Seeing the man stop in his tracks, his assistant immediately approached. “Mr. Moran, is something wrong?”

Maurice frowned, his gaze lingering for a second longer on the disappearing figure of the woman he had passed earlier. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, continuing forward. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, but there was something about her that felt strangely familiar—a fleeting memory from a night he had tried for five years to piece together.

As night fell, the Imperial Golden Club—Yeringham’s most exclusive venue—began its nightly symphony of neon and luxury. A sleek Maybach came to a halt at the entrance, and Maurice stepped out, his presence immediately commanding the attention of the staff.

“Well, this is a first. You’re actually ten minutes late.” Near the reception desk, Wyatt Todd was leaning against a marble pillar, casually spinning a signet ring on his finger. He had been charming the receptionist just moments before, but his focus shifted the instant Maurice arrived.

Maurice didn’t slow his pace. “A meeting ran over. If you’re so fond of the front desk, Wyatt, I can arrange a permanent position for you here.”

Wyatt chuckled and followed him toward the private elevators. He noticed the slight tension in Maurice’s jaw. “I was just joking. What’s with the gloomy expression? Did the negotiations go poorly?”

Maurice ignored the banter, his mind focused on a different objective. Once they reached the sanctuary of their private suite and the heavy doors were sealed, he lowered his voice. “Any word on the ring?”

Wyatt’s playfulness vanished. “My people are still tracking the auction houses and private collectors. So far, there’s no sign of the Moran family heirloom.” He poured a glass of vintage wine and handed it over. “It’s been five years, Maurice. Are you sure that woman from back then was the one who took it?”

“I used to think it was a move orchestrated by my uncle,” Maurice said, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. “But my intelligence shows his people are also searching for it. If he doesn’t have it, then that mysterious woman is the only lead I have.”

The missing ring was more than just jewelry; it was the key to the Moran family’s legacy. Five years ago, a chaotic night had left Maurice with a hazy memory of a stranger and a missing heirloom. He had been searching for both ever since.

Meanwhile, in a different wing of the club, Eliana was being led down a dimly lit hallway by her supervisor, Gabrielle.

“Remember, Eliana,” Gabrielle whispered, her tone sharp. “Mr. Blake is a crucial partner for the Moran Group’s new project. If you want to secure your position in the design department, you need to make a good impression tonight.”

Eliana felt a knot of unease tighten in her stomach. She had only joined the company to get closer to the Moran family archives, hoping to find clues about her parents' past. She hadn't expected to be thrust into a high-stakes social trap.

Inside the suite, the air was thick with the scent of expensive liquor and tobacco. Antwan Blake, a man whose reputation for corporate greed was surpassed only by his lack of decorum, sat on the plush sofa. His eyes swept over Eliana with a predatory intensity that made her skin crawl.

“Ah, Gabrielle! You brought a new face,” Antwan said, his voice grating. He gestured to the seat beside him. “Come, sit. Let’s discuss ‘business.’”

Gabrielle pushed a glass into Eliana’s hand and forced her toward the sofa. “Go on, Eliana. Toast to Mr. Blake’s success.”

Under the heavy pressure of her career goals and Gabrielle’s watchful eye, Eliana found herself forced to navigate a minefield. Glass after glass was placed in front of her. As the alcohol began to cloud her senses, she realized with a jolt of panic that Gabrielle had quietly slipped out of the room.

Antwan leaned in closer, his intent clear. In a sudden surge of adrenaline and self-preservation, Eliana’s instincts took over. As he reached out, she swung her hand in a sharp, resounding arc.

Smack!

The sound of the slap echoed through the room. Stunned by the blow, Antwan stumbled back, his head catching the edge of a side table.

“You… you dare!” he roared, clutching his temple.

Eliana didn’t wait for him to recover. She bolted for the door, her heart hammering against her ribs. She burst into the hallway, the world spinning around her. She could hear Antwan’s angry shouts behind her and the heavy footsteps of his security.

Desperate to hide, she saw a door slightly ajar a few yards down the hall. She lunged through the opening and threw herself inside, her strength finally failing her.

As she collapsed, she didn't hit the floor. Instead, she fell into the arms of a man who felt as solid as a mountain. She struggled to look up, meeting a pair of deep, dark eyes that felt impossibly familiar. It was a face she didn't recognize, but the intensity of his gaze stopped her heart.