The Solstice Club Encounter

The rhythmic thrum of the taxi tires on the midnight asphalt offered the only sound in the backseat. Cora leaned her head against the cool window, watching the city lights blur past. Two weeks. It had been two weeks since she boarded that emergency flight to Brantley. During her time away, her phone's international roaming had remained on.

Declan had sent only two text messages.

The first was a brief, sterile response to her departure text: *Travel safe.* The second was a one-word confirmation about a forgotten utility bill.

Cora unlocked her screen, staring at the empty chat log. The deep resignation settling in her chest felt final. For years, she had tortured herself, believing Declan's wandering eye was a direct result of her sexual disorder. She had carried that guilt like a stone. But two weeks of silence laid the truth bare. He didn't just lack physical attraction; he had zero interest in her as a human being. The marriage was a corpse. She was done pretending it had a pulse.

She would confront him tonight. She would hand over the drafted divorce papers the moment he walked through the door.

Her phone buzzed, shattering the quiet. The caller ID flashed her supervisor's name.

"Cora, I need you at the Solstice Club. Right now," her supervisor's voice crackled through the speaker. "A Kaelorian delegation touched down early. They only speak Valerian, and they didn't bring an interpreter. The only other Valerian speaker in the CEO’s office is out of state. You’re our only option."

Cora closed her eyes, biting back the urge to decline. She was exhausted, but she was still a professional. "I'm on my way."

She tapped the partition, rerouting her taxi.

Half an hour later, the taxi pulled up to the grand entrance of the Solstice Club. Cora checked her wristwatch. Eight-thirty. The high-stakes business negotiation wouldn't commence for another thirty minutes. She moved quickly, locating the reserved private room and reviewing the detailed client preferences her supervisor had emailed. She ensured the specific Valerian wines were breathing and the appetizers were arranged on the tables.

By eight-fifty, Cora stood by the towering glass doors at the club's entrance, smoothing out the wrinkles in her pencil skirt. The low hum of engines announced the arrival of two black Mercedes-Benz pulling up to the curb.

The doors of the lead car opened first. Several men in sharp, tailored suits stepped onto the pavement. Their sculpted facial features matched the Kaelorian profiles she had memorized on the ride over. Plastering a warm smile onto her face, Cora stepped forward, welcoming them in fluent, melodic Valerian.

Even as she spoke, her gaze flicked anxiously toward the second vehicle. The Lockwood Group had several vice CEOs, and all of them were known to be difficult to please. One of them despised women in the workplace, refusing to work with female interpreters. She prayed silently that he wasn't the one sitting in the back seat.

A tall, sharp-eyed assistant stepped out of the passenger side of the second Mercedes. He moved with practiced efficiency, rounding the trunk to pull open the rear door. Cora blinked, a flicker of recognition crossing her mind. The assistant looked familiar, but before she could place his face, a polished leather dress shoe stepped onto the curb.

The man emerged, standing at his imposing height. Broad shoulders strained against the tailoring of a metallic-gray suit. His dark hair was styled with precision, framing a handsome, cold face. His eyes held a chilling indifference that commanded immediate submission.

*Uncle Gideon?*

Cora’s breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes widened in pure shock as she recognized the man standing under the club’s golden awning.

Gideon paused. He cast a sidelong glance in her direction, his dark eyes narrowing a fraction as they locked onto hers.

He wasn't surprised. A few days after their charged encounter at the hotel, Tobias had placed a background check on his desk. Reading through the crisp files, Gideon had finally understood why she had called him 'Uncle Gideon' in that dim bar. Declan was his cousin’s son—a distant nephew he shared no emotional ties with. Cora was Declan’s wife on paper. She was also a senior interpreter working under the Lockwood Group's banner.

Gideon’s piercing stare felt like a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders. A cold shiver raced up Cora’s spine. Pure, heart-pounding panic seized her chest. She took a step back, but her heel snagged on the thick edge of the welcome mat.

Her ankle gave way. The ground rushed up to meet her.

"Watch out, Mr. Lockwood!" Tobias shouted from the car, lunging forward, but he was too far away.

Cora crashed against a solid wall of muscle. Her cheek smashed directly into Gideon’s chest. A dull ache flared across her face, but it was drowned out by the heavy scent radiating from him. Dark musk, crisp cedar, and the distinct heat of his skin filled her lungs. Her heart hammered against her ribs, deafening in her ears. *This is what Uncle Gideon smells like.* The sheer physical proximity paralyzed her.

Gideon’s lips twitched.

Standing a few feet away, Tobias watched the scene unfold in stunned silence. He had served Gideon for years, managing his schedule and security. In all that time, he had never seen a woman with the sheer audacity to literally throw herself into Gideon Lockwood's arms. Twice.

Large, firm hands clamped onto Cora’s arms. Gideon hoisted her upright with terrifying strength.

"Be careful, Ms. Vance," Gideon murmured.

His voice was a low, warm rumble that vibrated deep in his chest, yet his tone remained strictly formal. The moment his cold, steady fingertips brushed her skin, a sharp rush of goosebumps cascaded down Cora's arms.

Observing their interaction from the sidelines, Tobias couldn't help but wonder if Gideon had truly recognized her, given he had just called her Ms. Vance.