Chapter 9
*(Evelyn's POV)*
I was reviewing quarterly reports when my secretary buzzed in.
"Ms. Ashford, there's a delivery. No sender name."
"Send it back."
"Ma'am... it's the fifth delivery this week."
I sighed. "What is it this time?"
She brought it in — a small velvet box. Inside: an antique locket. And not just any locket.
My mother's locket.
The one I'd left behind at the penthouse. The one with my baby photo inside — the only picture my mother had from before we changed our names.
My throat closed.
A card was tucked beneath it, written in Luca's sharp handwriting:
*I found this behind the bathroom cabinet when I was looking for you. It's yours. Everything I have is yours. Please let me see you. — L*
I closed the box. Set it aside. Went back to my spreadsheet.
But my hands were shaking.
That night, my grandfather invited me to dinner at the estate. When I arrived, he was sitting in his study, whiskey in hand, a stack of documents on his desk.
"Sit down, child. We need to discuss something."
I sat.
"Castellano's company is hemorrhaging," he said bluntly. "Without the European merger, they're overextended. His stock is down twenty-one percent. There are rumors of a hostile takeover attempt from the Laurent family."
"The Laurents?" My eyebrows rose. "Bianca's family?"
"Apparently the young woman is no longer under Castellano's protection. The father is furious. Wants blood." Grandfather studied me. "Castellano has requested a meeting with me directly. He wants an alliance with Ashford Medical to stabilize his position."
"And?"
"And I told him I'd consider it." He paused. "On one condition."
"Grandfather—"
"He doesn't know the condition yet," he said, his eyes sharp. "I wanted to discuss it with you first."
I waited.
"He's desperate, Evelyn. A desperate man will agree to anything." Grandfather leaned forward. "I could demand he sign over controlling interest in his pharmaceutical division. It would effectively make him answerable to us. To you."
The irony was almost poetic. The man who'd owned me through a contract could now be owned by me.
"I don't want him," I said firmly. "I don't want anything to do with him."
"This isn't about wanting him. This is business." Grandfather's voice hardened. "His company's pharmaceutical patents are worth twelve billion. If the Laurent family gets them, they'll become a direct competitor to us. Better we control those assets."
He was right. From a purely strategic standpoint, he was right.
"Fine," I said. "Set the meeting. But I'm not going."
"Of course not." My grandfather smiled — a cold, sharp thing. "He'll be dealing with me."
But three days later, when the meeting was set, my grandfather fell ill. A bad cold that turned into pneumonia — nothing life-threatening, but enough to keep him in bed.
"You'll have to take the meeting," his assistant informed me.
I stared at the ceiling.
Of course.
The meeting was set for Friday, 2 PM, at the Ashford Group's headquarters. My territory. My building. My terms.
I chose my armor carefully that morning: a charcoal power suit, hair pulled back, minimal jewelry. War paint.
At 1:58 PM, my secretary announced him.
"Mr. Castellano is here, Ms. Ashford."
"Send him in."
The door opened. And there he was.
He looked terrible. Thinner. Dark circles under his eyes. A gauntness to his cheeks that I'd never seen before. He was still beautiful — would always be beautiful — but it was the beauty of something crumbling.
His eyes found me behind my desk, and I watched something shatter in them.
"Evelyn." My name in his mouth — half prayer, half wound.
"Mr. Castellano." I gestured to the chair opposite me. "Sit down. Let's discuss terms."
I was reviewing quarterly reports when my secretary buzzed in.
"Ms. Ashford, there's a delivery. No sender name."
"Send it back."
"Ma'am... it's the fifth delivery this week."
I sighed. "What is it this time?"
She brought it in — a small velvet box. Inside: an antique locket. And not just any locket.
My mother's locket.
The one I'd left behind at the penthouse. The one with my baby photo inside — the only picture my mother had from before we changed our names.
My throat closed.
A card was tucked beneath it, written in Luca's sharp handwriting:
*I found this behind the bathroom cabinet when I was looking for you. It's yours. Everything I have is yours. Please let me see you. — L*
I closed the box. Set it aside. Went back to my spreadsheet.
But my hands were shaking.
That night, my grandfather invited me to dinner at the estate. When I arrived, he was sitting in his study, whiskey in hand, a stack of documents on his desk.
"Sit down, child. We need to discuss something."
I sat.
"Castellano's company is hemorrhaging," he said bluntly. "Without the European merger, they're overextended. His stock is down twenty-one percent. There are rumors of a hostile takeover attempt from the Laurent family."
"The Laurents?" My eyebrows rose. "Bianca's family?"
"Apparently the young woman is no longer under Castellano's protection. The father is furious. Wants blood." Grandfather studied me. "Castellano has requested a meeting with me directly. He wants an alliance with Ashford Medical to stabilize his position."
"And?"
"And I told him I'd consider it." He paused. "On one condition."
"Grandfather—"
"He doesn't know the condition yet," he said, his eyes sharp. "I wanted to discuss it with you first."
I waited.
"He's desperate, Evelyn. A desperate man will agree to anything." Grandfather leaned forward. "I could demand he sign over controlling interest in his pharmaceutical division. It would effectively make him answerable to us. To you."
The irony was almost poetic. The man who'd owned me through a contract could now be owned by me.
"I don't want him," I said firmly. "I don't want anything to do with him."
"This isn't about wanting him. This is business." Grandfather's voice hardened. "His company's pharmaceutical patents are worth twelve billion. If the Laurent family gets them, they'll become a direct competitor to us. Better we control those assets."
He was right. From a purely strategic standpoint, he was right.
"Fine," I said. "Set the meeting. But I'm not going."
"Of course not." My grandfather smiled — a cold, sharp thing. "He'll be dealing with me."
But three days later, when the meeting was set, my grandfather fell ill. A bad cold that turned into pneumonia — nothing life-threatening, but enough to keep him in bed.
"You'll have to take the meeting," his assistant informed me.
I stared at the ceiling.
Of course.
The meeting was set for Friday, 2 PM, at the Ashford Group's headquarters. My territory. My building. My terms.
I chose my armor carefully that morning: a charcoal power suit, hair pulled back, minimal jewelry. War paint.
At 1:58 PM, my secretary announced him.
"Mr. Castellano is here, Ms. Ashford."
"Send him in."
The door opened. And there he was.
He looked terrible. Thinner. Dark circles under his eyes. A gauntness to his cheeks that I'd never seen before. He was still beautiful — would always be beautiful — but it was the beauty of something crumbling.
His eyes found me behind my desk, and I watched something shatter in them.
"Evelyn." My name in his mouth — half prayer, half wound.
"Mr. Castellano." I gestured to the chair opposite me. "Sit down. Let's discuss terms."