Vanessa’s heels clicked away. Grant pushed the door wider and entered, wearing the worried-husband expression he had perfected over years.

“Evelyn,” he said softly. “You scared me.”

I looked at him and smiled.

“Did I?”

Part 2

Grant stopped in the doorway.

For one split second, his smile slipped. He had expected confusion, fear, maybe the slow obedience of a woman too drugged to fight back. Instead, he found me conscious, still, and watching him like I was counting down seconds.

He recovered fast. Pretending had always been one of his talents.

“You fainted,” he said, moving closer. “Too much stress. Too little sleep. I told everyone you needed rest.”

“Everyone?” I asked.

“The board members. The investors. Your staff.” He sat at the edge of the bed and reached for my hand.

I pulled away.

His jaw flexed.

“You should be grateful,” he murmured. “I handled everything.”

“I’m sure you did.”

He examined my face. “Did you hear anything?”

I let my eyelids lower a little. “Like what?”

His expression softened again, though his eyes did not. “Nothing. You’re exhausted.”

He turned to the small counter, where a plastic cup of water sat beside a folded packet of documents. I saw the company seal on the first page.

“Drink,” he said. “Then we’ll go home.”

“No.”

The word hit harder than I expected.

Grant looked back slowly. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

For a moment, the quiet room seemed too small for both of us. He dropped his voice. “Evelyn, don’t make this ugly. You’re unwell. You collapsed in front of half the executive team.”

“I collapsed after drinking champagne Vanessa handed me.”

His face stayed still, but his fingers tightened around the cup. “That’s a serious accusation.”

“It is.”

“You have no proof.”

The phone on the chair buzzed once.

Grant glanced toward it.

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