Adam leaned back against his seat, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"I knew you wanted me to get married for so long now," he muttered, voice low but tense. "But why does it have to be her?"
Raymond didn't answer. He kept his gaze fixed on the window, the city skyline bathed in morning gold.
Adam continued his tone sharper now. "I did some digging. My sources say Sofia didn't come from a wealthy family. She's not connected, not influential, not... advantageous." He paused, frustration brewing beneath his composed surface. "So why her? Why are you this invested?"
Still, silence.
Adam stood. His voice edged into disbelief. "You've never cared about who I married—only that I married. But when I humiliated her, you acted like I burned down your damn legacy. You were furious. Hurt. Personal."
Raymond's shoulders stiffened, but he still didn't turn around.
Adam pressed on, now desperate to understand what he had missed. "You don't react like that for someone you barely know. So tell me—how do you even know Sofia?"
There was a beat. Then another. Just when Adam thought he wouldn't get an answer, Raymond finally spoke—his voice calm, but with an undertone that sent a chill down Adam's spine.
"I knew her mother," Raymond said.
Adam blinked. "You knew her?"
Raymond slowly turned around, face unreadable. "Yes. Long ago."
That was it.
No elaboration. No names. No details.
Just enough to inflame Adam's curiosity even more.
"You're not going to explain that?" Adam asked, incredulous. "That's it? You knew her mother?"
Raymond's jaw ticked. "What difference would it make now?"
"It would help me understand why you're threatening to pull out of the merger because of her," Adam snapped. "You said one bride, one deal. You've never made marriage personal—until now."
Raymond's eyes darkened. "And maybe it's time you understood that not everything is about business. Sofia's mother was someone I respected deeply. Someone who mattered." His voice faltered slightly—barely noticeable, but Adam caught it.
He took a step closer. "Was she someone you...?"
Raymond held up a hand, firm. "Don't finish that sentence."
The air thickened.
"I'm giving you seven days, Adam," Raymond said finally, voice steely once more. "Seven days to fix what you broke. Not just because of the merger. But because that girl—she's worth more than you realize."
Then Raymond walked past him and out the door, leaving Adam standing alone—haunted by the name of a woman he had dismissed, and now couldn't stop thinking about.
Adam left Raymond's office with a storm of thoughts swirling in his head.
Who exactly was Sofia in Raymond's life?
The older man's vague reply about knowing her mother didn't sit right with him—especially not after the fury he showed when Adam humiliated her. It wasn't just concern. It was personal.
And then there was the woman at the courthouse—the elegant one with kind eyes who stood beside Raymond like family. A friend? Sofia's relative? Or someone else entirely?
They'd looked close. Too close.
Adam ran a hand through his hair, unsettled.
He had faced billion-dollar negotiations with more clarity than he had now. But none of those ever made him question someone like this. None of them ever made him feel like he was missing something... important.
Why did Raymond care so much?
And why, despite everything, did Adam still care what Sofia thought of him?
He exhaled, jaw tight. He needed answers—and this time, not from a contract, but from the past he never thought he'd have to dig into.
Adam adjusted the cuffs of his designer suit as he glanced at the reserved table inside the private dining room of The Crave, one of the city's most exclusive restaurants.
Everything was perfect—the lighting, the wine selection, even the floral centerpiece made of gardenias and white tulips, subtle nods to the woman he was trying to win back.
But today wasn't about Sofia. Not directly, at least.
This meeting was about the two women who guarded her like wolves in women's dresses—Anne and Elise.
Tristan had been skeptical.
"Trying to charm her best friends into softening her up?" he'd asked with a smirk. "You do realize this isn't a board meeting, right? You can't just win them over with sweet desserts and wine."
But Adam wasn't so easily discouraged. He'd done his research. Anne and Elise had been with Sofia at the courthouse and had stood beside her in that cold courtroom while he—idiotically—tore her down. They were also with her the night at LUXE. If they liked luxury, he could give them luxury. If they needed a reason to forgive him, he would give them a thousand.
They were her inner circle. And Adam Ravenstrong never went into battle without knowing who held the power.
When the door opened, he stood and smiled—his most charming, devastatingly polite version.
Anne and Elise walked in, both visibly confused but too intrigued to turn around and leave.
Their eyes landed on him.
"Oh," Elise breathed, blinking as she registered who was waiting for them. "Oh no."
Anne narrowed her eyes. "This isn't a lunch meeting. This is a trap."
"Not a trap," Adam said quickly, gesturing to their seats. "An invitation. Please, sit. Eat. No contracts, I promise."
They didn't sit.
Anne crossed her arms. "You've got five minutes. Talk."
Adam was momentarily thrown off. In the boardroom, he was a legend. Here, he was just a man who'd broken their best friend's heart—and no amount of expensive cologne or designer cufflinks could erase that.
"I know I messed up," he started, voice calm. "I said things no woman—no person—should hear on what was supposed to be the most important day of her life."
Elise raised a brow. "And you plan to bribe us with risotto until we help you what? Win her back?"
"No," Adam replied evenly, though his smirk betrayed him. "Well—yes. Kind of."
Anne scoffed. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm trying," Adam said, the smoothness in his voice cracking for just a second. "Look, I thought I could fix this the way I fix everything else. Strategy. Control. Leverage. But your friend... Sofia isn't a deal. She's not a merger."
He exhaled. "She's the one person I've met who made me feel like me wasn't enough."
That, finally, made them sit. Not because they forgave him. But because something in his voice shifted—real, vulnerable, off-script.
"You hurt her," Anne said flatly. "Badly. And we're not interested in selling our loyalty for lobster tails and wine pairings."
"She loathes you, Adam—doesn't even want to see your face, no matter how unfairly handsome and overqualified you are for anyone's taste," Elise said, folding her arms across her chest.
"But I'm guessing you already knew that... or maybe not. Maybe you were too busy nursing your bruised ego to know."
Adam swallowed hard.
Anne leaned forward. "We've seen men like you. You break things because you can afford to replace them. But Sofia isn't one of your investments, Mr. Ravenstrong."
Elise gave a small, pitying smile. "If you really want her back, start by understanding you can't buy your way into her life."
Adam was silent.
For the first time in a long time, he realized he'd miscalculated.
He thought the best friends would be the easiest angle.
Instead, they turned out to be his toughest audience yet.
When they finally stood to leave, Anne paused.
"You're not completely hopeless," she said, reluctantly. "But you've got a long way to go."
Elise gave him a wink. "Oh, and next time you want to impress us? Try honesty. It's rarer than truffle oil."
They walked out arm in arm, leaving Adam behind with cold food, a bruised ego, and Tristan's voice echoing in his head:
"You want her back? Try harder."
And for once, Adam agreed.
"You should've asked Raymond for a year instead of a week," Tristan said, biting back a smirk. "You're not just trying to fix a broken deal, Adam—you're trying to win over a woman who'd probably make you if given the chance."
Adam didn't respond. He was too busy staring out the window like the skyline held all the answers he'd failed to find in her eyes.
Tristan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I mean, come on, man. You humiliated her in public and insulted her in the most personal way possible, and now you're hoping peonies and silent regrets will do the trick? What's next, a handwritten mixtape?"
Adam shot him a dry look. "Are you done?"
"Not even close." Tristan chuckled. "This is uncharted territory. You've closed mergers, crushed competition, out-negotiated billionaires... but one woman—one infuriatingly decent woman—turns you into a moody poet with a credit card."
A beat of silence passed. Adam sighed, the weight of everything pressing down harder than ever.
"She hates me," he muttered.
"Yeah," Tristan said, surprisingly soft this time. "But maybe that's why she's the only one worth chasing."
"And why are you here, by the way?" Adam asked, giving Tristan a hard stare that could peel paint off the walls.
Tristan didn't flinch. Instead, he smirked like a cat who'd just dropped a mouse at his best friend's feet. "Well, something's going viral on social media right now."
Adam arched a brow. "Since when did I care about trending hashtags? That's what the PR team is for. I don't waste my time scrolling through reels or sipping tea brewed by the internet. My concern, as always, is the company's bottom line—not some juicy gossip or drama."
Tristan sighed dramatically, flopping onto the nearest leather armchair like a long-suffering sidekick. "Ah yes, Mr. Iceberg. Always calm, always composed, until your image is on fire."
Adam's eyes narrowed.
Tristan leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes glinting with mischief. "Sure, we've spent millions curating your godlike reputation. I've personally bribed enough reporters to fund a small country's education system. But this time..." He paused for effect. "It's not about you directly. It's about her."
Adam stilled. Just for a second—but Tristan caught it.
"Her?" he asked slowly, a voice suddenly colder.
Tristan nodded, clearly enjoying himself. "You know, the woman you've been moonlighting as a stalker for—the one you claim not to care about but somehow manage to talk about in every third sentence."
Adam's jaw clenched, but his interest was clearly piqued. "What about her?"
Tristan pulled out his phone, waving it like a torch. "You might want to sit down for this one. Or don't. I like watching you spiral."
Adam took his phone, indifferent at first, like he always was. He didn't have time for gossip. Reputational messes were daily battles handled by his PR team.
But the second he saw the screen, everything slowed.
A grainy photo.
A trashed bouquet.
A white card with his name.
The caption was followed by an avalanche of comments. Cruel. Mocking. Personal.
"CEO of rejection."
"Next time, maybe Photoshop a ring too."
"Embarrassing."
He scrolled in silence, his thumb rigid, breath measured—but inside, something was tightening. A slow, burning coil in his chest.
She was humiliated because of him.
He had thought the flowers would soften the blow of their awkward start. Maybe ease her silence. It wasn't an apology—but it was something. A signal.
He never imagined she'd be publicly shredded for it. But now she was a laughingstock. And somehow, everyone thought she made the whole thing up.
His name. His carelessness. Her consequences.
Tristan spoke carefully, "You want me to handle it?"
Adam didn't look up. He kept his eyes on the phone—on Sofia's name, now buried under hashtags that made his blood simmer.
"Don't." Just one word. Quiet. Sharp. Final.
Tristan froze, eyebrows lifting slightly. "You sure?"
Adam's voice was low, cold, and deliberate—measured only because the truth beneath it was dangerously close to the surface.
"I'll handle it myself. I want them to understand—" he paused, jaw tightening, "—no one gets to tear her apart. Not while I'm watching."