"Aren''t you going to wait for his answer?" Quennel asked, his voice cool and clear.


    Hannah nced at the man beside her. She had to admit, Quennel knew exactly how to twist the knife. And a part of her did want to hear what Lionel would say.


    She turned back to Lionel, watching as the light in his dark eyes faded, reced by a mixture of sorrow and barely suppressed anger.


    "Are you enjoying this, Hannah?" he asked.


    "Were you enjoying it when you came at me with baseless usations?" she retorted. "Let''s not waste any more time."


    With that, she saw him turn and walk away. That was his answer.


    Hannah let out a coldugh and headed for the door.


    "Quennel, thank you foring to get me," she said once they were in the car. She had messaged him when Lionel refused to open the doors, but she hadn''t received a reply. She thought he wasn''ting, and the sight of his car waiting outside had almost brought her to tears with relief.


    "I''m sorry, Hannah. I was in a meeting and didn''t see your message untilter. You''re not mad, are you?"


    Hannah shook her head. "Of course not. I can''t thank you enough."


    They arrived at the apartment building and rode the elevator up together. When Hannah saw Quennel press the button for the 26th floor, she realized he lived on the floor directly above her.


    "If you don''t feel like cooking dinner some night, you cane up and eat with me," he offered. "Or I can hire a housekeeper for you."


    "I like to cook," she said reflexively. "I did most of the cooking at home."


    Before they were married, she had always timed her cooking so that a hot meal was waiting for Lionel the moment he got home. She


    continued the habit after they were married, but he stoppeding home. She would sit alone at the table, waiting until the food grew cold. Eventually she realized he was nevering, and she stopped cooking as often. Lily, the


    housekeeper, took over, but after she realized Hannah was out of favor, her cooking became more and more perfunctory. Sometimes, Hannah would just cook for herself.


    "I''ve never had your cooking."


    Hannah blinked, a little flustered.


    "When you''re in a better mood, could you cook a meal for me?" Quennel asked,


    his eyes crinkling into a warm smile.


    "Of course! What do you like to eat? Any allergies?"


    "I''m not a picky eater. I''ll love anything you make."


    His gentle, fond tone filled the small elevator, and she could feel her ears burning.


    "...Okay, I''ll let you know when I''m ready."


    "Great."


    Thankfully, the elevator doors


    opened just then. She stood outside


    as the doors closed, watching Quennel ascend before letting out long breath and heading to her apartment. She copsed onto the soft sofa, hugging a pillow to her chest to steady her nerves.


    Meanwhile, back at the estate, Lionel couldn''t sit still. He skipped dinner and drove to thew firm. Mr. Jones, the managing partner, panicked. When he received the call about pulling security footage. He ordered someone to get it immediately, then, after some thought, made a call to Sandra at the hospital.