Chapter 4 4

The bronze doors of the municipal building swung outward, and Evangelina flinched at the afternoon sun. She raised her hand to shield her eyes, and Barrett moved with her, positioning himself between her and the light.

She looked down at her left hand. The diamond caught the sun, throwing fire against her skin. The weight of it was alien, a constant reminder of what she'd just done.

"We need ground rules," she said, her voice finding its professional edge. "This marriage doesn't exist publicly. Not yet. My family-my stepmother specifically-is hunting for my next contractual obligation. If she learns I've married without her approval, without her profit, she'll make my life a litigation nightmare."

Barrett's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Approval, perhaps. Or calculation.

"Agreed," he said. "Discretion serves my interests as well. My... family has expectations regarding appropriate matches. They don't need to know I've exercised independent judgment."

"Independent judgment." Evangelina almost laughed. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Public distance," Barrett continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "No social media connections. No joint appearances at professional functions unless specifically requested. Separate residences, separate financial accounts, separate social circles."

He held out his hand. "Your phone."

Evangelina hesitated, then surrendered it. Barrett's thumbs moved across the screen with practiced efficiency. He entered a number, dialed it, and his own pocket buzzed.

"Emergency contact," he said, handing the device back. "Only my private line. No assistants, no secretaries. If you need me, you reach me."

The screen showed a new entry. Mr. Watson. The formality of it felt like a barrier rather than a bridge.

"I don't need-"

"You have my number," Barrett said. "That's non-negotiable."

A black Mercedes S-Class glided to the curb below the steps. The windows were tinted, the grille discreet, but the body lines spoke of money that didn't need to announce itself. Evangelina felt her assessment shift, recalibrating.

"A client's car," Barrett said, following her gaze. "Easier than finding a car service on short notice. I borrowed it for the occasion."

The driver's door didn't open. No one emerged to open Barrett's door. The car simply waited, patient as a predator.

"I'll take an Uber," Evangelina said. "To my office. I have work."

Barrett studied her for a moment. Then he nodded, once, a gesture of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

"Dinner," he said. "Tonight. We should align our cover stories. In case your stepmother investigates."

"I'll check my calendar."

"Eight o'clock." Barrett reached into his jacket and withdrew a slim card case. He pressed a business card into her palm-different from the first, this one bearing the logo of a consulting firm she'd heard of in passing. Respectable. Mid-tier. Unthreatening. "I'll text you the location."

He descended the steps. The Mercedes's rear door opened from the inside, and Barrett folded himself into the shadowed interior. The car merged into traffic without sound, without hurry.

Evangelina watched it disappear. Then she opened her Uber app and requested a ride to the Avery Lifestyle building.

The car that arrived was a Toyota Camry, driven by a graduate student who wanted to discuss his screenplay. Evangelina made appropriate noises and stared out the window at the passing city, her thumb tracing the unfamiliar weight on her finger.

In the back of the S-Class, Barrett Watson removed his jacket and loosened his tie. The temperature in the cabin dropped ten degrees.

"K.C.," he said.

The driver's eyes met his in the rearview mirror. "Sir."

"Gus Petrovic. Everything. Business holdings, political connections, outstanding litigation. And find out why Darrien Avery missed his appointment this morning."

"Already done, sir." K.C. Stone's fingers moved across a tablet mounted to the dashboard. "Avery was at Mount Sinai Hospital. The stepdaughter, Jenelle Hobbs, posted from the emergency room at 10:47 AM. Panic attack, allegedly."

Barrett took the tablet. The photograph showed a young woman in hospital linens, her makeup intact, her smile directed at the camera rather than any medical professional. Behind her, partially visible, a man's shoulder in a familiar suit.

"Suppress it," Barrett said. "All platforms. I don't want that name trending."

"Sir?"

"She wanted attention." Barrett's voice was ice. "She wanted to humiliate my wife. Deny her the satisfaction."

K.C.'s eyebrows rose, but his fingers were already moving. "And the dinner reservation, sir? You mentioned Per Se."

"Chef's Table. The window facing the park." Barrett stared out at the passing city, seeing nothing. "And K.C.?"

"Sir?"

"Find out what she likes. Flowers, wine, music. Everything."

"Mrs. Watson, sir?"

Barrett's reflection in the darkened glass showed a smile that would have terrified anyone who knew him.

"Mrs. Watson," he confirmed.