The Jilted Heiress Claims The Surgeon Brother

Dalton's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. "I need to take this. It's the hospital."

He stepped away, disappearing into the house through the study door. The screen door banged shut behind him, leaving Angelena and Cordella alone on the porch.

Cordella picked up the lemonade pitcher. "Come inside, Angie. Let's sit in the parlor. The sun is getting too harsh out here."

The parlor was cool and quiet, smelling faintly of old books and fresh flowers. Cordella poured her a cup of herbal tea, the steam rising in gentle curls.

"It's really good to have you back, Angie," Cordella said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "You know the Barrons are always your family."

Angelena felt a lump form in her throat. She squeezed back, nodding.

They chatted about Paris, about the bakeries, about the fashion. Cordella listened intently, but her eyes were sharp, missing nothing. Eventually, she steered the conversation with the precision of a surgeon.

"Speaking of family, I have to admit, I was surprised when Dalton moved back into the main house," Cordella said, taking a delicate sip of her tea.

Angelena paused, her cup halfway to her lips. "Oh? I thought he loved his apartment in the city. Closer to the hospital."

Cordella nodded slowly. "Exactly. That apartment of his is sterile. Cold. Like an operating room. I begged him for years to move back, but he always claimed he was too busy."

Cordella set her cup down, leaning forward slightly. Her eyes locked onto Angelena's. "But then, exactly one week after you sent the email confirming your return to New York, he packed a bag and moved back. Just like that."

Angelena's heart stopped. One week. The timing was a surgical strike to her chest.

"He claimed the air was better out here for his health," Cordella continued, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Can you believe that? A top-tier cardiac surgeon using 'fresh air' as an excuse?"

Angelena lowered her head, bringing the teacup up to hide the smile that was threatening to split her face. The tea trembled slightly in her grip.

It wasn't a coincidence. It was never a coincidence. He had come back because she was coming back. He had positioned himself here, on the front line, ready to catch her the moment she landed.

A wave of heat rushed through her, so intense it made her eyes sting. She blinked rapidly, trying to regain control.

Cordella saw the redness in her eyes and misunderstood. "Oh, honey, I didn't mean to upset you. We don't have to talk about him."

Angelena shook her head. She looked up, her gaze clear and fierce. "No, Cordella. You didn't upset me." She took a deep breath. "For me, everything is just beginning."

Cordella stared at the young woman in front of her. The fragile, heartbroken girl who had fled to Europe was gone. In her place sat a woman with a purpose, a woman who looked like she was about to go to war.

And Cordella had a feeling, a sudden, startling suspicion, about who that war might be for.

The door swung open. Dalton walked in, slipping his phone into his pocket. He stopped short when he saw the two of them at the table.

Angelena turned to look at him. Her eyes were different now. The warmth was still there, but it was layered with something else-something knowing, something that looked a lot like victory.

Dalton shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He couldn't read it, and that bothered him. He was used to reading people; it was his job. But she was a closed book written in a language he didn't know.

"What?" he asked, his voice defensive.

"Nothing," Angelena said, her voice light. "Just glad you're back."

Dalton frowned, feeling like he had just missed a very important piece of a puzzle.