Chapter 187

The tension in the penthouse was so thick it could be sliced with a knife. Evelyn Sinclair stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, her fingers clenched around the stem of her wineglass. The city lights twinkled below, but her mind was far from the glittering skyline.

Nathan Blackwood leaned against the marble counter, his piercing gaze locked onto her. "You're not seriously considering his offer, are you?"

Evelyn exhaled sharply, swirling the deep red liquid in her glass. "It's not that simple, Nathan. Preston Whitmore has connections—resources we don't."

A muscle in Nathan's jaw twitched. "And what exactly does he want in return?"

She hesitated, her nails digging into her palm. That was the question she'd been avoiding. Preston had been vague, dropping hints about "mutual benefits" and "shared interests," but she wasn't naive. Men like him didn't do favors without expecting something—usually something she wasn't willing to give.

Victoria Hayes chose that moment to saunter in, her designer heels clicking against the hardwood. "Well, well. If it isn't the power couple of the hour." Her smirk was razor-sharp. "Rumor has it you two are on the verge of a very public meltdown."

Nathan's expression darkened. "Get out, Victoria."

She laughed, unfazed. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. I’m just here to deliver a message." She pulled out an envelope and slid it across the counter toward Evelyn. "Preston wants your answer by midnight. Tick-tock."

Evelyn's stomach twisted as she picked it up. Inside was a single keycard—to a luxury hotel suite.

Nathan snatched it from her hand before she could react. "Over my dead body."

Victoria arched a brow. "Careful, Blackwood. You're not the only one with influence in this city."

Evelyn stepped between them before things escalated. "Enough. Victoria, tell Preston I'll meet him—but on my terms."

Nathan's grip on her arm was almost painful. "Evelyn—"

She met his gaze, her voice low but firm. "Trust me."

But as Victoria disappeared with a satisfied smirk, Evelyn wondered if she was making a mistake. Because Preston Whitmore wasn’t just offering a deal—he was playing a game.

And she had just become his newest pawn.