A cold dread seized Anya, clutching her stomach with icy fingers. Her eyes darted over the document again, the words stark against the expensive paper: "Heritage Business Acquisition – Kim's Ramen Shop." It wasn't a misunderstanding. It couldn't be. Heart hammering, she frantically stacked the papers, shoving them back into place as if the casual disarray could erase what she'd seen. Her mind screamed, demanding a logical explanation. Perhaps it was an old proposal? A discarded idea from a junior analyst? But the date. Her gaze had snagged on it, barely a month old. Fresh. Her family's ramen shop. Listed like a prize. A target. Hot anger flared, quickly doused by a chilling wave of betrayal. Every kind word, every soft gaze, every shared laugh with Thorne suddenly replayed in her mind, tainted. Was it all a pretense? He had complimented her food, her grandmother's recipes. He’d shown a genuine interest, or so she’d thought. Was that interest just market research? A deeper dive into the 'heritage business' he intended to acquire? Her hands trembled. She stared at the closed study door, picturing Thorne on the other side. The man who had touched her, who had made her heart race, who had offered her a chance. Now, he felt like a predator. A calculated, ruthless businessman. A wolf in a bespoke suit. Taking a shaky breath, Anya forced herself to move. She couldn't stay here, rooted to the spot, letting paranoia consume her. She had to act normal. For now. She picked up the books she'd been 'searching' for, placing them neatly on the shelf. Her movements were stiff, automatic. The aroma of old paper and leather, usually comforting, now felt suffocating. Later, back in the kitchen, Anya moved through the motions of preparing dinner. Her focus was fractured, her thoughts a chaotic storm. How could she have been so blind? So naive? She chopped vegetables with a ferocity that bordered on violence, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the cutting board echoing the frantic beat of her own pulse. Her family's shop wasn't just a business. It was their legacy. Their heart. Her grandmother's life work. No one, especially not Thorne Maxwell, would take it. Deciding then, a cold resolve settled over her. She wouldn't confront him yet. Not without more information. She needed proof, an understanding of the full scope of his intentions. Using her access, she began her quiet investigation. During her lunch break, instead of scrolling through social media, she found a discreet corner in the staff lounge, pulling out her phone. Searching for

Chapter 16: A Bitter Aftertaste