Earlier
The late morning light spilled through the wall of windows in Isla's apartment, warm enough to make her bare feet curl against the polished wood. She'd just returned from a two-hour shoot, the faint itch of hairspray still clinging to her scalp, when her phone lit up with Marla's name.
"You're going tonight," Marla said without greeting.
"I'm not," Isla replied, pushing the fridge door open and grabbing a bottle of mineral water.
"It's the Almarine account. Half their yacht campaign depends on your face being seen."
"That's not how campaigns work," Isla murmured, twisting the cap.
"That's exactly how they work when the client likes to drink champagne on a boat while discussing budgets." Marla's voice was brisk, practiced. "The event is hosted by Jasper Langford. You know what that means for the coverage."
"I know what it means for me," Isla said flatly.
Jasper had tried to corner her twice before. Once at a runway afterparty, once in Paris during fashion week. Always the same lazy grin, the same half-predatory amusement, like she was a game he was confident he could win if he had enough time. She'd sidestepped him every time.
"That man is not my problem," Isla added.
"He will be if he tells the right story first," Marla countered. "You need to be there. Smile, let the photographers get what they want, then leave before it turns ugly."
By the time they hung up, Isla had already pulled the garment bag from her wardrobe. Her days ran on clockwork: morning shoots, mid-day training or fittings, a few guarded hours in the afternoon to paint or read, then the inevitable evenings where her name was a commodity and her presence was a contract. Tonight would be no different. Except that she'd have to be ready for Jasper's kind of game.
---
Noah's mornings began in glass and steel. The 38th floor of Langford Holdings was all sharp angles and panoramic skyline, the city stretched beneath him like a shifting balance sheet.
Caleb Wynn, his personal assistant, followed him into the office with a coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other.
"You're going to want to hear this," Caleb said, sliding the device across the desk. "Your brother's booked the Langford III tonight. Private yacht party."
Noah's brow lifted. "Cancel it."
Caleb hesitated. "He's already confirmed guests. Two of them are your father's oldest investors. They're in town for the quarterly review."
Which meant that if those men saw Jasper behaving like he always did at these things, they'd have questions. Questions that would spill into board whispers. Noah didn't need that in the middle of closing a South American logistics deal.
Adrienne Holt, the company's COO, appeared in the doorway with a folder in hand. "If those investors think Jasper's running the show, it'll tank your leverage in the next vote."
"I'm aware," Noah said, flipping the folder open. The financials stared back, neat and merciless.
"What's the plan?" Adrienne asked.
"End the party before it starts. And find out what's driving him this time," Noah replied. Jasper never acted up without a target. Usually a woman who should have known better, but didn't. Or thought she could outrun him.
"Want me to dig into the guest list?" Caleb asked.
"Yes," Noah said, already reaching for his jacket. "If I know who she is, I'll know how to stop this before it hits the press."
---
By midday, Noah had navigated a tense lunch with one of the investors alone. No father, no Elias to smooth the edges. It was a reminder of the load he carried now: the CEO's chair was his by necessity, not by design, and there was no room for missteps.
As the city slid toward evening, the plan was clear. He'd walk onto the yacht, shut it down, and make sure Jasper remembered exactly which Langford was in charge.
—
Isla – Evening
The car slid through the coastal road as the sun dropped lower, painting the water in fractured gold. Isla sat back against the leather seat, the hum of the engine muffled by the soundproofed interior, and let her eyes follow the horizon. She rarely traveled to events without a team, but she'd insisted tonight. The fewer people Jasper could corner her through, the better.
Her dress, a column of slate silk, whispered against her legs when she shifted. It was elegant enough for a brand launch but restrained enough that she could walk away without it looking like she'd come to seduce the room. The driver glanced at her once in the rearview mirror, perhaps recognizing her, but said nothing.
They pulled up alongside the private dock. The Langford III dominated the pier, its white hull gleaming under strings of amber lights. Even before she stepped out, she caught the low thump of bass and the blur of voices. The kind of sound that meant too many people with too much money in one place.
A steward in a crisp navy jacket offered his hand to help her aboard. "Welcome, Ms. Quinn," he said, pronouncing it perfectly, though she'd never given her name. She didn't ask how he knew.
She barely had a moment to take in the polished teak of the upper deck before Jasper appeared, cutting through the crowd like he owned the air. Linen shirt open at the collar, a glass of something dark in his hand, and that same slow, assessing grin.
"You came," he said, as if they'd had a deal.
"I was invited," Isla replied.
"That's close enough." He tipped his glass toward the interior. "Let me show you the view from the VIP deck. It's better than the main floor."
She considered refusing. She should have, but the press of people on the gangway made it easier to follow him inside than fight her way back out.
---
Noah – Evening
The last investor meeting ran longer than planned. The man liked to talk in circles, circling every decision as if rehearsing for a speech no one would give him. By the time Noah walked back into his office, the skyline was violet, the city already moving into night.
Caleb was waiting by the door with a tablet and an envelope. "Security's set. Transport leaves in fifteen. I've notified the yacht crew you're coming."
Noah shrugged into his jacket. "And Jasper?"
Caleb's mouth tightened. "Hasn't answered. You want me to try him again?"
Noah took the phone from his hand and dialed himself. It rang twice, then went to voicemail. No greeting, just Jasper's voice saying, "You know what to do." Then the tone.
He ended the call without leaving a message. Jasper didn't need a warning. He needed a reminder.
Adrienne appeared again, crossing her arms. "You going in loud?"
"Loud enough," Noah said. "But only for him to hear."
He checked his watch. If Caleb's timing held, he'd be on the dock in twenty minutes. Enough to walk in before the party reached its worst point, and before his brother did something that would require more than damage control.
Outside, the elevator doors slid open, and the city air met him with the bite of the bay. Tonight wasn't supposed to be about meeting anyone. But if Jasper's sudden enthusiasm meant there was a woman involved… Noah intended to see her for himself.