**Chapter 19** The sun streamed through the curtains, bringing light to the serene ambiance of Elliot's home. It was a Sunday, a day meant for relaxation, yet Avery found herself cocooned in the warmth of her bed until ten-thirty in the morning—her first slumber spent in the haven of Elliot's house. As she emerged from her room, the atmosphere shifted. A cluster of men lounged in the living room, their eyes snapping to her with an intensity that caught her off guard. Clad in a flowing nightgown, her tousled hair framed her face delicately, enhancing the natural beauty she often overlooked. Avery's heart raced as confusion wrapped around her thoughts like a tight band. She hadn’t imagined Elliot would have company today. As their gazes bore down on her, an unsettling awareness flickered in her mind—their stares, a mixture of curiosity and judgment, made her feel exposed. Panic surged within her; she instinctively turned on her heel, retreating back to the safety of her room. Mrs. Cooper’s warm presence broke through the anxiety, her gentle hand guiding Avery towards the dining room. “You must be starving, Madam,” she said, a kind smile lighting up her face. “You were sleeping so peacefully when I peeked in earlier; I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you.” “Those people… Who are they?” Avery asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “They're friends of Master Elliot. Just visiting," Mrs. Cooper reassured her, waving off any impending concern. “You needn’t worry about greeting them.” “Okay,” came Avery's reply, edged with uncertainty. Why would she even consider greeting Elliot’s friends when she hadn’t even acknowledged him? The thought of doing so felt foreign and burdensome. Had she known of his visitors beforehand, she would have risen early, eager to avoid this awkwardness. Meanwhile, the men’s conversation in the living room turned its focus towards her. “Elliot, who’s that young lady living under your roof? A caretaker, perhaps? Or…?” one man joked, laughter punctuating his words. Elliot remained stoic, his silence prompting the other men to tread lightly on the subject. “Are any of you familiar with Avery Tate from Tate Industries? Word is she’s Jack Tate’s daughter,” another chimed in, igniting excitement among the group. “I get it. She called me on Friday night about an investment opportunity, but I hung up before she could make her pitch,” one expressed, a hint of derision in his tone. “It’s foolish for her to dive into her father’s mess,” another added. “Their new product is a pipe dream. Self-driving tech sounds revolutionary, but the practicality is a nightmare for any investor.” Avery, seated in the dining room, listened to the unflattering criticisms, her heart sinking with each passing remark. Breakfast came and went, a blur of motion as she finished her meal and rushed off with her laptop in tow to the nearby café, desperate to lose herself in her thesis and escape the weight of the opinions swirling around her. Hours passed, and just as shadows grew longer, a new email alert flickered on her screen. Heart pounding, she opened the message, revealed to be addressed from ‘Mr. Z’. The contents were tantalizing—a proposal indicating his keen interest in Tate Industries’ latest product, with a potential investment hinging on the outcome of an upcoming meeting. Who was this Mr. Z? A subtle thrill mixed with trepidation coursed through her. If he truly desired to collaborate, why not arrange a formal meeting at the office? After a moment of contemplation, her fingers flew across the keyboard, sending a reply laced with suspicion. [Is this a new scam?] The response came swiftly. [You have quite the sense of humor, Miss Tate. Here’s proof of my assets.] With curiosity piqued, she opened the attached image. Her breath caught as she processed the sight—a screenshot of a bank account displaying a staggering balance of nearly two hundred million dollars. SHE stared in disbelief, running numbers through her mind until clarity settled in. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and her hands trembled while she replied. [You’re good at photo editing, but doesn’t this go a bit far? Who has two hundred million sitting in their checking account?] His reply was direct, almost provocative. [What would it take for you to believe me? Send me your account number, and I’ll transfer a deposit of intent for our collaboration.] A sense of caution washed over her. Was this some modern-day scam where trust was traded for financial access? Yet, after a moment’s pause, she cautiously sent him a screenshot of a designated account meant solely for reception of funds, should he prove untrustworthy. Panic stirred as she waited for Mr. Z’s response. Then came the thrilling ping of a transfer notification. Avery glanced at her phone, disbelief washing over her as she saw that eight hundred thousand dollars had been deposited. Thirty minutes later, Shaun burst through the café door, his voice frantic. “What’s happening, Avery? Did this Mr. Z really just send you eight hundred grand?” With a mix of awe and disbelief, Avery showed him her phone screen, confirming the balance. “Which company is he from? You need to set an appointment and meet him in person!” Shaun urged, barely able to contain his excitement. Avery’s heart sank as she recounted, “He only sent me an address for a meeting Friday night.” “Perfect! Text me the address; I’ll tag along,” Shaun replied, determination glinting in his eyes. “Okay,” she agreed, but unease knotted in her gut. The identity of Mr. Z and his motivations danced in her mind. He had so easily transferred a fortune without ever having met her; was he genuinely interested in contributing to Tate Industries, or was there another motive at play? As Friday approached with dizzying speed, Avery found herself faced with an unexpected question during breakfast. Elliot casually asked, “Do you have time for dinner at the old mansion tonight?” She hesitated, the weight of her plans colliding with obligation. “I’ve got something on campus, so I’ll be back a little later.” Elliot's expression darkened slightly, his lips forming a tight line. A chill crept through her. Hadn’t they shared enjoyable moments just days prior? Why did his gaze suddenly feel so foreboding? “You’re still my wife for now,” he said, finishing his coffee. “If I find out you’re lying to me, you’re dead.” His deep, piercing eyes held her captive, sending a shiver down her spine. What had once felt light between them now hovered with a tense edge that took her breath away. Quickly, Elliot excused himself, leaving Avery with her swirling thoughts. “Weirdo,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head at the unexpected dynamics brewing between them. As the clock struck five forty that evening, Avery stood outside the Twilight Bar, nerves threatening to unnerve her. A frantic call from Shaun shattered her calm. “I’m stuck in traffic! Just go inside without me, I’ll make it as soon as possible!” Anxiety rippled through her. This meeting was critical—a private invitation from Mr. Z, arranged last week, and now she was alone. Guided by an attendant, she arrived at the entrance of private room V606, her heart racing. Taking a deep breath to steady her resolve, she opened the door. The dim lighting revealed a singular figure silhouetted in the shadows—a man in a wheelchair. Her heart dropped. Was it... Elliot? “What on earth is he doing here?” Confusion surged as she realized the tangled threads of their separate lives were colliding in a way she could never have anticipated. The evening held secrets yet to be unraveled, and everything was about to change.