Page 65 of The Silver Fox Brother

The apartment is silent except for the ambient hum of the city outside. Summer evening light pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warm and golden.

I move through the space on autopilot. Kitchen. Glass from the cabinet. Fill it with filtered water from the tap. Drink half of it standing there, staring at nothing. My mind won't stop replaying the afternoon.

Knox Sterling.

I've seen him at family events over the past two years—brief interactions, polite hellos across crowded rooms. But today was different. Today, I was in his space, his office, standing across from him with nothing between us but a business proposal and two hours of undivided attention.

His presence is... a lot.

Commanding. Intense. The kind of person who takes up space without trying, whose silence carries as much weight as his words. I understand now why people find him intimidating—there's something about the way he looks at you, like he's seeing past whatever you're showing him to whatever you're trying to hide.

But I held my own. At least..IthinkI held my own.

I finish the water, set the glass in the sink, and walk to the living room windows. Look out at Gramercy Park below, the trees full and green with summer, the paths lit by vintage lampposts as evening settles in.

My phone buzzes in my bag.

I retrieve it, glance at the screen. Text from Rowan.

Rowan: Dinner reservations at 8. That Italian place. Meet me there or I'll pick you up?

I stare at the text. Icouldtell him about the meeting. About Knox's offer. About the decision I have to make by Monday.

But I won't.

The thought comes immediately, instinctively.

I won't tell him.

Not because I'm hiding anything. Not because I've done anything wrong. But because I know how that conversation goes.

Rowan is... temperamental when it comes to his brother. In the two years we've been together, he's mentioned Knox maybe a handful of times, always in passing, always with an edge to his voice that suggests old wounds not fully healed. I don't know the full story—family politics that predate me, dynamics I'm not part of—but I know enough to understand that Knox's name is a trigger.

Andthis? Knox offering me a project? That would be more than a trigger.

That would be a detonation.

I type back.

Winter: I'll meet you there. What time?

Rowan: 8 PM. Reservation's under my name.

Winter: See you then.

I set my phone on the coffee table and sink onto the sofa.

The leather is cool against my skin. I pull my knees up, wrap my arms around them, and stare at the view.

Eight to ten million dollars.

The number keeps circling back. It's not just the money—though the money is staggering, more than enough to hire another designer, expand the studio, take on projects I've had to turn down because of capacity constraints. It's what the project represents.

Sterling Tower will be featured in every major design publication. Architectural Digest, Elle Decor, Luxe, all of them. I fought hard for the upcoming AD feature. But I know this project would give the kind of long range exposure that turns a small firm into a destination firm. The kind of portfolio piece that opens doors I haven't even thought to knock on yet.

And Knox Sterling chosemefor it. Specifically requested Winter Hayes Design.

That means something. But it also means complications I'm not sure I'm ready to navigate.