Daghter 207

Wyatt leaned back against the desk, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“When did we get to this point?” he asked quietly. “You talk to me like I’m a stranger now.”

Yunice paused. She inhaled softly, then shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

She turned to face him, her expression calm but guarded. “Carl and the theater project—you said you wanted to see it through. I told you I’d help. That’s all.”

Wyatt laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it.

“So that’s it?” he asked. “After all these years, you won’t even take a risk on me?”

He straightened, his gaze sharpening. “I’ve been buried in business these past few years. I didn’t stay close. I know that. But does that mean I’ve completely lost your trust?”

Yunice didn’t answer right away.

She knew exactly why she hadn’t taken that gamble.

Trusting someone wasn’t just about feelings—it involved human nature, family ties, interests, power. And Wyatt had too much of all of it. Once someone like him decided to use their power, there was no turning back.

Could she really trust anyone else with that kind of influence?

A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, she said softly, “Some distances don’t come from anger. They come from caution.”

Wyatt’s jaw tightened.

Not long after Yunice left the lounge, her phone vibrated.

She barely had time to glance at the screen before someone hurried toward her.

“Yunice!” a man called out anxiously. “Did you see Mr. Moore? He just won the bid—everyone’s talking about it.”

She stopped walking.

Mr. Moore.

Owen’s father had passed away years ago, and since then, she hadn’t stayed in close contact with that side of the family. But old bonds didn’t disappear so easily.

She nodded faintly. “I heard.”

The man hesitated, then added, “The contract documents look like they were prepared in advance.”

So it wasn’t an impulse bid.

Yunice wasn’t surprised.

In this circle, nothing ever was.

When she reached the private room, the door opened from the inside.

Carl stepped out.

He was impeccably dressed, calm, composed—the kind of man who looked like he had already planned ten moves ahead.

He smiled when he saw her. “You’re here.”

Yunice returned the smile politely. “Congratulations.”

Carl chuckled. “It’s just business.”

But the way he said it made the message clear.

This wasn’t about money.

It was about ownership.

About lines being drawn.

As Yunice walked past him, she felt it—eyes following her, calculations being made.

Behind her, Wyatt stood still, watching the scene unfold.

For the first time, it became painfully obvious:

She wasn’t his to claim.

Not unless Carl allowed it.