Chapter 9

Nathan Blackwood slammed the phone down with enough force to make his assistant Harrison flinch. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached.

He'd tried calling Evelyn Sinclair seventeen times. Seventeen. Each call went straight to voicemail before he realized she'd blocked his number.

The office walls seemed to close in around him.

"Find her," Nathan growled, his voice like gravel. "I don't care what resources you need. Fifteen minutes."

Harrison swallowed hard. "Mr. Blackwood, we've already checked everywhere in San Francisco. There's no record of Ms. Sinclair leaving the city, but..."

Nathan's knuckles turned white around his Montblanc pen.

Thirty minutes later, Blackwood Industries retracted their statement about Evelyn and issued a public apology for the "misunderstanding." Notably absent was any mention of their marriage status.

It did little to quell the storm.

Nathan found himself scrolling through Evelyn's Instagram late into the night. Post after post documented their life together - each one a knife twist in his gut.

[Surprised hubby with his favorite tiramisu! ? #HappyWifeHappyLife]

[Three years today! Still makes my heart race when he walks in the room ?]

[Left work early to make Nathan's favorite lasagna. Burned it. Ordering takeout instead ?]

The posts stopped abruptly three weeks ago. The final entry was that sterile, lawyer-approved statement announcing their separation. No emojis. No warmth. Just cold, hard facts.

When he refreshed the page, every trace of their life together had vanished. Deleted. Erased. As if those three years meant nothing.

His chest constricted painfully.

"Like hell she gets to pretend this never happened," Nathan muttered to the empty office.

One month later, The Grandeur Hotel

The annual San Francisco Elite Gala was invitation-only, with security checkpoints spanning three city blocks. Paparazzi lenses couldn't penetrate the fortress of bodyguards surrounding the venue.

Nathan arrived in a custom Aston Martin, Vanessa Holloway clinging to his arm like ivy. She'd seized the opportunity the moment news of his divorce broke, though he'd pointedly avoided her "concerned" visits. Tonight, she'd leveraged her uncle's connections to secure an invitation.

"Mr. Blackwood! What an honor." The event coordinator rushed forward, only to freeze when commotion erupted at the entrance.

"Alexander Sterling just arrived!"

All heads turned as a matte black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up. The Wall Street titan emerged with the effortless grace of old money, his presence commanding immediate attention.

But Sterling didn't proceed inside. Instead, he circled the vehicle and opened the opposite door with a gentleman's flourish.

The crowd held its breath.

Then she appeared.

Evelyn Sinclair descended in a couture gown that seemed spun from moonlight, diamonds catching every flicker of the chandeliers. The dress hugged every curve before cascading into a liquid silver train. Her hair, swept into an elegant chignon, revealed the Sterling emerald earrings - a family heirloom worth more than most attendees' annual salaries.

Nathan's breath hitched.

She looked every inch the Sterling heiress she was, her hand resting lightly on her brother's arm as they glided past the stunned onlookers. That familiar citrus-and-vanilla perfume teased Nathan's senses as she passed.

Close enough to touch.

Miles away from reach.