Chapter 414

"I saved you—I mean, your teddy—last night. Can't you let me have the portrait in return?"

Julian Montgomery braced his muscular forearm against the desk, leaning closer with an intensity that made the air between them crackle. "I adore that sketch. May I keep it, please?"

Eleanor Blackwood's toes curled inside her ballet flats as she stammered, "I-I actually prepared something else for you."

His amber eyes ignited like sunlight through whiskey. "Show me."

Twenty minutes later, Julian slid into his Ferrari's butter-soft leather seat.

A triumphant grin split his face as he cradled two treasures—a pastry box and a rolled canvas. This was pure euphoria.

He'd never forgotten the portrait Eleanor gifted Reginald during the patriarch's birthday gala. That moment had planted an insatiable craving in Julian's chest—to possess a drawing crafted solely for him.

And now, against all odds, he held it.

The joy was so potent it threatened to crack his ribs.

After carefully stowing the sketch, he flipped open the cake box with boyish eagerness.

Inside sat a lopsided blueberry mousse cake, its frosting slightly smeared.

Julian swiped a finger through the cream and tasted it.

His brows knitted. "Odd. There's a tartness to it..."

Midnight found Evelyn Carter gaming in her study, a jade face mask clinging to her skin as her fingers flew across the keyboard. She hadn't budged for hours.

Truthfully, exhaustion weighed her eyelids like lead coins. But Theodore hadn't reported back after tailing Julian Whitmore tonight. Gaming kept her awake while she waited.

The server admin's latest invitation to join the pro league glowed on her screen—another decline. She played for distraction, not profit. Monarch Group heiresses didn't need tournament purses.

Beep.

A notification flashed: Alexander Whitmore had logged in. His avatar "Rose" winked at her handle "Lucifer."

[Rose: Fancy a match?]

[Lucifer: Make it quick. I'm babysitting a situation.]

Alexander's velvety baritone filled her headphones when the voice channel connected. "Evening, Ms. Devil."

"Likewise, Mr. Flower." Evelyn's lips quirked. "Blooming nicely tonight?"

"You're remarkably composed given Isabella Wang's theatrics." Admiration warmed his tone.

"Please. I was raised by wolves."

Alexander's chuckle was rich as aged bourbon. "Care to elaborate?"

"Let's just say if she's playing Darth Vader, I've got Yoda on speed dial."

The line crackled with his laughter before turning serious. "Do you require assistance?"

"Negative. This is between me and Blackwood Industries. No need to drag Whitmore Enterprises into my mess." She adjusted her headset. "Appreciate the offer though."

"I'm not offering as a Whitmore." His voice dropped to a intimate murmur. "I'm asking as Alexander."

Evelyn's fingers stilled on the mouse.

"Don't mistake me—I have every confidence in you." His exhale ghosted through the speakers. "I simply hate seeing you stretched thin. These late-night stakeouts... I've missed our games."

Her breath hitched.

Had he been monitoring her login times?

The man had just resettled in Serenia after years abroad—no wonder he clung to their virtual rendezvous. Pathetic, really.

A knock shattered the moment.

"Theodore's back," she announced abruptly. "Duty calls. Sleep well, Mr. Whitmore."

She disconnected before he could respond.

Through the pixelated glow of his monitor, Alexander traced her offline icon with a fingertip. "Sweet dreams, Evelyn."

His expression hardened as he clicked into a surveillance file—Theodore's entire family tree glowing ominously onscreen.