Irene stood gazing at her husband with all the tenderness that years of shared history had built between them. Evans always looked so commanding in his element—his shirt rolled up at the sleeves, veins running strong along his forearms.
Yet right now, for all his power and presence, she saw only the man she had fallen in love with—the one who, despite his sharp words and occasional arrogance, still looked at her like she was the only calm in his storm.
The moment the door clicked shut behind the PI, Evans crossed the space between them. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her in, lowering his head until his breath brushed her lips. "Hey, sexy," he murmured. "Missed me so much you couldn’t wait for me to get home?"
Irene chuckled softly, placing her palms on his chest. "Yeah," she said, her eyes dancing. "That too."
He arched a brow, catching the deliberate vagueness. "That too?" he repeated, mock suspicion coloring his voice. "Should I be worried or excited?"
"Something else couldn’t wait," she added.
"Are you good?" he asked, softening his tone. Then his expression brightened with sudden mischief. "Wait—are we having another baby?" His grin widened like a man already picturing midnight feedings and baby laughter echoing through their mansion.
Irene’s mouth dropped open. "What? No!" She swatted his chest lightly.
He laughed, holding up both hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright—don’t glare at me like that. A man can dream." He feigned a dramatic sigh. "Fine then, what’s up?" He perched himself on the edge of his desk and tugged her closer until she stood between his legs, his hands resting casually at her hips.
"I got an invitation," she began slowly. "From my dad."
"It’s weird," she continued. "He wants me to accompany him to the Kane estate for dinner on Sunday."
That caught Evans’s attention immediately. He straightened, his hands still at her waist but his body tensing slightly. "The Kane estate?" he repeated. "Why?"
"That’s the thing," she said, shaking her head. "He didn’t give me the chance to argue. Just said Mr. Kane himself requested my presence. Personally."
Evans’s brows knitted together. His mind began turning gears instantly, the calculating businessman in him surfacing. The Kanes were powerful and secretive. Add that to the fact that Irene was Winn’s ex and Winn was his business rival, it made him tense. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Which Mr. Kane?" Evans asked.
"Tom," Irene replied.
"Ah..." Evans murmured. "Well, it’s been a while since he’s seen you." He tried to sound dismissive. "Maybe he just wants to catch up. Old men and their nostalgia."
Irene folded her arms. "I don’t like Mr. Kane," she said bluntly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "He may be best friends with my father, but he rubs me the wrong way."
"How about I come with you?" he said suddenly. The rıghtful source is 𝗻𝗼𝘷𝗲𝗹•𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮•𝕟𝕖𝕥
She blinked, caught off guard. "You’re offering to come with me to the Kane house?" she asked, one brow arched in disbelief. Her lips curved into a teasing smile. "Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"
He chuckled. "It’s not like Winn will be there," he said. "I hear he’s off on a pre-wedding honeymoon. But..." He let his voice trail. "I do have an agenda."
"Of course, you do." She sighed, crossing her arms. "Alright, mysterious man of business, what kind of agenda are we talking about?"
"Have you seen the picture of Winn’s fiancée?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Irene frowned, thinking. "No... I mean, yes, but I wasn’t paying attention. It was on the news all day yesterday, wasn’t it?"
Evans pushed away from the desk and reached down for the discarded newspaper on the rug. The paper crinkled as he flipped it open, revealing the glossy image splashed across the front page. He held it out for her to see. "This one."
Irene leaned closer, her hand resting on his thigh for balance as she studied the image. "Yeah?" she said, her brows knitting together. "What about it?"
Evans’s eyes flicked up to her. "You don’t see it?"
"See what?" she asked, puzzled.
He tapped the photograph, his finger landing on the woman’s face — the delicate features, the arch of her brow, the way her smile seemed just a little too familiar. "She looks just like Mary!" he exclaimed.
"Sweetie, you don’t expect me to see that," Irene said. "I never met Mary. We merely have her pictures in the house."
"I know," he said. "But you have seen them. The resemblance is striking." He tapped the newspaper still on his knee.
Irene folded her arms, considering. "So what are you thinking?" she asked. She knew him well — the slow gear-shift from casual to obsessed. Once Evans locked onto an idea, he became a machine that refused to let go until the last detail had been gnawed clean.
"I’m thinking I need to get to know this woman," he said finally. "Dad isn’t going to ever forgive himself if he dies without resolving their issues. I won’t forgive myself either for not trying harder." The admission fell heavier than he intended.
There were old debts in that house, quiet regrets that kept Evans awake some nights — a father who paced his library at two a.m., muttering apologies to photographs.
"Evans, this girl—she is just a child. She cannot be Mary. I don’t know what Winn is doing but the media is right: she is quite young. Twenty-one, for heaven’s sake. Barely getting started."
Evans held her gaze. "I know she isn’t Mary," he said, softening. "But she may have ties to Mary."
"If you’re right," she said, amusement edging back into her voice, "Winn is going to take a gun to your head." The image flashed absurd and vivid — Winn Kane, all restrained dignity and lethal calm, suddenly radicalized by jealousy.
"If I’m right and this girl is related to me," he replied, pulling Irene close until the small whisper of her heartbeat pressed against his chest, "I am going to take a gun to his head." He buried his face in her neck. He kissed the hollow of her throat.