Chapter 3

Quinn POV：

Just as the bitter taste of the pill settled in my throat, my phone began to vibrate violently.

The screen lit up with Nolan's name, sending a fresh wave of disgust straight to my stomach.

I looked at the glowing display, a cold, mocking smirk pulling at the corner of my lips. Two years of long-distance postgraduate study in Europe had apparently been far too much for his fragile self-control. Yet even after throwing our history away for a cowardly, covert affair, he still had the audacity to call as though nothing had changed.

I had not confronted him or Audrey yet. I had zero desire to waste emotional bandwidth on petty screaming matches or messy, undignified squabbles. I was not going to trade minor blows; I was waiting for the perfect stage to drop a tactical nuke and obliterate them both in one clean strike.

Without answering, I swiped the screen and severed the call.

Just as the display was about to sleep, a new encrypted contact request pinged across my Scent ID terminal.

Winston Kensington.

I stopped dead on the sidewalk, staring at the notification for several seconds, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me.

Under what identity was he trying to add me? My CEO? Or his casual bed partner?

I gritted my teeth and tapped Decline without hesitation.

I was an entry-level textile designer who had only been at Kensington Luxe for a single year. Aside from my direct design director, I rarely had reason to speak to upper management, let alone the man who owned the entire corporate empire.

Kensington Luxe was the undisputed powerhouse of the domestic luxury fashion sector, dominating international runways and commanding billions in retail volume. Under normal circumstances, an ordinary designer would never cross paths with someone of Winston's stature.

Last night was a pure accident. The holiday haute couture showcase had shattered all historical sales records, which was the only reason the reclusive billionaire had shown up to the private afterparty in the first place.

Suddenly, a high-priority alert pinged from the design department group chat:

All personnel report to Conference Room 28 for an emergency briefing in ten minutes.

Ten minutes!

I gasped, shoved my phone into my leather tote, and sprinted toward the towering glass facade of the Kensington Luxe skyscraper.

Inside the building lobby, I rushed toward the executive elevators and bumped right into my good friend.

"Quinn! You usually hate wearing corporate clothes, so what made you put on a tailored skirt suit today?"

Chloe, a fellow designer in my division, looked me up and down with keen curiosity.

It was true; I detested restrictive business suits.

I forced a calm smile and casually tugged at the lapels of my jacket. "To highlight how substantial my work is, of course. I have to put the real assets on display."

"Pfft..." Chloe giggled, glancing down at my curves before giving my backside a firm, congratulatory smack. "Whoever marries you is in for the luck of a lifetime!"

Hiss!

Pain flared through my bruised muscles, sharp and agonizing.

I gritted my teeth and swallowed the whimper before it could escape.

Just as the elevator doors were about to slide shut, a broad, manicured hand reached through the gap, stopping the sensors in their tracks.

Liam Foster stepped inside, holding the door back, and behind him strode Winston Kensington, draped in an imposing, pitch-black three-piece suit.

Chloe and I instinctively stepped back against the brass railing to make room.

I swallowed hard. Winston was standing right beside me, while Chloe stood directly in front of us.

I did not dare look at him. Whether it was the suffocating lack of space or the crushing weight of his S-class presence, I felt as if the air had been sucked clean out of my lungs.

A burning crimson blush crept from behind my ears all the way across my cheeks.

The two of us stood impossibly close in the crowded car, shoulder to shoulder, with nowhere left to pull away.