The angry shouting died off in a heartbeat.
Allen’s eyes landed on the man at the top of the steps. He stood there, looking down with a quiet authority that made everyone else feel small. The cigarette pinched between his fingers glowed, its smoke curling up and disappearing into the air.
Even in casual loungewear, he wore it like a king—effortlessly commanding.
That day, Oliver came home much earlier than usual.
Inside, the “three little ones” were buried in spreadsheets, analyzing last year’s numbers for Pacific Capital. They barely had time to breathe, surrounded by piles of paperwork and a few open laptops scattered across the tea room.
Colton looked especially miserable. He was about to head off to his military post and everyone seemed determined to squeeze every ounce of work out of him before he left. He grumbled under his breath but didn’t dare speak up.
Just then, Johns slipped in and leaned over to whisper, “Ma’am brought a middle-aged man home. They’re arguing in the yard.”
Sara immediately perked up, curiosity all over her face. She was always first in line for a bit of gossip, but before she could sneak out, someone caught her by the collar and pulled her back.
Oliver’s voice was sharp as he shot Johns a look. “Keep an eye on them. Nobody leaves this room.”
Outside, Oliver took in the scene. Some stranger was on his property, yelling at the woman he loved.
He flicked some ash from his cigarette, then tossed the half-smoked stub to the ground and crushed it out. Without a word, he walked over to Patricia.
He rested his hand lightly at her waist, his voice gentle but with a teasing edge. “You brought a guest home and didn’t even introduce us?”
Patricia turned slightly, slipping just out of his reach. “Allen. He’s one of the four shareholders at Martin Group.”
Oliver stepped past her, offering a hand to Allen, who was still awkwardly sitting on the ground. His tone was polite but distant. “Oliver Padilla. Pacific Capital.”
Allen’s eyes widened in shock. “Mr. Padilla…”
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