One-night stand with cheating fiancé's uncle

It made total sense that he was here. Evans Corporation had built its reputation as the most cutthroat firm in the city, and that was all thanks to Damari Evans—this was a man who lived and breathed overtime.

Isla Turner felt a cold chill race down her spine. It was the same jolt you get when you get caught red-handed dumping boiling water on your neighbor’s prize rose bush.

"Mr. Evans, I’m so sorry for interrupting..."

The sharp tension from earlier melted away as he walked toward her, his features swallowed by shadow.

Damari tilted his head down to look at her. "Can you tell me why you’re crying?"

Isla answered honestly, "I broke up with my boyfriend, Mr. Evans. Don’t worry, it won’t mess with my work."

Standing there in the light, every raw emotion she felt was laid bare under his unwavering stare.

"Come with me," Damari said. "We’re going somewhere."

Isla’s eyes were still glistening, her brain still spinning from the breakup. Part of her couldn’t believe he’d actually demand she work at a time like this. But she pulled herself together fast, wiped her tears away, and slipped right back into her usual calm composure. She stood, straight and steady. "Yes, Mr. Evans."

When the elevator doors slid open, he stepped inside. Isla followed right on his heels. The golden mirrored walls of the elevator caught their reflections, holding them up for the dim light to see.

Even this late at night, he looked perfectly put together. His suit didn’t have a single wrinkle, and you could feel the high quality of the fabric even in the low glow. To be honest, Damari’s jaw-dropping good looks were probably the least interesting thing about him. Isla had never met anyone who pulled off effortless elegance in every little move he made like he did.

In the mirror, her puffy red eyes locked with his cold, distant gaze. He hadn’t even touched her, but just being this close to him made her breath catch in her throat.

Damari caught her staring. "Tonight is personal," he said. "I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend while I see someone. If you’re not down for it, you can say no. No hard feelings."

Isla assumed they were meeting a business contact. She trusted Damari, and she was still reeling from her breakup anyway—so she agreed without a second thought. "I’m okay with it."

Down in the underground parking garage, the usual driver and Madison Walker were nowhere to be found. So Isla headed for the back door, instinct kicking in to take her usual assistant spot.

Damari stepped right past her and slid into the driver’s seat instead. Isla’s stomach flipped. "Mr. Evans, is there something wrong with how I drive...?"

"Nothing’s wrong. Just sit in the passenger seat."

His voice held that natural, unshakable authority that you just don’t argue with.

A messy mix of nervousness and obligation tangled in her chest as she opened the passenger door. When she slipped in, the glow of the parking lot lights caught her slender, shapely legs, accentuated by her sleek black heels.

Damari darted a quick glance her way before looking back ahead. "Seatbelt," he reminded her.

Isla sat straight as a pin, on edge. She figured the usually unflappable man was just worried she’d have a full-on meltdown over her broken heart.

Once they merged onto the busy main road, the inside of the car filled with a faint leather scent—clean, rich, just like the crisp smell of a brand new book.

Damari snuck a sidelong look at the woman beside him. Her legs were pressed tightly together, her hands clasped tight around her seatbelt. Her glowing, pretty face still held the faint pink puffiness around her eyes, her lips pursed. She was less composed than usual… and far more vulnerable.

She looked like a perfectly crafted porcelain doll: delicate, easy to break, impossible to look away from.

Neither of them spoke. He didn’t ask why she’d broken up with her boyfriend, and she didn’t ask where they were going.

Before long, the sleek black Maybach pulled up to a private clinic.

As soon as they parked, Isla was on instinct, bouncing out to open Damari’s door like she’d been trained to do.

"Mr. Evans, what do you need me to do?" she asked. The thought of meeting someone important had her nerves spiking.

He stood with his back to the streetlamp, the evening glow wrapping around him, his expression unreadable. "Just stay by my side," he said calmly. "You’ll be fine."

Isla nodded, and noticed Damari holding his arm out to her. He didn’t say a word, just waited, looking right at her.

It clicked a second later, and she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

Even through the layers of fabric, she could faintly feel the hard, firm muscle under his tailored suit.

Side by side, they walked into the clinic under the dark night sky, to meet an elderly gentleman waiting inside.

The old man looked a little frail, but he radiated a quiet, gentle warmth.

"Grandpa," Damari said. "I brought someone to meet you."

Isla’s breath caught. She’d had no idea they were coming to see his family!

The old man pushed his glasses up his nose and looked up at Isla. "Damari, who is this lovely young lady?"

Before Isla could even collect her thoughts to answer, Damari laced his fingers through hers and said clearly, "Isla. My girlfriend."

Damari’s warm hand wrapped around hers, firm and steadying. His words sent a little ripple through her heart, like a pebble dropped into still water.

Even knowing it was all just an act, she’d never dared imagine being linked to someone this untouchable, this out of her league.

He gave her hand a soft tap, a quiet reminder that didn’t push her too far. "This is my grandfather," he said.

Isla snapped out of her little daze and smiled politely, introducing herself. "Hello, sir. I’m Isla."

The old man grinned at Damari. "What are you standing around for? Get this girl a chair!"

Flustered, Isla shook her head. "No, really, I don’t need—"

Damari set a soft padded chair right behind her. "Sit," he ordered, short and clear.

Damari was a totally different person around his grandfather than he was at the office. Here, he was courteous, respectful… even a little more chatty.

Isla didn’t have much to do other than sit quiet beside them, listening to the usually sharp, all-business man make small talk.

"So how long have you two been together?"

"What took you so long to bring her around to meet me?"

Damari glanced at the woman beside him, none of that cold, detached formality he brought to work showing on his face.

Isla sat there straight like a schoolgirl, legs pressed together, and her face flushed bright with embarrassment.

Her pale skin turned pink, the red heat crawling all the way from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

Damari turned back to his grandfather and gave a simple answer. "I’m just a little shy," he said.

Isla’s ears burned even hotter. To distract herself from the awkwardness, she took a bite of the spiced honey cake on the plate in front of her.

The old man watched them both, then asked casually, "So Isla, when are you two planning to tie the knot?"

The word marriage hit her like a shock, and she choked on her cake. "M-marriage?"

Her boss had only asked her to fake being his girlfriend, not fake an engagement!

Damari didn’t even flinch. "We’ll talk about that later," he answered smoothly.

The old man took Damari’s hand, his voice earnest. "Damari, I don’t have much time left. My only last wish is to see you settled and happy before I go. Can you do this for me?"

Damari lowered his gaze, hiding his expression from Isla. A heavy, thick silence settled over the room, and Isla barely dared to breathe.

Back in the car, Damari hesitated before turning the key in the ignition.

Sensing how alone he felt in that moment, Isla spoke up on instinct. "Mr. Evans, let me drive."

Otherwise, she felt like she’d be walking on eggshells the whole ride in the passenger seat.

The windows were up, cutting off all the noise from the street outside. Trapped in this quiet, closed space, Isla’s heart felt like it was floating, unmoored and uncertain. She didn’t dare push him, didn’t dare ask questions, just let the moments slip by like sand through an hourglass.

Damari’s voice was still calm, but it rang in Isla’s ears like when the professor calls your name unexpectedly in a lecture hall. She almost jumped up to answer.

"Mr. Evans?" she said, uneasy, twisting the edge of her trench coat between her nervous fingers.

She was half-worried her little crying breakdown at the office had broken some unwritten rule, and she was about to get fired.

Damari turned his gaze to her, his face steady. "I have a proposition for you," he said.

Relieved it wasn’t a pink slip she was getting, Isla’s tense shoulders slowly relaxed. "What kind of proposition?"