Ryan’s POV
Ryan hadn’t stepped into the office in nearly three weeks.
The walls of the mansion had begun to close in on him , the weight of his mother’s sharp tongue, the whispers from the board, the constant drip of gossip from the press. His name had been dragged through every column, his wife painted either as a conniving thief or a helpless victim, depending on who was talking.
He needed air. He needed order. He needed to remind himself that he was still in control of something.
That morning, he stood in the hallway, buttoning his shirt, the crisp white fabric cutting cleanly against his tan skin. His watch glinted as he adjusted his cufflinks , the small, automatic gestures grounding him in routine.
Eve watched from the edge of the dining table, her hands loosely cradling a cup o
