Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Eli
My footsteps echo through the empty corridor, each step carrying me further from Father’s study—and her.
Isla Carrington.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Five years of careful control, of discipline, of pretending not to care, and then she walks in like she never left—wearing success like a second skin, looking every bit the woman I once thought I’d build a future with.
And worse? She acted like none of it ever mattered. Like I was just another meeting on her schedule.
The familiar weight of my brothers’ presence follows close behind, neither speaking as we make our way to the elevator. My fingers find my cufflink, adjusting it automatically. A tell I need to control better.
“So,” Bash finally breaks the silence as the elevator doors close. “That was intense.”
Xander shoots him a warning look. “Not now, Sebastian.”
“What? We’re all thinking it,” Bash says, stretching against the wall. “Of all the architects in New York?—”
“Don’t.” I press the button for the 60th floor harder than necessary.
I need distance.
The Design Studio. My sanctuary. I need its familiar walls and the view that always helps me think. Need to process what just happened without falling apart in front of my brothers.
“IRIS,” I say quietly as we approach my floor, “transfer all Artisan Hotel files to my primary workspace.”
“Of course, Eli,” IRIS responds, her tone somehow gentler than usual. “Including Miss Carrington’s previous submissions?”
My jaw clenches. Of course, she’d have submissions already. Months of work, months of planning—while I was left in the dark.
“Everything,” I manage. “Full access protocols.”
The elevator doors slide open, revealing floor-to-ceiling windows and the familiar skyline. The city doesn’t change. People do.
I exhale, rolling my shoulders back as we enter the Design Studio. This space, at least, is still mine.
“You know,” Bash says, already claiming his usual spot on the leather couch, “some people just send an email when they want to reconnect with an ex.”
“Sebastian.” Xander’s voice carries a clear warning, but I catch him straightening one of my architectural models—his own nervous habit.
“What? Father orchestrated this whole thing from beyond the grave. Are we not going to talk about how insane that is?”
I turn to face the windows, letting the city lights blur together.
She walks in with that same sharp gaze, the same impossible confidence—the same way she looked at me before she left.
“Eli,” Xander says quietly, “we need to discuss the project parameters.”
“The project,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter. Like a lie.
Because this isn’t just about a project. And we all know it.
“Just say it.” I turn from the windows to face them. “Whatever lecture you’ve both been holding back since we left the study.”
Bash raises his hands in mock surrender.
“Hey, I’m just here for moral support and occasional comic relief.”
“And to inherit my position if this fails?” The words come out harsher than intended, but Bash doesn’t flinch.
“Come on, Eli. You know that’s not?—”
“Eli,” IRIS interrupts smoothly, “the initial project files are ready for review. Would you like me to display Miss Carrington’s preliminary designs?”
Miss Carrington.
She used to be my Isla.
Now, she’s the Lead Architect on my project. A professional associate. A woman who looks at me like I’m a stranger.
“Not now, IRIS.” My voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
Xander moves to the drafting table, his presence solid and grounding. “We should review the timeline first. The Ethics Committee?—”
“Screw the timeline.” I rake a hand through my hair, feeling the careful styling fall apart. “She’s been working on this for months, Xander. Months. While I had no idea?—”
“Because Father arranged it that way,” Bash cuts in, sitting up straighter. “This isn’t on Isla.”
Isn’t it?
“She could have said no,” I say, pacing the length of the studio. She could have called. Texted. Given me something.
“Could she?” Xander’s quiet question stops me mid-stride. “Think about what this project means for her career. For her reputation.”
“The same way Reyna couldn’t say no to marrying you?” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. “Xander, I didn’t mean?—”
“You did.” He adjusts one of the models on my desk, his movements precise. “And you’re right. Father knew exactly how to ensure compliance. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“Besides having an emotional breakdown in my office?”
Bash grins, but his eyes remain serious.
“You’re the diplomatic one, remember?”
“Right.” I lean against my desk, feeling the smooth wood under my palms. “The careful middle brother. Always maintaining control.”
“Until Isla walks back into your life in a suit that probably costs more than most people’s annual salary,” Bash adds helpfully.
“Sebastian,” Xander warns, but I catch the slight curve of his mouth.
“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. She looks good. Success suits her.” Bash stretches out on the couch. “No pun intended.”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it.
God, even now, when everything is unraveling—she still gets to me.
“She does look good,” I admit quietly. “She looks... settled. Like she found everything she was looking for when she left.”
Except for me.
Or maybe she never needed me at all.
“Eli,” IRIS interrupts, “Miss Carrington’s past designs align with the Artisan Hotel.”
Blueprints appear. My stomach twists.
“Almost like Father planned this all along,” Xander mutters.
I try to look away from the blueprints, but my architect’s eye catches the details automatically. Her work. The elegant curves, the innovative use of space—it’s unmistakably Isla’s signature.
Even back then, she was thinking about solutions we’re only implementing now.
“Damn,” Bash whistles low. “She really was ahead of her time, wasn’t she?”
She was. She always was.
“IRIS, archive these,” I manage, my voice rougher than intended. “Focus on current project parameters.”
“Of course, Eli. Though you might want to note that the Ethics Committee?—”
“Enough.” The word comes out sharp enough that both my brothers look up. “Just... enough.”
Xander moves closer, his shoulder brushing mine.
“We need to talk about how we’re handling this.”
“We?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Pretty sure Phase Two specifies just me and Isla.”
“You’re not doing this alone,” Bash states firmly, all traces of humor gone. “Father might have written this as a two-person show, but?—”
“But nothing.” I push away from the desk, needing space. “This is my mess to handle.”
“Our mess,” Xander corrects quietly. “We don’t leave each other behind. Not for business. Not for anything.”
The words hit harder than he probably intends. Family legacy. The same legacy that drove Isla away, and now it’s dragging her back.
“You know what’s really messed up?” I exhale, jaw tightening. “Some pathetic part of me is actually grateful. He forced her back into my life, and I’m standing here thinking—thank you, Father, for the second chance.”
The confession hangs in the air, heavy with implications none of us are ready to address.
“Well,” Bash finally breaks the silence, “at least you’re being honest about it. That’s progress, right?”
Xander shoots him a look, but I catch the concern beneath his annoyance. They’re worried about me. Hell, I’m worried about me.
“The project starts tomorrow,” I say, more to myself than them. “Nine AM, Innovation Division. I need to be professional. Focused. I need to?—”
“Breathe?” Bash suggests helpfully. “Maybe try that first?”
I draw in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The city lights blur beyond the windows, and for a moment, I see our reflections overlaid against the skyline—three brothers, each carrying different pieces of Father’s legacy.
“You want to know what I think?” Bash sits up, suddenly serious.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.” He grins, but his eyes stay focused. “I think you’re so busy trying to be professional about this that you’re forgetting something important.”
Xander shifts beside me, and I know he’s fighting the urge to interrupt. To protect me from whatever truth bomb Bash is about to drop.
“And what’s that?” I ask, though part of me already knows.
“You’re allowed to be pissed.” Bash stands, stretching. “At Father, at Isla, at the whole damn situation. You don’t have to be the diplomatic one right now.”
“Sebastian—” Xander starts, but I cut him off.
“No, let him finish.”
“Look,” Bash continues, “Xander got his arranged marriage with Reyna, and that worked out. But at least they were strangers. You and Isla... there’s history there. Real history. And Father knew that when he set this up.”
My fingers find my cufflink again, twisting it.
“The project requirements are clear. Personal history isn’t relevant.”
“Bullshit.” The word echoes in the quiet studio. “That’s the diplomat talking. What does Eli want to say?”
“Bash,” Xander warns, but I feel something crack inside me.
“What do I want to say?” I laugh, and it sounds raw even to my ears. “I want to ask her why. Why she left without a word. Why she’s been in New York for months working on this project without reaching out. Why she looks at me now like I’m just another business contact?—“
“There it is.” Bash’s voice is gentler than I expect. “That’s real. That’s honest.”
“And completely unprofessional,” I add, running a hand through my already messy hair.
“Good.” Bash grins. “Professional is overrated anyway.”
“Some of us actually care about the company’s success,” Xander interjects, but I catch the understanding in his tone.
“The company will survive its COO having actual human emotions,” Bash counters. “Might even be good for business.”
Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch. Trust Bash to make me almost smile in the middle of an emotional crisis.
“Tomorrow,” I say quietly, “I have to face her again. Work with her. Actually talk to her.”
“So talk to her,” Bash shrugs. “Just maybe try being Eli instead of Mr. Alderidge when you do.”
“Eli,” IRIS interrupts gently, “your mother is requesting access to the Design Studio.”
Perfect. Because this night wasn’t complicated enough already.
“Let her in,” I sigh, catching Xander’s concerned glance. “Might as well complete the family intervention.”
The door slides open, and Mom enters, her heels clicking against the hardwood. One look at her face tells me everything—she already knows.
“I just spoke with Carter,” she says, moving directly to straighten my tie. A habit from childhood that should annoy me but somehow still comforts. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Mom.” The lie comes automatically.
“No, you’re not.” She steps back, studying my face. “But you will be.”
“You knew.” It’s not a question. “About Isla being involved in the project.”
“I suspected.” She moves to the windows, her reflection joining ours against the city lights. “Your father... he had his reasons.”
“His reasons?” My laugh sounds bitter even to my own ears. “Let me guess—another lesson in leadership?”
“No.” She turns, and something in her expression makes me pause. “A lesson in trust. In letting go of control.”
“Mom—” Xander starts, always the protector, but she holds up a hand.
“Edward made many mistakes,” she continues. “Especially with you boys. But this...” She gestures to the holographic blueprints still floating in the air. “This was his attempt at fixing one of them.”
“By forcing Isla and me to work together?” I shake my head. “That’s not fixing anything. That’s just more manipulation.”
“Is it?” She moves closer, her perfume bringing memories of childhood comfort. “Or is it creating an opportunity for honesty? For both of you to finally face what happened?”
“While working on a multi-million dollar project with the Ethics Committee watching our every move?” Bash snorts. “No pressure there.”
“Life rarely gives us perfect timing,” Mom says softly. “But it does give us choices. The question is, what will you choose to do with this opportunity, Elliot?”
The use of my full name hits hard. She only does that when she’s deadly serious.
“I choose to be professional,” I say finally. “To focus on the project and?—”
“To hide behind your father’s legacy instead of creating your own?”
Her words are gentle but firm.
“You’re not Edward, Elliot. And Isla isn’t the same girl who left. Maybe it’s time to discover who you both are now.”
The silence that follows feels heavy with possibility and terror.
“Well,” Bash breaks the tension, “I don’t know about you all, but I could use a drink.”
“It’s not even noon,” Xander points out.
“Perfect time to start then.”
I catch Mom hiding a smile, and something in my chest loosens slightly. This is my family—messy, supportive, and completely incapable of leaving me to brood in peace.
Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
“Nine AM,” I say finally. “Innovation Division. A new chapter begins.”
“And we’ll be right here,” Mom promises, “whatever happens next.”
The city lights shimmer beyond the windows, and for just a moment, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, Father knew exactly what he was doing—forcing us back together. After all this time, were we meant to rebuild… or were we just waiting to burn?