<b>Chapter </b><b>140 </b>


    35%%


    Nathan cleared his throat. “Victoria, don’t blindly idolize so–called ‘sessful‘ people. Study their journeys, the real ones, not the polished versions. Take Mr. Hob, for example. If you ever get the chance, pick his brain. His advice would be worth more than any lecture.<b>” </b>


    There was a hint of something in his voice–jealousy? Resentment?-but his guidance was sound.


    I knew he was right. Learning from Jared’s experience would be invaluable. But given our…plicated history, was that even possible?


    “I’ll ask him when I get the chance,” I said neutrally.


    Our food arrived then, saving us from further small talk. Nathan served me the tenderest part of the fish. The cheek, the most vorful bite.


    I stared at the lifeless eyes of the fish, a bitter taste rising in my throat. Memories shed, me doing the same for Jared, arranging his te just the way he liked, removing anything he disliked without a word.


    “Something wrong?” Nathan frowned when I didn’t move. “Not a fan of fish?”


    “No, I love it.” I forced a smile, locking away the past.


    The rest of dinner passed smoothly. I grilled Nathan on investment strategies, and to his credit, he answered everything with startling transparency.


    I was learning. Testing men. And so far, Nathan was proving more genuine than I’d expected.


    When we parted ways outside the restaurant, he hesitated. “Can I drive you home?”


    Jchecked the time. It was past nine. “Not tonight. I’ll grab a cab.”


    “Alright.” He didn’t push.


    I gged down a taxi, but before I could reach for my wallet, Nathan handed the driver a wad of cash, enough to cover the fare and then some. The driver’s grin widened.


    Nathan’s eyes lingered on me. “Get home safe.”


    The driver gave an enthusiastic nod. “You got it, boss!”


    A smirk tugged at my lips. Nathan caught it and mirrored the expression as he shut the door with finality.


    The penthouse was dark when I arrived. A quick shower, then bed.


    Progress moved faster than anticipated. My twin hotel concepts were taking shape: one, a light–filled pzzo dripping with understated luxury; the other, a Clusian–inspired retreat where every negative space whispered elegance. To bring these visions to life, I’d hired top–tier designers specializing in each.


    Every detail mattered. The pzzo demanded crisp, refined opulence, while the Clusian–inspired space required deliberate restraint–every brushstroke of negative space intentional.


    Around three in the afternoon, Jared unexpectedly showed up on–site. I was masked, deep in discussion with a contractor, when he strolled in, ncing around at the nearly finished interiors. His expression betrayed genuine surprise.


    I approached him. “When did you get here?”


    <b>wed </b>


    “Just now,” he said, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the space. “Decided to drop by. <b>It’s</b>… unique.”


    “Money buys good taste, Mr. Hob,” I emphasized the formal title with a corporate smile.


    He shot me aplicated look. “Better than I expected. You’ve got talent.”


    “I’ll take that as apliment.”


    “Let’s grab tea,” he said abruptly, already turning toward the office. “I’m parched.”


    I followed. He settled onto the sofa, eyes tracking me as I entered. The mask seemed to intrigue him, his gaze lingered a beat too long. “So you’re really all–in on this now?”


    I wasn’t sure what he was probing for. “Obviously. Why?”


    “Work and family, you can’t pour into both cups at once.” His tone carried a pointed edge.


    Iughed, pulling off the mask and shaking out my hair. “Darling, greed doesn’t suit you. Expecting the family type and the working type


    both? Doesn’t that exhaust you?”