Chapter 3

Gavin must have heard something from my mom. Late one night, he called me on video. He was at an airport lounge, looking way too pleased with himself. "So, I hear Mr. Grant has launched a full attack," he said with a grin. "What's it like being pursued by an 'elite'?"

I rolled my eyes at the screen. "Thanks to you, I've got a full-time problem."

"Hey, I'm helping you filter out bad investments," Gavin said, crossing one leg over the other. "Guys like him, switching attitudes the second they realize you're Kylie Morris, better to expose them early." He rubbed his chin and smiled like a fox. "But he's getting a little annoying. Want me to take care of it?"

"Don't do anything stupid," I warned. Gavin's idea of "taking care of things" usually made everything worse.

"Relax. I'll keep it civilized," he said, winking. "My flight's boarding soon. I'll bring you a gift when I'm back. Remember, the best way to deal with someone like him? Stay out of reach, but always in sight. Let him want what he can't have."

I had no words.

What kind of strategy was that?

But I didn't expect his "civilized approach" to come so fast, or be this dramatic.

Thursday afternoon, a few unexpected guests showed up at Lumina. They were senior members of the city's restaurant association, along with two well-known food columnists. They came on a whim, no reservation. Luckily, a private dining room had just opened up due to a cancellation. I had it cleaned right away and went to greet them myself.

These were all people who had known me since I was young. They had nothing but praise for how I'd been running Lumina on my own. We were still chatting when someone knocked on the door. A server stepped in, looking a little nervous.

"Ms. Morris, Mr. Grant says he has an appointment with you."

Logan stood at the door, holding a bottle of expensive-looking red wine. His face showed just the right mix of surprise and apology. "Sorry, I didn't know you had guests," he said. His eyes quickly scanned the room. He clearly recognized a couple of the faces, people often seen in financial media, and his gaze lit up for a second.

Joseph Harrington, vice president of the restaurant association, smiled. "Kylie, who's this?"

Before I could answer, Logan stepped forward. His tone was polite and confident. "Good afternoon. I'm Logan, a friend of Ms. Morris. I work in investment banking. I was nearby today and wanted to try Lumina. I also brought a bottle of wine for her."

He emphasized the word friend just enough to make it sound meaningful.

Joseph looked at him, then at me, his smile widening. "Oh? A friend? Then he's a friend of ours, too. Come, sit with us!"

The others nodded and laughed. I was stuck.

Logan didn't hesitate. He took a seat, conveniently right next to me. He picked up the conversation with ease. He moved from wine regions to the broader economy, then from investment trends to how rising consumer demand affects high-end dining. He spoke smoothly, with numbers at his fingertips. Confident, but still respectful to the older guests.

At first, they were just being polite. But gradually, they got pulled in. When he mentioned a few industry investment cases, Joseph even joined in the discussion.

All the while, Logan managed the table effortlessly, refilling glasses, pouring wine, guiding the conversation. Every now and then, he brought the focus back to me, praising Lumina's concept and my management. His tone sounded familiar. Almost intimate.

I sat there, tense, like I was being put on display.

Halfway through the meal, Logan got up to use the restroom. Joseph leaned in and spoke to me quietly while he was gone. "Kylie, your friend is impressive. Young, capable, well-informed. But," He paused, choosing his words. "He's a little too slick. Just be careful."

I gave a faint smile. "Joseph, he is not my"

I didn't get to finish. Logan came back. He seemed to sense something had shifted, but his smile stayed the same. After sitting down, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder, then handed it to me.

"Ms. Morris, last time you mentioned you were interested in supply chain finance. I put together some materials, along with a few potential plans that might suit Lumina. Take a look, maybe it'll be useful."

Thoughtful. Professional. Very "considerate."

Everyone at the table looked over, curious, a little amused.

I stared at the folder like it was burning hot. If I took it, I'd be accepting his claim of being my "friend," along with this overstepping kind of attention. If I refused, I'd look rude in front of everyone and embarrass him.

My fingers froze. Then the private dining room door swung open again.

This time, no knock.

A tall figure rushed in, wearing a black leather biker jacket and sunglasses. He brought in a rush of cool air and a bold, disruptive presence. A large luxury shopping bag hung from his hand. He tossed it onto an empty chair.

Then he pulled off his sunglasses. His face was striking, sharp, almost aggressively handsome. His eyes looked a lot like Gavin's, but wilder, more untamed.

He didn't even glance at the stunned table. He walked straight over to me, reached out, and pulled me up into a tight hug.

"Babe! I missed you so much!" His voice was loud, full of exaggerated excitement. "I got back early. Surprise!"

The room went completely silent.

He held me so tight I could barely breathe. I caught the faint smell of leather and unfamiliar cologne. I stiffened and looked up, right into a pair of smiling eyes, full of mischief.

Not Gavin.

But I recognized him instantly. Gavin's infamous twin brother, Garrett Morris. The one who spent his time overseas chasing extreme sports and filming documentaries. The one who showed up and disappeared without warning.

What was he doing here? And why like this?

Logan's expression changed instantly. Shock. Confusion. A flash of anger at being played. Then the calculation. His hand, still holding the folder, slowly lowered.

Garrett finally let go of me, but kept one arm firmly around my shoulders, like he was claiming territory. Only then did he seem to notice the others at the table. He raised a brow and flashed a bright, cocky smile. "Oh, you're having dinner? Hey everyone. I'm Garrett, Kylie's boyfriend." He paused, then leaned closer to my ear and spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Babe, are these your friends? Aren't you going to introduce me?"

I could feel Logan's gaze, sharp as ice, fixed on where Garrett's arm rested on my shoulder.

Joseph and the others had shifted from surprise to clear amusement. They looked between me, Garrett, and Logan, like they were watching a show.

I took a slow breath and pinched Garrett hard under the table.

He didn't react at all. Instead, he pulled me even closer and gave Logan a deliberate, provocative smile, the kind men use to challenge each other without saying a word.

"And this gentleman is?" Garrett asked casually, as if Logan were just some random stranger.