Emily’s POV

The grandfather clock in the second-floor corridor chimed half past ten.

I stood outside the heavy oak doors of Daniel’s coastal study, my hand hovering an inch above the brass handle. Downstairs in the sunroom, I could hear the faint sound of Ethan tapping away on his laptop, desperately trying to decode thirty pages of high-level corporate risk assessments before his deadline.

I sucked in a sharp breath, pulled open the door, and stepped inside.

The study was massive, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, dark leather armchairs, and a towering bay window that looked straight down at the roaring, grey Atlantic Ocean.

Daniel was sitting behind a heavy mahogany...