Why was it that every single time, this man had me completely under his thumb? After washing her hands, Summer took a steadying breath and walked out of the restroom. Off to one side, a woman stood alone in the narrow corridor outside. She looked striking. Her curves were wrapped in a slinky, provocative dress that shimmered under the faint light. A slender hand held a cigarette between two fingers, and wisps of smoke curled lazily around her, veiling her expression in a haze of mystery and allure. But the woman's sultry gaze was impossible to ignore. One glance, and it could pull you under. She was dangerous and seductive, like an enchantress straight out of a myth. Summer recognized her immediately. This was the same woman who had just been dancing with Fraser. She walked past the woman without saying anything, keeping her expression calm and indifferent. But just as she passed, a slender, jade-like hand suddenly reached out, blocking her path. "Ms. Stewart, isn't it?" The woman's voice was soft, dripping with allure, tinged by a faint huskiness from the cigarette she was smoking. "I'm Madeleine,” she continued. “Heiress of Marc Gerber.” Summer stopped, turning to look at her. "What is it?" she asked, her tone cool and distant. Madeleine asked directly, "What's your relationship with Fraser?" Summer's brows knit together. "I don't think I need to explain that to you." Madeleine let out a low, smoky laugh. The thick scent of cigarettes filled the narrow hallway, and Summer instinctively took two steps back. "I've decided I want him," Madeleine said bluntly. "I don't care what's going on between you two. I'll have him. I want to sleep with him." The sheer boldness of the statement made Summer's stomach twist with discomfort. "You should probably tell him that directly," Summer replied, her voice clipped. "It's not something I can help you with." Madeleine gave a soft hum. "You don’t mind?" she asked, tilting her head, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "My sixth sense tells me you've already slept with him." Is every French woman this direct? Summer's face stiffened, her expression faltering for just a second. "Don't get me wrong," she said lightly. "I have no desire to be his woman. But you can tell me, how is he in bed? He doesn't strike me as the cold type." Summer stared at her, momentarily at a loss for words. How did this woman even come to the conclusion that Fraser might be cold? But being questioned so bluntly like this made something snap inside her. "Seven times in one night," she said evenly. "What do you think?" Madeleine's eyes lit up instantly. "Oh my god," she breathed, her gaze gleaming. "He's definitely my type." "But," Summer added sharply, "you won’t get the chance." With that, she turned on her heel, stalking off with a heart full of frustration and simmering irritation. By the time she returned to the ballroom, the music had faded, and the atmosphere had shifted back to its usual opulence. Crystal glasses clinked. Laughter rippled through the air. Wine flowed freely as the city’s elite slipped seamlessly back into discussions about global markets and economics. Across the room, Fraser stood quietly to one side. Trevor was beside him. Someone raised a glass and called out, "Cheers!" The crowd responded with laughter and the clinking of glasses, but in one corner of the room, two men stood motionless. The air between Fraser and Trevor was tense, heavy with hostility, like the calm before a violent storm. Trevor's voice was quiet, but cold enough to bite through steel. "Fraser, stay away from Summer." Fraser swirled his wine lazily, the crimson liquid catching the light as it slid along the glass. His tone was casual, almost bored. "That night," he said, lips curling into a half-smile, "did you enjoy the show?" Trevor's jaw clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek. "You knew I was there?" Fraser clicked his tongue. "Of course," he drawled. "A free movie, and yet you didn't even bother to send me a review. Disappointing." Trevor's eyes darkened. "You're despicable," he snapped. "Summer will never love someone like you." Instead of anger, Fraser chuckled. A slow, dangerous sound, as the corners of his mouth lifted in a wicked curve. "You really want to see how she loves me? Sorry. I’m not into that."The implication hung between them, thick and cutting. Trevor downed the rest of his whiskey in one harsh gulp, the glass shaking faintly in his grip. Fingers tightening around the fragile stem, as if willing it to shatter. Fraser raised a brow, then patted Trevor on the shoulder. "Mr. Larson, if you want to win a woman back, you should act quickly. She's already gone." After leaving the restroom, Summer's gaze swept across the glittering crowd. But there was no sign of that infuriating man. Instead, Yvette approached with a teasing smile. "Wow," she said with sparkling eyes. "Fraser really knows how to charm a crowd. He just snatched you right out of Trevor's arms." Summer sighed faintly. "If it was you who got snatched, you'll only feel embarrassed instead of joy." Yvette chuckled, lifting her chin in the direction of the dance floor where Madeleine was. "You'd better keep an eye on your prince charming. Looks like someone else is already circling him like a shark." As if I have any right to keep an eye on him. She wasn't his wife. Not officially. Not in any way that mattered. Summer's thoughts were scattered when her phone buzzed softly in her hand. A message popped up on the screen. "Come out." It was from Fraser. "I've got to go now. I've got something to take care of," Summer said, her voice light as she glanced at Yvette. “So soon?” Yvetter looked over and saw Summer seemed distracted, her gaze fixed on her phone, and there were unreadable emotions flickering in her eyes. Yvette just smiled knowingly after that, an unmistakable hint of mischief in her expression. "Go on then. Don't let me stop you from running off to your prince." Summer wanted to explain, but no words came. Where could she even start? Ever since Summer had given Yvette that recording last time, she had clearly made up her mind to believe that it was Summer who had gone to Fraser for help. If she ever found out the truth that it was actually Madam Graham who had intervened, Yvette would never have accepted it.That was why Summer could never tell her. Yvette's mood dampened after Summer left. Tonight, she was the official spokesperson for Marc Gerber, and she had spent the entire evening smiling, exchanging pleasantries with everyone who approached her. Now, exhaustion was starting to creep in. Without much thought, she turned and walked toward the lounge area at the side of the ballroom.