The rain started halfway through Evelyn's walk back to the office.
At first it was light, barely more than mist, but by the time she reached the crosswalk it had turned heavy, soaking the pavement and blurring the city into streaks of gray. She hadn't brought an umbrella. She rarely did these days.
She stood beneath the awning of a closed café, coat damp at the shoulders, phone clutched loosely in her hand.
The rejected proposal replayed in her mind.
It wasn't the loss itself that unsettled her. Rejection was part of rebuilding. She had expected resistance. What caught her off guard was how alone it felt.
Not abandoned—alone.
There was no assistant to smooth things over, no powerful surname to open a back door, no husband whose influence could reverse decisions with a single call.
This was her responsibility now.
Evelyn straightened and stepped back into the rain.
Inside the office building, the elevator ride was quiet. Her reflection stared back at her in the mirrored wall—hair damp, expression composed, eyes steady.
She looked… capable.
That mattered.
The meeting room was already occupied when she arrived.
Three people sat at the table: the regional director, a legal advisor, and a woman Evelyn recognized from the investor group earlier that day.
The air was tense.
"Ms. Hart," the director began, gesturing for her to sit. "We need to address some concerns."
Evelyn took her seat calmly. "I'm listening."
The legal advisor slid a document across the table.
"There's been a complaint," he said. "Alleging conflict of interest."
Evelyn's fingers paused on the edge of the paper.
"From whom?" she asked.
The woman across from her avoided eye contact. "From one of the withdrawn parties."
Of course.
Evelyn exhaled slowly and flipped the document open.
The accusation was vague but dangerous—suggesting that her prior marriage had influenced negotiations, that she might have benefited from inside access.
It was untrue.
And they all knew it.
But truth had never been the only currency in business.
"I disclosed my marital status in full," Evelyn said evenly. "And I have not used, requested, or received any privileged information."
The director nodded. "We're aware. This isn't an accusation—yet. But it's enough to stall proceedings."
"How long?" Evelyn asked.
"Until we complete a review."
She nodded once.
No anger. No pleading.
"Understood."
When the meeting ended, Evelyn returned to her desk and sat there for a long moment, hands folded neatly in her lap.
This was the part no one glamorized.
The silence after ambition met resistance.
She wanted—briefly—to scream.
To throw something.
To call someone who could fix it.
Her phone buzzed.
Lucas's name lit up the screen.
She stared at it.
Then declined the call.
Across town, Lucas lowered his phone slowly.
He had heard about the complaint within minutes of it being filed. His legal team had flagged it immediately, ready to dismantle it before it could gain traction.
All he had to do was say the word.
But he remembered her warning.
If you keep interfering…
Lucas closed his eyes.
For once, he did nothing.
That night, Evelyn worked late.
The office emptied out around her, one light at a time flicking off until she was the only one left. Papers spread across her desk, annotations scribbled in careful handwriting.
She wasn't fighting the accusation.
She was preparing for survival.
At midnight, she finally stood, rolling her shoulders to release the tension.
She locked up and stepped into the elevator.
As the doors slid shut, exhaustion crept in.
Not physical.
Emotional.
This was what independence cost.
No safety net.
No shield.
Just resolve.
The elevator doors opened to the underground parking garage.
Her footsteps echoed as she walked toward her car.
She heard them then—voices.
Low.
Male.
She slowed instinctively.
Two figures stood near her vehicle, arguing quietly.
Her breath caught.
Before fear could take hold, one of them looked up and froze.
"Ms. Hart?"
She recognized him immediately—one of Lucas's junior legal associates.
"What are you doing here?" Evelyn asked, heart pounding but voice steady.
He straightened. "Mr. Vale sent us. We heard about the complaint. He wanted to make sure—"
She raised a hand.
"Stop."
The men exchanged glances.
"I did not ask for help," Evelyn said. "And I don't want it."
"Ms. Hart—"
"Tell him," she continued quietly, "that if he respects me at all, he will let me handle this myself."
The associate hesitated. "This could damage your reputation."
"I know."
She stepped past them and unlocked her car.
"And that's still my choice."
She drove away without looking back.
Lucas received the report ten minutes later.
He sat at his desk, fists balled up, chest aching with that old, pointless need to make everything right.
Yeah, he had power. Influence. All the resources anyone could ask for. Funny thing—none of it felt like a gift right now.
For once, something clicked. Love isn't about swooping in to fix every mess. Sometimes, real love means stepping aside, letting someone else fight it out, even if it tears you up to watch.
He leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
Evelyn was changing—turning into someone strong, someone fierce. If he wanted to stand next to her again, he had to catch up. Not pull her back under his wing.