The Watcher’s Hand
(Andrew Dole’s POV)
The door was colder than it looked.
I knocked once, then again, slower.
Behind it. I could hear nothing–no footsteps, no shift of weight, no shuffling sounds to betray someone inside. Just silence. The kind that didn’t wait politely–it pressed against your lungs and made breathing feel like a decision.
I didn’t leave.
The air in the corridor felt expensive, perfumed with sandalwood and hush money. A subtle chill ran beneath the quiet, like the building itself could sense why I was here.
Then-
A lock clicked.
The door creaked open just enough to frame her silhouette.
She stood barefoot in the soft spill of bathroom light, damp strands of hair clinging to her collarbone, her robe cinched but loose. Her eyes–those calm, naive eyes–were wary but clear.
I straightened without meaning to.
“Andrew.”
She didn’t sound surprised. Just… tired.
I gave a small nod. “I wasn’t sure if you’d open.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should.” She stepped aside, slowly, like she was still debating it.
But she left the door open. That was something.
I stepped inside.
The room carried the scent of citrus soap and lavender–clean, sharp, and restless. Like she’d just scrubbed off something heavier than dirt. Steam still curled from the half–closed bathroom door, a ghost of heat clinging to
the air.
No music. No distractions. Just silence and tension, thick as velvet.
She was in the executive wing of the Musk Hotel–corner suite, high above the city’s noise–but the real noise was between us.
Her eyes followed me like I was a storm she’d weathered once before- and wasn’t sure she’d survive again.
“How did you know I was still staying here?” she asked, voice cool but taut. “You could’ve just sent a message.
I held her gaze. “And you could’ve answered one.”
Her jaw clenched, a flicker of something raw passing through her expression–pain, maybe, or restraint barely holding.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she murmured. “I need to be alone… especially
now.
I didn’t move at first. Just let the weight of her words settle in the silence. between us. Then I stepped toward the window, the city spilling out beyond the glass in a river of molten gold. Tower lights blinked like
indifferent stars. Too vast. Too distant. Too unmoved by people like us.
“I wouldn’t have come,” I said, keeping my voice even. “But silence isn’t the same as closure, Jane. The least you could do is respond. It’s been.
weeks.”
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed like armor, her eyes sharp but tired. “So this is about your little proposal?” Her voice was cool, edged with steel. “Is that why you’re here–because I didn’t give you an answer?”
“No.” I hesitated. “I came because I wanted to know how you’re holding up.”
A pause. Just long enough to sting.
Then her voice came–low, even. “I’m holding up the way any woman does after getting served.”
My brows drew together.
She turned toward the window, arms crossed. Her reflection was carved into the glass like a phantom. “He planned it like a corporate exit strategy. Methodical. Brutal. Selfish. Clean.”
I stayed still.
“No penthouse. No car. No stake in the Frank–Peterson Real Estate Trust. Not even Vigo, the German Shepherd we rescued together. Apparently, I‘ m worth exactly zero after two years of marriage and over a decade of friendship. Her voice caught, just for a second. “He didn’t just erase me, Andrew. He filed me away–like I was some obsolete contract he’d already cashed in on.”
Something twisted low in my chest–sharp, bitter.
“That’s not just cruel,” I said, stepping closer. “That’s calculated. That’s
J
wickedness dressed in tailored suits.”
She looked at me, eyes dark with the kind of pain only heartbreak can bring.
I let out a breath, jaw tightening. “That’s exactly what he did to me. When we ran the firm together, Nathan made me believe we were building something side by side–brothers in business, equals in vision. And the moment it was profitable enough to matter, he cut me out. Gutted the contracts. Froze me out of the accounts. Used my ideas to court the investors we’d scouted together.”
I paused, watching her reaction. “He didn’t just betray me, Jane. He perfected it on you.”
She gave a cold laugh. “You know what the final paragraph said? “The petitioner waives any future financial obligation to the respondent.‘ No alimony. No support. Because apparently, since I never gave him a child, I never gave him anything worth remembering.”
Her words landed like the sound of a fallen steel tray.
“Jane…”
“You wanted to know how I’m holding up? That’s how.”
I took a cautious step forward. “You didn’t deserve that. None of it.”
She turned, eyes sharp, voice steady. “No, I didn’t. And now I want something back. Not out of pettiness. Out of principle.”
There was a shift in the air. A quiet current pulling us into its gravity.
Jane’s eyes didn’t flinch. “I remember what you said to me that night at Club Mevron,” she murmured, her voice steady but softer than before. “And I think I’m finally ready to give you an answer.
I straightened, the silence between us thick with anticipation. “Marriage,” I said slowly, like laying down cards between us. “Legal. Public.
Strategic.”
She nodded once, deliberate. “I know you meant it.”
“I did.” I replied. “Every word.”
Jane took a breath. “Then here’s mine–I’ll do it. I’ll marry you. Not for love, not for appearances. But because Nathan underestimated the wrong woman, and you’re the only one offering me a war chest, not just a lifeboat.”
I didn’t speak. I didn’t move. I let her words land like the first crack of thunder before a storm.
“But Andrew…” she continued, her gaze narrowing slightly. “If I’m doing this. then I need your word. Not just that you’ll protect me, but that you’ll deliver justice. That you’re not just using me to claw your way back into Nathan’s empire.”
“You have my word,” I said quietly. “This isn’t a game to me either.”
She exhaled, jaw tightening. “Then we’re aligned.”
I nodded slowly, holding her gaze for a moment longer. Then I reached into my coat pocket instinctively, remembering–but my hand came up empty.
“The documents.” I said. “They’re in the car. Locked in the glove compartment. I didn’t think you’d say yes tonight.”
Her brow arched slightly. “So you came all this way with no expectations?”
I smirked. “I came with hope. Not assumptions.”
For a moment, her lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a scowl. Just… restrained emotion, the kind we’d both gotten too good at wearing
like armor.
“I can have them sent to you.” I offered. “Or better yet, come by the office tomorrow. My legal team will be there. We’ll make it official. Binding.”
Jane folded her arms again, slower this time. “Your office. That’s downtown?”
“The building bears your name,” I said. “Glass, steel, and every intention to break Nathan’s grip on this city.”
She looked away, gaze settling on the skyline beyond the window like she was tracing memories across it. “It’s funny,” she murmured. “I used to be terrified of heights. Now I only feel safe when I’m above everything.”
I stepped a little closer, voice low. “Then we’ll build something tall enough to make him feel small.”
Her eyes flicked to mine–cool, unreadable. “You say that like you’ve already planned the whole war.
“I didn’t,” I said. “But I know what it’s like to be erased by him. I know what it costs to lose everything you built beside him… and I know the thrill of making him watch as it all slips out of his control.”
A beat of silence passed.
Then Jane said, “I’ll come by. Noon.”
I nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
A pause. Her eyes drifted, as if bracing for the words.
“That night–the one that shattered everything–I found out who the
10240
woman was.”
She looked straight at me.
“It was Julia.”
My breath caught.
“Your sister?” I said, barely above a whisper.
She nodded. “My twin. And she’s pregnant.”
I froze. It felt like the floor was about to swallow me.
“I’m sorry. Jane.
“Noon.” she repeated, voice brittle. “We sign, and we move.”
She reached for her phone, but when she checked the screen, her expression shifted–shoulders stiff, mouth tense.
I stepped closer. “What is it?”
She turned her phone so I could see it.
Nathan’s name still lit up the screen.
You’ve never been good at choosing allies. Watch yourself, Jane. Some deals cost more than silence.
Her eyes lifted to meet mine–calm on the surface, but storming underneath.
“He knows,” she said quietly.
A cold weight coiled in my gut.
“Someone’s definitely watching you,” I said, voice low. “Spying on you-
from right here, in this hotel.”
