Caspar's POV:

The crisp London air hit my face as I stepped off the private jet at Heathrow.

I caught my reflection in the polished brass revolving doors-impeccable black suit,precisely knotted tie, expression carefully calibrated to reveal nothing.

"Welcome to London, Mr. Thornton," the ground crew supervisor said with practiced deference.

I nodded curtly, feeling several pairs of eyes following me across the private terminal. Power draws eyes. It's inevitable.

"James." I turned to my assistant, who had followed me off the plane, "you don't need to accompany me to meet Ethan Cole. Take the evening. I'll call when I need you."

While Thornton represents old-money East Coast finance,the Coles are West Coast tech royalty.

Ethan and I met at Harvard Business School. One of my few actual friends in a world where most relationships are merely strategic transactions.

He nodded. "Of course, Mr. Thornton. I'll be available when you call."

When we arrived at The Ritz. James efficiently handled check-in.

Once in the suite, I removed my jacket and immediately sent a message to Ethan,

*Landed in. Did you make it back to London yet?*

We'd spoken last night when he mentioned he was on a business trip,but he'd assured me he could return to London in time for our meeting.

I barely had time to loosen my tie when my phone vibrated with Ethan's response:

*CAS,FLIGHT DELAYED. STUCK IN SF FOR ANOTHER 3 HRS. WON'T MAKE IT BACK IN TIME. MY SISTER DAISY IS IN LONDON AND CAN JOIN YOU FOR DINNER INSTEAD. SHE'LL CONTACT YOU.SORRY MAN.*

I drummed my fingers on the polished desk.

Daisy Cole. The Cole family's golden child, adored and pampered amid a sea of Cole brothers and male cousins.

As the only daughter in a family overflowing with testosterone, she's been showered with attention since childhood.

*No need. We can reschedule.*

Ethan's response was immediate:

*TOO LATE. ALREADY TOLD HER YOUR NUMBER. SHE'S EXCITED TO MEET THE FAMOUS KING C.*

Before I could respond, another text came through from an unknown number:

*Hi, Caspar, this is Daisy Cole. Ethan said you just landed? See you in the restaurant in two hours.*

I stared at the screen, jaw tightening. Not even the pretense of giving me

an option. I glanced up to see James about to leave.

"James, change of plans. I'll need you to join me for dinner tonight."

He paused at the door, eyebrows rising slightly. "Sir? I thought you wanted me to take the evening off."

"That was before I knew I'd be having dinner with Daisy Cole." I set my phone down with more force than necessary. "Ethan's been delayed."

A flicker of understanding crossed James' face. He tried to maintain his professional demeanor, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Would you like me to arrange for a gift,sir?"

I considered the question, my mind drifting to what Ethan had confided in me during a rare moment of vulnerability.

It had been after a particularly tense acquisition meeting, just the two of us in my London penthouse, Macallan flowing too freely.

I remembered how Ethan's eyes had grown unfocused that night,his voice dropping to a whisper.

*"She's not really my sister-not biologically,"* he'd slurred,staring into his glass. *"Almost nobody knows... not even Daisy herself."*

He'd never fully explained, but through disconnected fragments that night,I'd pieced together a tragic story:

A childhood accident. Ethan's mistake, his biological sister lost. Then his father's calculated solution-find a replacement.

Ever since, Ethan had channeled every ounce of brotherly devotion into Daisy's life.

"Sir?" James prompted, bringing me back to the present.

I blinked, pulling myself from those uncomfortable memories.

"Yes. A gift would be appropriate for a first meeting. Nothing extravagant.but respectable."

"Understood, sir. Thoughtful but measured."

"Exactly." I moved toward the bedroom to change.

"Make sure the restaurant gives us a table in the main dining room.Nothing private or secluded."

"Of course, sir. I'll handle everything."

Just as I finished changing, my phone chimed with a message from Dorothy. Curious, I opened it.

She'd sent a photo of what appeared to be a marriage certificate, with the caption: *Found something interesting. Call me when you land. It's about your wife.*

I typed a quick response: *Will discuss when I return.*

I set the phone down with a sigh.

Whatever Dorothy had discovered-financial impropriety, hidden assets,another of Sienna's secret liaisons-it could wait until the divorce papers were signed.

I opened my messages to *Sienna Bailey* and typed quickly:

*This is Caspar Thornton. I'm returning to New York on Monday morning.Be at Whitman & Associates at 10 AM to sign divorce papers.*

Her response came quickly:

*I am busy on Monday. Can we reschedule for Wednesday?*

I felt a surge of irritation.

*No. Monday at 10 AM. My lawyer has already prepared the documents.*

Three dots appeared, disappeared.then reappeared.

*Fine. But don't you dare be late,you arrogant prick.*

I could practically feel her anger radiating through the phone, but I just turned off the screen and ignored it.

"Mr. Thornton, your car is ready whenever you wish to depart."

I stood, straightening my jacket and walking toward the exit.