[Victor]
Victor took a deep breath, feeling the now-familiar emotion settle in his chest.
He'd lost track of how many sighs he'd let slip since Eve hadn't shown up to the birthday celebration. Despite the efforts to keep things cheerful, her absence had left him feeling unexpectedly down.
But there was work to do, and like every morning before heading to the office, he made his way to Sinclair's study to brief him on the day's agenda.
Entering the room, Victor found Sinclair already awake and buried in a stack of paperwork, glasses perched on his nose, the lines of concentration on his face deepening.
"Did you get enough sleep?" Victor asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
He couldn't help but worry about Sinclair's health; the old man had enough on his plate as it was. If only his sons shared the same sense of responsibility rather than indulging in greed, Sinclair wouldn't have to push himself so hard at his age.
Sinclair, though, was focused on keeping the company together, managing one crisis after another. If Victor hadn't stepped in to help, Sullivan would have drained the company to fund his own startup, and Stefan . . . well, Stefan would have blown the money on lavish parties and a string of questionable relationships.
For now, they'd managed to put a stop to both—Sullivan's influence had been cut back, and Stefan's reckless spending curbed, though Sinclair knew these were only temporary fixes.
Sinclair sipped his tea, barely looking up from his stack of reports. "I'm getting the doctor-recommended amount of sleep, if that's what you're asking," he replied with a slight smirk. "By the way, QuantumLyfe is looking promising. If they keep developing their nanotechnology at this rate, they'll be the biggest player on the market soon."
"That's right. Investors are already buzzing, and I've heard even Sullivan has been trying to get hold of the CEO of QuantumLyfe," Victor said, chuckling softly.
Sinclair huffed, "Riding the gravy train, I see. But I suppose he doesn't know yet?"
"Know what?" Victor asked, raising a brow.
"That Eve's the CEO," Sinclair replied, his grin growing a touch wider.
Victor couldn't help but laugh. "Not a clue. If he did, he'd probably do whatever it took to pester her. For now, it's best if he stays in the dark."
"Indeed," Sinclair agreed, nodding. He set his papers down, leaning back in his chair.
It was then that Victor noticed something odd pinned to Sinclair's jacket—a small, colorful brooch that looked entirely out of place against the otherwise refined, luxurious outfit.
It was . . .
unique
and a bit cartoonish, definitely not the sort of accessory Sinclair would usually wear.
Victor blinked, surprised. "Uh . . . what's that?" he asked, pointing to the brooch, a faint frown tugging at his forehead.
Sinclair glanced down at it, then gave a slight shrug, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "This? A gift from Eve," he replied, with a hint of fondness in his voice. "She claims it's Sebastian," he added, with a slight chuckle.
Victor stifled a laugh. "Really? I thought you only wore the finest designer pieces," he teased, eyeing the homemade brooch that looked more like a bundle of threads than an actual dog.
Sinclair adjusted the brooch with mock seriousness, smoothing the fabric around it. "Who says one can't mix fine taste with . . .
creative
expression
?" he replied, a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
Victor smirked, nodding. "I suppose it does suit you—adds a bit of charm to the old man look."
"Watch it, Victor," Sinclair muttered, but there was a playfulness in his tone.
Victor chuckled, but his smile faded as he noticed something unexpected—Sebastian was wearing the exact same brooch as Sinclair.
"Wait . . . Sebastian's wearing it too?" Victor muttered, momentarily stunned.
"That's right," Sinclair replied with a hint of satisfaction. "Eve gifted him one as well."
Victor felt a surprising pang of jealousy. Sinclair he could understand, but Sebastian?
Eve had thought to give both the old man and his dog a gift, but she hadn't given him anything.
He suddenly felt oddly slighted . . . as if, in Eve's eyes, he ranked below a dog.
Clearing his throat, Victor tried to recover his pride. "Ahem. Well, it's a cute gesture, but that brooch really doesn't suit your usual taste, Sinclair. Perhaps I should find you something more fitting. Here, why don't I keep that funny little brooch in a secure area?"
Sinclair shot him a knowing look. "Nice try, Victor. I'm not falling for that. If you're so taken with it, go get your own oddball accessory."
Victor's gaze shifted to Sebastian, who seemed to sense exactly what he was up to. The giant dog, with surprising intensity, let out a low growl, followed by a few sharp barks as if to say,
Don't even think about it.
Victor sighed, resigning himself to his fate. He glanced back at the brooch on Sinclair's chest, a little envious.
It seemed he'd have to work harder if he wanted to secure a place in Eve's heart—because at the moment, it looked like he didn't even outrank a dog.
=== ===
[EVE]
I planned to go to school today, but a relentless headache and my runny nose made that impossible. Dizziness was setting in, too, a heavy fog that clouded my senses.
I knew pushing myself would only make things worse. The thought of trudging around campus in this condition seemed unbearable, so I headed straight to my condo instead.
I'd call Victor later and let him know I couldn't make it back to the mansion. The last thing I wanted was to pass this fever to Sinclair; with his age, even a small illness could be risky.
When I finally reached my unit, I stumbled straight to bed, feeling a strange sense of relief that Cole wasn't around.
Maybe he'd finally come to terms with my decision to keep him at a distance. My heart gave a faint, painful squeeze at the thought, but the fever was already pulling me under, drowning out any feelings as I sank into the mattress, hoping the medicine would work its magic while I slept.
As I drifted into a restless sleep, a hazy image took shape before me—a figure standing over me, blurred yet familiar.
Was I dreaming?
"Cole . . . ?" I murmured, barely able to keep my eyes open.
"Eve . . . don't worry. I'll call a doctor . . ." His voice, gentle but urgent, broke through my fevered haze.
I wanted to protest, tell him there was no need to fuss, but the question that lingered in my mind was louder—
how had he gotten in here?
Before I could say a word, sleep claimed me, pulling me into darkness as his presence lingered like a comforting warmth beside me.