Drivers License - Olivia Rodrigo; Supermarket Flowers - Ed Sheeran
-----
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jeffrey Black sat behind his desk, the skyline sprawling endlessly beyond the glass walls of his office. His tie was undone, jacket discarded over the arm of a leather chair. A half-finished glass of whiskey sat beside him, its amber glow catching the late afternoon light. He rolled it between his fingers but didn't drink, his jaw locked tight.
He couldn't get the damn picture out of his head. Diane, smiling, not her polite, practiced smile but something softer, at another man. Alexander Pierce. A name whispered in boardrooms, another empire-bred heir.
Jason leaned casually against the doorway, arms folded. "You're sulking."
Jeffrey shot him a look. "I don't sulk."
"You're sulking," Damon corrected, strolling in with his usual easy grace. He plucked the glass off Jeffrey's desk, ignoring the glare. "And drinking in the middle of the day. That's two strikes."
Jeffrey exhaled sharply, leaning back. "She's free to see whoever she wants. It's none of my concern."
Jason smirked. "Then why have you been staring at that same spot on the floor for the last twenty minutes? Looks a lot like concern."
Jeffrey ignored him, but the words cut. He was the oldest, the one who had carried their family name after everything fell apart, the one who didn't have the luxury of weaknesses. And yet, here he was, undone by a woman who wasn't supposed to matter.
He tipped his head back against the chair. Just for a second, a memory slipped in, dark hair, wide eyes, a laugh that had once meant everything. His ex. The one who had shattered him so completely he'd promised himself never again.
The promise was cracking.
-----
Across the city, Diane Dalton glittered under the lights of her own event. The launch of her latest line had drawn in critics, buyers, and the upper echelon of society. Cameras flashed as models paraded down the runway, her designs daring and unapologetically bold, much like her.
To the world, she was unshakable. But beneath the steel façade, that picture Chelsea had shown her still lingered, Jeffrey, standing far too close to that heiress, his hand at her back like it belonged there.
"Smile," Chelsea whispered, nudging her with a sly grin as another wave of photographs was taken. The journalist's eyes, however, were sharper than her tone. "You're distracted. Don't think I haven't noticed."
"I'm fine," Diane said smoothly, her practiced shield sliding into place.
Chelsea arched a brow. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England. You're thinking about him, aren't you?"
Diane didn't answer. She wouldn't give Jeffrey that power, not here, not when she was surrounded by her world, her success.
But when the applause roared and the event drew to a close, she slipped into the back, alone, her pulse still uneven. For a woman who prided herself on control, Jeffrey Black was becoming dangerous.
--------
The gala auction was the kind of event neither could avoid. Business alliances, philanthropic gestures, appearances had to be kept. Diane arrived in a deep crimson gown that caught the light like fire, Alexander Pierce at her side. He was charming, attentive, the kind of man her parents would approve of. He laughed easily, complimented her work, and seemed oblivious to the storm she hid beneath her smile.
Jeffrey arrived late. Black tuxedo, mask of composure firmly in place. The room shifted when he entered, as it always did. His eyes swept the crowd, landed on her, and froze. Diane, radiant as always, with Alexander's hand at the small of her back.
Jealousy hit him like a punch. He didn't show it, of course. He'd spent years perfecting his armor. But Jason, hovering nearby, caught the flicker in his brother's eyes and smirked knowingly.
The auction began, paddle numbers flashing, voices rising. A rare diamond piece appeared on stage, the kind whispered about in magazines. Perfect for someone like Diane.
Alexander leaned closer, murmuring something that made her lips curve. He raised his paddle, confident.
"Five hundred thousand."
Jeffrey's jaw tightened. His hand lifted before he could stop himself. "Seven hundred and fifty."
A ripple of surprise went through the crowd. Diane's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing.
Alexander chuckled, unbothered. "One million."
Jeffrey's voice was calm, lethal. "Two."
The room hushed. Two million. For a rough piece he hadn't even looked at properly. His gaze never left Diane, daring her, daring Alexander.
Her heart hammered. This wasn't about diamonds. It was about territory, possession, the kind of reckless heat she had promised herself she'd never entertain again.
Alexander leaned back, a polite smile masking irritation. "She's not for sale, Black."
Jeffrey's mouth curved, sharp, dangerous. "Good. Because she's not yours to buy."
The auctioneer's gavel slammed. Sold. Applause erupted, but Diane barely heard it. Her world had narrowed to the man across the room, the one she was supposed to hate, the one her eyes kept drifting to.
And Jeffrey, glass of champagne untouched in his hand, knew it then, he was already in too deep
-------