Chapter 404

Their meeting lasted only a heartbeat. Like two comets crossing paths in the night sky.

One ascending, one descending. Neither pausing for the other.

"Seems Mr. Top Bidder still remembers you. He actually showed up for dinner." Julian Blackthorn smirked as they reached the lobby.

Vivian Lockhart adjusted her designer sunglasses. "His schedule means nothing to me."

She strode toward the parking lot without looking back, her stilettos clicking against marble.

"Aren't you going to talk to him?"

"Our reservation was eight to eleven. It's eleven-fifteen now." Vivian pressed her car key fob. "His tardiness doesn't obligate me to wait."

Her tone held the finality of a judge's gavel.

"True. Probably here to wine and dine Cassandra Delacroix." Julian shoved hands in his pockets, glancing up at the skyscraper. "Explains why he looked straight through you like a stranger."

Vivian slid into her crimson Ferrari without responding.

"Late. Going home. See you around." She gave a perfunctory wave, face unreadable behind tinted windows.

"I'll hold you to that next time." Julian's smile didn't reach his eyes.

Four years of waiting for fifteen minutes. The math left him unsatisfied.

Still, compared to Nathaniel Blackwood's three-second glimpse, he'd gotten the better deal.

The Ferrari's engine roared to life, tires screeching as Vivian vanished into the night. No hesitation. No rearview mirror glances. Just like her—once a decision was made, no second thoughts.

Meanwhile, fifty-two floors above, Nathaniel stood before floor-to-ceiling windows, ice swirling in his untouched Scotch.

That fleeting moment in the elevator haunted him.

He'd seen footage of her return. But nothing prepared him for her scent—bergamot and vanilla—filling the enclosed space.

His traitorous pulse had spiked when their eyes met.

And hers? Surely she'd felt it too. Probably worse. Maybe her knees had gone weak beneath that power suit.

Nathaniel adjusted his tie, mentally rehearsing lines while watching the elevator doors.

"Don't flatter yourself. I was in the neighborhood." Too casual.

"Four million buys surprisingly bland steak." Would reveal his anonymous bid.

"Newport City missed you." Sounded bitter.

Minutes ticked by. The elevator remained still.

"Playing hard to get?" Nathaniel's knuckles whitened around his glass.

The restaurant stood empty save for staff.

He checked his Patek Philippe. "Ten more minutes."

The manager approached cautiously when time elapsed.

"Mr. Blackwood..."