Chapter 9

From the doors of a herbal pharmacy, Khloe emerged with a storm in her expression, striding toward the luxury car parked across the street.

Before she could reach it, the driver's side opened and a man with sharp, refined features stepped out in a hurry.

A tailored suit hugged his frame, and the glint of gold-rimmed glasses added a polished, intellectual edge to his appearance.

The man was Neal.

He had once been just another marketing employee at the Clarke Group, but his connection with Khloe had propelled him upward. Now he was the General Manager of Public Relations-and soon to be her husband.

The moment their eyes met, a trace of softness slipped into Khloe's guarded face, and her voice carried the weightof her frustration. "Neal..."

But Neal's gaze slid right past her, locking instead on a lone figure in the distance.

The silhouette was slim, graceful-and something about it stirred a shock of recognition. It was SO much like Eliana.

That thought made no sense. Eliana had died in a fire. There was no way she could be here. Was his mind just conjuring ghosts?

He tried to shake it off. Years had passed, and it was easy to see traces of her in a stranger's outline.

Even so, unease clung to him, whispering that he wouldn't be able to rest until he knew for certain.

If Eliana was truly alive, and the Clarke family learned he had once been engaged to her, the wedding with Khloe could collapse overnight.

He had just taken a step toward the figure, readly to close the distance, when Khloe's voice cut him off. "Neal, where are you going?"

The question snapped him back, and he quickly smoothed his features into an easy smnile."Thought I caught sight of someone | used to know."

"Who exactly?" Khloe's tone sharpened with suspicion.

Dropping his gaze, Neal's voice was mild. "NNo one that matters."

Khloe tugged lightly at his sleeve. "Then forget it and get in. We still have other pharmacies to check-l need those herbs."

Only then did Neal's attention shift fully back to her.

Her eyes were red, and the two bodyguards behind her looked as if they'd been through a scuffle.Something had clearly gone wrong.

"What happened? Who laid a hand on you?" His voice was edged with concern.

"A damn bitch!" Khloe spat, fury flashing in her eyes. "She attacked my bodyguards and grabbed the Goosegrass I came for!"

"Who is she? How dare she cross you?" Neal's tone hardened instantly. "Tell me where she is, and I'll deal with her right now."

The fire in Khloe's expression eased, satisfaction curling at the corners of her mouth. She gave a dismissive shake of her head. "Forget it. She's just some upstart from who knows where-and she can fight. I only brought two bodyguards today, and even you wouldn't be able to take her."

"Then we find out who she is, and we'll handle her later," Neal said, his tone low and coaxing.

A determined nod followed. "Exactly. I'll make sure she pays me back for this. But right now, we have to focus on finding that Goosegrass my parents want.I already told them you'd found it and would deliver it today. If we don't, they'll turn their criticism on you again."

Khloe's family had never warmed to Neal. His modest upbringing was enough for them to look down on him, and they doubted he had the capability to take on anything significant. Still, Khloe's attachment had forced them into reluctant acceptance of the engagement.

Recognizing the urgency in her voice, Neal straightened. "Then let's move. There's no way this is the only place selling Goosegrass."

"Agreed. Let's get going." Khloe ended the discussion there, bending down and sliding into the car.

Once Khloe was settled in the car, Neal cast one last glance toward where the familiar figure had been.

The street was empty. Whoever it was had vanished without a trace.

He drew in a steadying breath, telling himself it had only been a trick of the eye-someone who merely resembled Eliana. Inside the Moonlight Club, thick coils of smoke curled above a card table where a group of men played intently.

A striking woman stood behind each man, ready to flick a lighter or refill a glass at the slightest gesture.

At the center sat a man in a perfectly pressed white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the muscle in his forearms shifting as he held his cards.

Even in the middle of the game, there was a refined composure in the way he moved, as though he were studying a fine work of art rather than chasing a win.

With features that turned heads in any room, he carried the kind of presence that made people look twice.

A few hands later, he slid his cards across the felt with quiet finality.

Polite applause broke out around the table.

"Another full house? Mr. Pearson, your luck's unbeatable!" one of the men said with a grin. "It's more than luck," a blonde woman behind the man added, passing him a glass of wine. "I saw his starting hand-it was terrible. This was pure skill."

Leaning forward to serve the drink, she moved in a way that effortlessly drew the eye to the shape of her figure.

Her tone was soft, almost coaxing. "Mr. Pearson,would you care to try the wine here? It's made in-house..."

"Much obliged," Tristan Pearson said, accepting the glass without so much as looking up.

A sudden tilt of her wrist sent the deep red liquid spilling over the rim, splattering across his sleeve.

The crisp white fabric instantly bloomed with a dark crimson stain.

From across the table, Hector Clarke shoved back his chair and got to his feet, irritation hardening his voice.

"Anaya, what on earth are you doing? Get Mr. Pearson upstairs and help him change-now."

Anaya Perry's eyes lingered on Tristan, heavy with unspoken intent. "Mr. Pearson, shall I take you up to freshen up?"

Tristan rose with unhurried grace. "Lead the way."

When Tristan didn't turn her down, Hector's shoulders eased, and he traded a quick glance with Anaya.

Catching the signal, her smile deepened into something far more enticing. "Mr. Pearson, this way please."

Together, Anaya and Tristan disappeared up the staircase, vanishing around the corner under Hector's watchful eyes.

Leaning toward the man beside him, Hector lowered his voice. "I dropped a fortune on him at the card table today and even sent Anaya over. You think he's satisfied now?"

The subordinate gave a knowing chuckle. "Of course. Money and women-what man can say no?Especially to someone like Anaya. She's the kind that leaves a man wanting more."

"Still," Hector muttered, "it feels like he's not entirely pleased. You think he's still nursing a grudge from before?"

"You're reading too much into it," the other man replied easily. "Back when he was just the Pearson family's illegitimate son, plenty of people mocked and stepped on him. If he planned to take revenge on every one of them, half the city would be gone by now. The way we treated him today should make it clear where we stand."

Hector said nothing, the reminder settling over him.

Once, Tristan had been nothing more than the Pearson family's illegitimate heir.

Only a month earlier, Elbert Pearson-the head of the powerful Pearson family-had stunned everyone by naming Tristan as the heir to the Pearson Group,while the legitimate son was quietly shipped overseas.

When most people expected Tristan to crumble under the weight of the position, he dismantled those assumptions with calculated precision, taking over the company in a matter of weeks through bold and ruthless moves.

Now, not only the Pearson Group but also its allied businesses operated under his command.

To rise in just a month from the family's scorned illeggitimate son to its uncontested leader was nothing short of remarkable.

That very rise was the reason Hector never let his guard down.

He, after all, had once been among the men who had sneered openly at Tristan, calling him a bastard without a second thought.

"Relax," the subordinate said with an easy grin. "Even if we can't win him over ourselves, Anaya can.You know better than anyone how good she is at dealing with men."

A slow smirk crossed Hector's face. "You're right."

Polished manners or not, Hector figured, Tristan had still followed Anaya upstairs after nothing more than a single,well-placed look.

To Hector, that only proved one thing-no matter how refined they seemed in public, all men were the same behind closed doors.