent and stared at the sign.
An antique shop.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
She double-checked the address on her phone. It matched.
She studied the window display: porcelain figurines, old books, decorative relics. Nothing remotely resembling the office of a man who“destroys legal strategies for a living.”
If Jasper was playing games with her, she’d make him regret it.
Nina stepped inside. A small bell chimed above her head.
The interior was spacious, warm. It felt pulled straight out of another era—antique furniture restored with obsessive care, a subtle floral scent drifting through the air. Luxurious. Stylish. And absolutely nothing like her taste.
For a moment she forgot why she had come. This place looked nothing like a lawyer’s hideout.
A man behind the counter noticed her. Tall. Fit. Dark hair. A badge on his chest read: Julian.
She glanced around. No sign of anything resembling an office. No indication she was in the right place.
She sensed the silence stretching too long and finally asked, without much hope:
“Sorry… is there a Nolan here? I might’ve been given the wrong address.”
Julian looked at her with calm, unreadable eyes, then simply nodded.
“Nolan’s expecting you. Come with me.”
