Tears blurred Adah’s vision before she could stop them. She didn’t see the person in front of her until she walked straight into his chest.

Solid. Warm. That faint scent wrapped around her like a memory. It was Allan. She didn’t need to look up to know.

Adah jerked backward, blinking hard until her vision cleared. Allan stood there, watching her with those unbearably gentle eyes. Before she could say anything, he held out a tissue.

She took it and wiped her face. “Thanks.”

“Cole told me everything just now,” Allan said quietly. “I’m sorry. When you were searching for your mother before, I didn’t step up. I should have.” He paused, something raw flickering across his face. “But from now on, I want to help. Let me take care of her—with you.”

Adah’s jaw tightened. Accepting a tissue was basic decency, nothing more. She wasn’t about to let him think it meant anything beyond that. “This is my business,” she said, her voice flat and final. “She’s my mother. You don’t need to get involved.”

She brushed past him without a backward glance.

Allan stood there, watching her disappear down the hall. He exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with regret. The woman he loved had carried so much pain in the past, and he—her fiancé, the one who should’ve been there—had done nothing. How was he supposed to fix that now?

The next morning arrived draped in celebration. The Evans household still hummed with newlywed joy, laughter spilling from open windows.

Adah showed up right on schedule. Rita and Sophie joined the gathering at the Evans family. Elliana and Cole stood ready, packed and determined. They were heading to the airstrip—Cole’s private jet would take them to Cadena.

The plane’s engines were already warming up when Allan came sprinting across the tarmac and hauled himself aboard at the last possible second.

Allan looked rather haggard, the faint smell of alcohol still hanging on him like a ghost. He’d been completely wasted the night before, barely slept, and had only managed to drag himself out of bed through sheer stubbornness. At least the shower and clean clothes kept him from looking like a complete disaster.

? @ g?ν?

Allan wasn’t a drinker. When he did touch the stuff, it was usually just a single glass of red wine. Getting tipsy was rare. Getting blackout drunk? Almost unheard of.

No one else understood why Allan had gotten so smashed last night—but Cole did.

Watching Adah walk away on Lance’s arm yesterday had stabbed Allan right in the chest. He was the kind of man who couldn’t stomach competition, who refused to share what he wanted with anyone.

Beneath Allan’s polished, refined exterior lay a ruthless streak. If Lance hadn’t been Cole’s cousin, Allan would’ve crushed him without a second thought. But Cole’s cousin? That required finesse.

Allan’s version of finesse was getting Lance so drunk that he’d be physically incapable of joining Adah today.

At first, Allan had been confident. Lance was legendary for being a lightweight. Two glasses of red wine usually knocked him flat.

Last night, though, Lance’s tolerance had been disturbingly, impossibly high.

Allan had matched Lance drink for drink, glass for glass, over a dozen brutal rounds. Yet, Lance had barely swayed while Allan had felt gravity shifting sideways.

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