Back in the city, the tension became more difficult to ignore.
Evelyn arrived at the office Monday morning feeling both refreshed and rattled from the weekend in Sag Harbor. The quiet had been intoxicating and so had the way Alexander had looked at her across his weathered kitchen table, as though she were the only thing in the world he couldn't control, yet didn't want to.
But now, reality came crashing back with every elevator chime.
And it didn't take long for the whispers to start again.
"Did you notice she's not sitting at her old desk anymore?"
"I heard Mr. Drake personally approved her transfer to the executive floor."
"I saw her leave late again Friday. Right after he did."
It didn't matter that most of it was circumstantial. The proximity alone was damning in a company where power and gossip were a currency of their own.
To survive it, they had drawn new lines.
Publicly, Alexander barely acknowledged her presence. Their meetings were formal. Conversations clipped and transactional. The space between them in conference rooms felt wider than it was.
But in private, the fire hadn't dimmed. It had grown hotter because it had to stay hidden.
The secrecy bonded them, but it also made Evelyn hyper-aware of every potential slip. The way her hand hesitated on a doorknob if she thought he might be in the hallway. The sharp sting of him walking past her in the atrium without a glance.
It wasn't personal. It was strategy. It had to be.
Still, it hurt.
The pressure finally cracked on a Thursday afternoon.
Evelyn was in the break room, pouring coffee, when she overheard two senior managers talking near the water cooler.
"HR's poking around," one said. "Something about 'perception of favoritism.'"
"Can you blame them?" the other replied. "She's practically a fixture outside his office. You know how this looks."
They hadn't seen her.
But she had heard every word.
She didn't finish pouring the coffee.
Instead, she walked straight back to her desk, logged off, and typed a single sentence into her phone.
We need to talk. Privately. Tonight.
The response came two minutes later.
Come to the townhouse. 9:30.
The townhouse was tucked behind wrought iron gates on a quiet street in Gramercy Park. Not the penthouse she'd seen in Forbes, not the public face of Alexander Drake's life but the real one. The private one.
When he opened the door, she stepped inside without a word.
"I heard," he said softly. "You're upset."
She turned to face him, eyes burning.
"It's not about being upset. It's about being exposed."
"I've kept us protected."
"You've kept us quiet," she corrected. "There's a difference."
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
"Evelyn, everything I've built, every move I make is scrutinized. If anyone found out...."
"They already suspect. And I'm the one who will pay for it."
The silence between them stretched taut.
"You're not just anyone in my life," he said finally.
She froze.
"That's what makes this dangerous," he added. "But it's also what makes it worth it."
Evelyn stepped back, unsure whether to cry or scream.
"I didn't come into this for power, or leverage, or even attention. I came into it because I trusted you."
"And I haven't broken that trust," he said quietly.
"No," she said. "But I'm starting to feel like I'm the only one holding the weight of it."
That night, they didn't kiss.
There were no whispered promises or lingering touches.
Instead, she left the townhouse just after midnight, her heels clicking sharply against the stone.
He watched her go from the window, hands in his pockets.
This wasn't a breakup.
But it was a warning.
And Alexander Drake never ignored a warning.