Sloane dropped back into her seat beside Catherine, setting the cocktails down with an exaggerated sigh. "Please tell me why men in expensive suits suddenly think they're irresistible the second they walk into a rooftop bar."
Marcus smirked from across the table. "Because unfortunately for the rest of us, that strategy usually works."
"Not tonight," Sloane replied dryly. "This one spent ten minutes trying to convince me to leave with him for some exclusive afterparty downstairs."
Julian laughed. "And yet you still came back to us. I'm touched."
"Relax," Sloane said, taking a sip of her drink. "I prefer entertaining company."
The table broke into easy laughter, the warm music and city lights blending into the lively rooftop atmosphere around them.
But Sloane had already dismissed the interaction from her mind. To her, the stranger at the bar was just another arrogant man with too much money and too much confidence. Completely forgettable.
Catherine smiled faintly at the conversation, though her attention drifted briefly toward the other side of the lounge.
The man was still watching their table.
She looked away almost immediately.
Her thoughts were already crowded enough with Damien and the lingering memory of the night before.
Just then, the phone in Catherine's hand vibrated softly against the glass tabletop.
Damien.
Her stomach tightened instantly.
The laughter around her suddenly felt far away as she stared at the screen for a brief second before quietly pushing her chair back.
"I'll be back," she murmured.
Sloane immediately narrowed her eyes. "Why do you suddenly look nervous?"
"Maybe her secret criminal empire is finally catching up to her," Julian teased.
Marcus raised his glass lazily. "If Catherine gets arrested tonight, I just want everyone here to remember I supported her from the beginning."
Catherine rolled her eyes despite herself, ignoring the comments as she slipped away from the table and headed toward the quieter edge of the rooftop terrace before answering the call.
"What?" she asked quietly.
"Where are you?"
Damien's voice was low and calm over the line.
Catherine looked out over the glittering skyline. "Out."
A brief pause followed.
"I know that," Damien replied evenly. "I asked where."
Something about his tone made her grip tighten slightly around the phone.
"Why?"
"Because I'm downstairs."
Catherine's brows pulled together instantly. "What?"
"Get in the elevator, Catherine."
Her pulse skipped. "No."
Silence.
Then Damien spoke again, his voice still controlled. "You're coming home with me."
Catherine let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "You don't get to summon me whenever you feel like it."
"Funny," Damien murmured. "Because you still answered the phone."
Her jaw tightened immediately.
"Go home, Damien. I'll come back later."
Another pause stretched between them.
When he spoke again, his tone dropped colder.
"You have five minutes to get downstairs."
Catherine's expression hardened. "Or what?"
"Or I come upstairs myself."
Her breath caught slightly.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me," Damien said calmly. "I'll walk straight through that rooftop, throw you over my shoulder in front of every one of your friends, and carry you out myself."
Catherine closed her eyes briefly in frustration.
And the worst part was that she knew he meant every word.
"Five minutes," Damien said quietly.
The line went dead.
Catherine lowered the phone slowly, exhaling sharply as irritation and panic twisted together inside her chest.
After forcing herself to calm down, she adjusted the strap of her dress and walked back toward the table.
The second she returned, Marcus looked up. "That bad?"
"Family issue," Catherine replied smoothly, reaching for her clutch. "I have to leave."
Sloane frowned slightly now, her earlier teasing fading. "Everything okay?"
"Perfectly fine."
Julian studied her for a second before leaning back in his chair. "That sounded incredibly fake."
Despite herself, Catherine smiled faintly. "I'll survive."
After saying her goodbyes, she turned and headed toward the elevators without another word.
The moment she disappeared from sight, Julian lowered his drink.
"Okay, seriously," he muttered. "What was that?"
Sloane's expression shifted slightly. "I don't know. But she's been different ever since the wedding."
Marcus glanced toward the elevators thoughtfully. "You think it's Damien?"
No one answered immediately.
Because all of them had already wondered the exact same thing.
---
The elevator doors slid open into the underground parking garage.
Catherine stepped out into the cool concrete silence and immediately spotted Damien's matte-black sports car waiting near the curb, engine idling softly.
The passenger door unlocked with a click the moment she approached.
She pulled the door open and slid inside without a word.
The familiar scent of leather and Damien's cologne wrapped around her instantly.
Damien rested one hand loosely against the steering wheel, his gaze fixed ahead as he pulled the car smoothly out of the garage.
He didn't look at her.
He didn't say anything.
And somehow that unsettled Catherine more than an argument would have.
She kept her attention on the passing city lights outside the passenger window, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
The memory of his lips against hers the night before still lingered in the back of her mind, making the quiet feel strangely suffocating.
The car merged onto the rain-slicked streets, neon lights reflecting across the windshield as Damien drove through the city with sharp, controlled focus.
Neither of them spoke.
The only sound inside the car came from the low hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal.
Catherine glanced toward him once briefly.
His jaw was tense.
There were faint shadows beneath his eyes she didn't remember seeing before.
And for a split second, his grip around the steering wheel tightened hard enough for his knuckles to pale before relaxing again.
Like he wanted to say something.
But changed his mind.
Catherine looked away first.
The silence stretched through the rest of the drive as the city blurred past them toward Reed Manor.
---
While the silence inside Damien's car lingered across the dark streets, a completely different kind of quiet settled over Andrew's penthouse.
Following Michael's rejection of his dinner invitation, Andrew didn't push the issue.
He didn't lose his temper.
He didn't issue a command.
Instead, he simply looked at Michael for a long moment, unreadable as ever.
"Fair enough," Andrew said softly. "I'll see you tomorrow, Michael."
And just like that, he left.
No manipulation.
No argument.
No punishment.
Claiming sudden late-night business, Andrew walked out of the penthouse and left Michael alone in the massive apartment.
A few minutes later, the penthouse chef, Thomas, entered the kitchen with two maids following behind him.
On Andrew's orders, they quietly prepared an entire spread of Michael's favorite dishes across the marble island.
The servants moved efficiently, barely speaking as they arranged the plates before slipping away once everything was finished.
The penthouse fell silent again.
Michael stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring at the untouched food.
The lack of hostility unsettled him more than anger would have.
He had prepared himself for control, resistance, and pressure.
Not this.
Not Andrew stepping back and giving him space to think.
It left Michael frustrated in a way he couldn't explain.
Like he had spent weeks bracing himself against a storm only for the wind to disappear without warning.
---
The next morning, the atmosphere inside Kingston Mansion shifted entirely.
Old Mr. Kingston had finally returned home.
After spending years abroad managing family business, the Kingston patriarch was back in the city-and furious.
It hadn't taken long for word of Mrs. Rodriguez's outburst at the mansion to reach him.
To Old Mr. Kingston, the idea that anyone believed they could humiliate a Kingston inside their own home was unacceptable.
Seated behind the massive mahogany desk in his study, he instructed the family butler, Charlie, to bring Brittany to him immediately.
The heavy double doors opened moments later.
The instant Brittany saw her grandfather standing beside the desk, her guarded expression softened.
"Grandpa!"
She crossed the room quickly and wrapped her arms around him.
Old Mr. Kingston's stern face eased slightly as he rested a hand against her back.
"I missed you too, my girl."
But the warmth in his expression faded just as quickly.
"I heard about what happened with the Rodriguez family," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Listen carefully, Brittany. I don't want you anywhere near that boy again."
Brittany's breath caught quietly in her throat.
The old man stepped closer, resting a firm hand on her shoulder.
"I will find a man worthy of you," he said with complete certainty. "Someone who respects the Kingston name and knows your value."
Emotion hit Brittany unexpectedly hard.
For weeks she had felt humiliated, discarded, and invisible beside her father's business priorities.
But standing here now, with her grandfather defending her without hesitation, made something inside her chest tighten painfully.
For the first time in weeks, she felt protected.
Old Mr. Kingston reached for the antique phone on his desk.
He still had more family business to handle.
---
Across town, morning light filtered softly through the curtains of Catherine's bedroom when her phone rang across the nightstand.
Before answering, Catherine instinctively glanced around the room.
Empty.
Only then did she reach for the phone.
Grandpa.
Relief loosened some of the tension in her chest.
It wasn't a coincidence that her grandfather had handled Brittany's situation so quickly.
The moment Charlie secretly informed her about Mrs. Rodriguez creating a scene at Kingston Mansion, Catherine knew she needed help.
And there was only one person powerful enough to step in immediately.
"Grandpa," she answered quietly.
"I handled it," Old Mr. Kingston said firmly. "I spoke to Brittany myself. No one humiliates a Kingston while I'm still alive."
Catherine leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes briefly.
"Thank you," she murmured. "She needed you."
After ending the call, Catherine stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Her thoughts drifted unwillingly toward Damien and the silence from the drive home the night before.
Eventually, she pushed herself out of bed and got ready for the day.
Dressed in a tailored cream blouse and fitted trousers, she stepped into the hallway and spotted a maid carrying fresh linens.
"Excuse me," Catherine called softly.
The maid stopped immediately. "Yes, young mistress?"
"Do you know where Damien is?"
"The young master is having breakfast with the family in the dining hall."
"Thank you."
---
The moment Catherine entered the dining hall, conversation around the long table quieted.
The Reed family was already seated for breakfast.
Catherine moved calmly toward her chair beside Damien and sat down gracefully.
Almost immediately, her mother-in-law smiled.
"How are you adjusting to married life, Catherine?" she asked smoothly. "Your father-in-law and I were discussing the possibility of sending you and Damien on a honeymoon."
Catherine nearly choked on her water.
A few drops splashed onto the pristine tablecloth as several staff members froze awkwardly nearby.
Before his mother could continue, Damien set his coffee cup down harder than necessary against the saucer.
The sharp sound cut through the room instantly.
He still didn't say a word.
But the warning look he gave the table was enough to silence everyone.
The room quieted immediately.
A moment later, Damien's phone rang inside his jacket pocket.
He glanced at the screen before answering.
"Mr. Kingston."
Catherine already knew why her father was calling.
The Kingston patriarch formally invited the Reed family to attend his upcoming forty-fifth wedding anniversary celebration on September 10th.
Damien's posture straightened slightly.
"Of course," he replied respectfully. "We'll be there. Thank you for the invitation."
After ending the call, he stood from the table.
Catherine watched him quietly.
She didn't need an explanation.
She and Brittany were already overseeing most of the anniversary arrangements themselves.
---
Across the city, Nikolas sat alone inside his office, staring at the gold-embossed invitation resting across his desk.
Mr. and Mrs. Kingston's forty-fifth wedding anniversary.
But the invitation wasn't the most interesting thing his informants had delivered that morning.
Alongside it came a far more valuable piece of information from inside Kingston Mansion itself.
Old Mr. Kingston had officially returned to the city.
And he was actively searching for a suitor for Brittany Kingston.
Nikolas leaned back slowly in his chair, thoughtful amusement flickering across his face.
Now that was interesting.