Elodie’s brows drew together, her heart skipping a beat. “Why?”

“You know better than I do. There are things you shouldn’t do I hope you won’t.”

With that, Jarrod ended the call.

Elodie sat, stunned, for a long moment.

Gradually, the meaning behind his words dawned on her.

Jarrod… he must have figured out what she intended to do.

He knew she wanted to bring the long-buried truth to light, to use her mother’s painting to shatter the honor Selma had gained.

He wouldn’t allow her to hurt Sylvie’s mother.

He wouldn’t allow Selma’s reputation to be ruined at Sylvie’s expense.

Suddenly, everything became painfully clear: Jarrod was protecting Sylvie. Even knowing Selma had stepped on her mother’s legacy to rise, he didn’t care.

Elodie’s fingers curled tightly around themselves as she stared at the hard-won painting on her desk. The gratitude and surprise she’d felt moments ago had turned into a slap in the face, leaving her painfully clearheaded.

She gave herself just two minutes to accept the truth.

Brooding over the past was a luxury she could no longer afford.

She was about to put the painting away when Alexander strode into her office. His eyes landed on the artwork, and he stared in surprise. “You have this painting?”

Elodie paused, wary. “What do you mean?”

Alexander came closer, studying it carefully. “No mistake-it’s this one. A friend of mine from an auction house overseas told me about it. Just two days ago, a mysterious billionaire spent eight million dollars to buy it.”

Elodie froze.

Eight million?

Alexander nodded, still marveling. “The opening bid was only one hundred and fifty thousand. A Middle Eastern prince wanted it too-you know, the kind who spends money like it’s nothing. He kept bidding, driving the price up to five million, but somehow, the mysterious buyer outbid him without batting an eye and took it home for eight million.”

A painting that started at one hundred and fifty thousand, closing at eight million. That was unheard of.

Word had spread quickly-it was the talk of the art world.

Even for the super-rich, this was madness.

According to Alexander’s friend, the buyer had made it clear-no matter what, he’d get that painting, price be damned.

Elodie was taken aback.

She knew Jarrod kept his promises, but she hadn’t expected he’d spend eight million dollars…

She couldn’t begin to guess what was going through his mind.

With a shake of her head, Elodie forced herself to focus. Right now, the real problem was that Jarrod refused to let her use her mother’s painting against Selma. But she had no plans to give up. Sooner or later, she’d find her chance to reclaim the honor stolen from her mother.

After Elodie’s divorce, Rosemary began urging her to move back home.

Elodie brushed it off, claiming her rented place was closer to the office.

The truth was, her health was unstable, and the side effects from her medication were unpredictable. Living together would only risk her family finding out.

Friday.

Alexander swept into her office after a trip out. “Good news-are you free tomorrow?”

Elodie set down her pen. “What’s going on?”

“My father’s got a project coming up-joint venture between the military, government, and some companies, developing new flight systems. It’s a fast-track for rising talent. They’ll be choosing a few people from the private sector to join in, and I want you to represent VistaLink Technologies.”

Elodie blinked in surprise. “Are you sure that’s appropriate?”

“You’re the core genius of VistaLink. Why wouldn’t it be? Tomorrow’s just a tour of the tech campus, a look at the latest military products. Come with me, check it out.”

Elodie had no objections.

As for the formal selection, that would be sorted out later.

The technology park was right next to the research institute.

Entry required a pass and a battery of security checks.

Once inside, they caught a shuttle to the main exhibition hall.

Elodie and Alexander stepped off together. She’d come here often years ago, leading the U.N.2 project-those days, this place had been her stage.

Now, returning after so long, she felt a rush of emotion: excitement, nostalgia, something deeper she couldn’t name.

Lost in thought, she fumbled her notebook and pen, sending them tumbling to the floor.

She bent down to pick them up at the same moment, someone else approached, crouched beside her, and their hands brushed as they both reached for the notebook.