The air in the booth at The Gilded Cask shifted instantly. It didn't just get colder; it felt as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Scott didn't even have to look up to know who had just walked in. The scent of Chanel No. 5 and expensive desperation preceded her.
"I thought I might find the two most elusive men in the city hiding in this corner," a melodic, polished voice drifted over them.
Theresa Blackwood stood at the edge of the table. She looked like a portrait of old-money elegance—her blonde hair swept into a perfect chignon, her silk dress clinging to her in a way that screamed sophistication. To the rest of the world, she was the ultimate catch. To Scott, she was a childhood shadow he couldn't shake.
Paul's entire demeanor changed. The teasing grin he'd used on Scott vanished, replaced by a look of profound, aching warmth. He stood up immediately, pulling out a chair. "Theresa. We weren't expecting you."
"Clearly," Theresa said, her eyes fixed solely on Scott. She sat down, her knee brushing against Scott's under the table. He didn't move, but his jaw tightened so hard a small muscle pulsed in his cheek.
"Scott," she whispered, her voice a soft plea. "You haven't returned my calls in a week."
"I've been busy, Theresa. Business doesn't pause for social calls," Scott said, his voice clipped and freezing. He kept his eyes on his Scotch, refusing to grant her the intimacy of eye contact.
"Business. Always business," Theresa sighed, turning to Paul with a practiced, flirtatious smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Paul, tell him he needs a life outside of Stone Industries. Remember the summers at the Hamptons? When we used to sneak out to the docks at midnight?"
Paul's expression softened even further, a nostalgic glaze over his eyes. "I remember. You fell into the water trying to catch a firefly, and I had to dive in to save you while Scott stood on the pier and timed us with his stopwatch."
Theresa laughed, a tinkling sound that felt forced. "He was always so disciplined. Even at twelve. We were the 'Three Musketeers,' weren't we?"
"Some of us were," Scott interrupted, finally looking up. His gaze was like an ice pick. "Others were just waiting for the summer to end so they could get back to reality. The past is a tomb, Theresa. I don't see the point in digging it up."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken weight of Theresa's unrequited love and Paul's silent devotion to her. Theresa's smile faltered, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of Paul's glass.
"You weren't this cold when we were younger, Scott," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. "There was a time when you actually cared about—"
"People change," Scott snapped. "Usually for the better."
Paul cleared his throat, trying to bridge the widening chasm. "So, Theresa, I heard your father is looking into that new development in the South End. Maybe we could—"
"I don't care about the South End, Paul," she said sharply, her mask slipping for a moment to reveal the jagged edges of her frustration. She turned back to Scott, leaning in until she was in his personal space. "I heard a rumor today. Something about a girl on your executive floor. A scholarship student? People are saying you made a scene in the boardroom over a cup of coffee."
The mention of Edna Rivers in this room felt like a lightning strike. Scott's grip on his glass tightened until his knuckles turned a ghostly white.
"My office affairs are not public entertainment," Scott hissed.
"Is that what she is? An 'office affair'?" Theresa's voice rose, a sharp edge of jealousy cutting through her sophisticated tone. "Since when do you keep people around who fail you? You've always been about perfection. What is it about this... Edna... that makes her an exception?"
Paul looked between them, his face pale. He knew Scott's temper, and he knew Theresa's obsession. This was a powder keg. "Theresa, let's not do this here. Scott was just telling me about—"
"I want to hear it from him," Theresa demanded, her eyes burning with a mix of love and loathing. "What does she have that I don't? I've waited for you for years, Scott. I've been the 'sister' you needed, the partner you deserved. And now I'm hearing about some lowly girl who spills drinks and gets to stay?"
Scott stood up abruptly. The legs of his chair shrieked against the floor, drawing the attention of the entire bar. The "cold aura" he had maintained had now turned into a dark, suffocating storm.
"You want to know what she has, Theresa?" Scott's voice was a low, dangerous rumble that made Paul stand up in an instinctive effort to intervene.
Theresa held her breath, her heart hammering.
"She has honesty," Scott said, each word a frozen dagger. "She doesn't hide behind a mask of 'old times' or social status. She looked at me and saw exactly what I am. And unlike you, she doesn't want a single thing from me."
He threw a hundred-dollar bill onto the table without looking at it.
"Don't follow me," Scott warned, directed at both of them. "And Paul? If you want to spend your night chasing ghosts, that's your business. But keep my name out of it."
Scott strode out of the bar, the heavy oak doors swinging shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.
In the booth, Theresa collapsed back into her seat, a single tear escaping her carefully applied mascara. Paul sat down slowly, his hand hovering over hers but not quite touching it. He had spent his whole life loving a woman who only saw a man who didn't love her back.
"He didn't mean it, Tess," Paul lied softly.
"He did," she whispered, her voice cold and hollow. "He's falling for her. I can feel it. And if I can't have him... no one will."
The suspense in the air was no longer about a spilled coffee. It was about a war that had just been declared in the dark corner of a bar—a war Edna Rivers didn't even know she was a part of yet.