Chapter 75: The New Neighbor

Cora and her mother turned at the same time. A man in his early forties stood on the path with a small suitcase and a friendly, slightly sheepish smile. He held a slip of paper like a compass he didn’t quite trust.

“Building B is right across,” Zoy said, pointing. “We’re neighbors.”

“Ah—thank you! First day here. I’m still getting my bearings.” He bowed his head, all politeness.

Back inside, Cora settled her mom on the sofa and sent everyone else to rest. “Mom, what do you want to do next?” she asked softly. “You gave the Devs years of your life and then…”

“I don’t know.” Zoy’s smile tipped, tired and small. “Maybe rest for a few days. Funny, isn’t it? I spent so long buried in chores that now—freedom feels… directionless.”

“Then rest,” Cora said, squeezing her hand. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

Out in the hall, Austin was waiting. He had that face that meant he’d already done the unpleasant parts.

“Mrs. Watson, it’s confirmed,” he said quietly. “Mr. Dev’s new place was bought with the chairman’s money—but the title’s in Laura’s name. As for the bride… they’ve known each other for three years. A lot of his ‘savings’ went to her.”

Cora exhaled. She didn’t trust her voice enough to use it.

Austin hesitated. “Mr. Watson returns the day after tomorrow. And, ah… please don’t keep making him angry.”

“I make him angry?” Cora blinked. “Since when?”

Austin pushed on. “He was supposed to fly at six that morning—to Saudi, a major deal with the Sheik. He delayed to the afternoon… because of you.”

Cora stared. That half-swallowed thing he’d tried to say before leaving—that was it.

“I… know,” she murmured, though she didn’t, not really.

Evening fell. From next door: laughter, doorbells, the clatter of candy tins. Wedding favors brigade.

When the buzzer rang at their door, Cora didn’t even look up. “No.”

The maid returned a minute later. “They left the sweets on the mat.”

“Throw them out.”

The bell rang again. Cora strode over and yanked the door open. “I said we don’t—oh. Sorry. I thought—”

It wasn’t the candy crew. It was the new neighbor, the one from earlier.

“Forgive me,” he said, flustered. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just… I’m still figuring out how things work here and thought you might have the property office number.”

“Who is it, Cora?” Zoy called, coming down the hall.

“Our neighbor,” Cora said quickly, relieved.

Zoy arrived with her evergreen gentleness. “I’m sorry if my daughter was abrupt. She’s had a long week.”

He smiled, and something warm in the room softened. He held out a lidded tin. “I’m the one who’s abrupt. This is tea I brought back from China—just a little hello between neighbors.”

Zoy’s eyes lit. “I know this one. It’s lovely.”

“I’m Maden,” he added, a touch shy. “Architect—well, engineering design, really.”

Zoy faltered, suddenly self-conscious about introducing herself. Cora stepped in lightly. “This is my mother, Zoy. She had work, but she turned it down to look after me—and the baby on the way.”

Maden’s face brightened. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Cora said.

He held up the slip of paper. “I bought here on short notice and don’t even have the property manager’s card.”

“Of course.” Cora nodded at the maid. “Could you bring a card up?”

“Stay for dinner?” Zoy asked, sincerity shining through the newness of it all.

Cora watched her mother—no longer tiptoeing through Dev-house rules—offer hospitality like herself again. Relief caught at her throat.

—

Thousands of miles away, Julian glared at his phone.

Three days. Not one message.

Baron, the other aide on this trip, hovered. Mr. Watson had been… different. Staring at the screen whenever there wasn’t a contract in front of him.

“Should I replace your phone, sir?” Baron ventured.

“No.” Julian’s voice was flat. “If anyone calls or texts—tell me immediately.”

He took two steps away. The phone chimed. He was back in one, thumb already swiping—only to find a routine update.

His jaw ticked. Three days and nothing?

Baron texted Austin in a panic: He keeps staring at the phone. I asked if it was broken—he looked like he’d fire me.

Austin’s reply was instant: Don’t ask. He’s waiting for Mrs. Watson.

So Austin did what he could from afar. “Mrs. Watson,” he murmured to Cora later, “Dubai is a short hop from Saudi. If there’s anything you want…”

“For Mom?” Cora brightened. “Right—skin care. Does the company have a line for, um, mid-forties?”

Austin, internally: I tried, sir. I really tried.

Cora typed: Jule, could I ask a favor? If you have time, would you pick some gifts for my mom in Dubai? And a good skin-care set for her age—I’m not great at choosing. Also… how’s Saudi?

Across the desert, Julian’s mouth actually curved when the alert popped. Baron nearly dropped the tray.

“Check our new line for women forty-plus,” Julian said briskly. “Then clothes, shoes, a bag, tasteful jewelry. And send someone to sweep a proper haul of gold pieces from Dubai. One of each, highest quality.”

Baron blinked. “For… whom?”

“Go.”

Julian typed, then deleted, then finally sent a single, maddeningly cool: Mm.

Cora stared at the monosyllable. Busy, she decided, and set the phone down again.

Minutes became an hour. Julian’s patience—a finite resource—burned to the wick. Baron texted Austin again: He’s about to combust.

Austin, desperate: “Mr. Watson might not know what styles your mom likes…”

“Oh! Good point.” Cora grabbed her phone. Not too flashy, okay? She won’t be used to it. And… have you eaten? It’s evening here—no idea what time it is there.

Julian had the phone in his hand before the second ping, the irritation dissolving like sugar in hot tea.

Not yet. Food here doesn’t suit me, and I don’t have a go-to place, he wrote.

Shame, Cora tapped back from the garden swing. Mom made lasagna. Did I ever tell you hers is amazing?

He could see it—her grin through the text. His own reply came warm: Then I’ll come back for dinner.

Baron edged closer. “Breakfast, sir?”

“Lasagna,” Julian said absently. “Make it soft.”

Baron choked. “It’s… breakfast. We’re in Saudi. And you meet the Sheikh in an hour.”

Julian blinked, amused at himself, then waved him off. “Anything’s fine.”

Another ping: It must be morning there. Eat breakfast.

The last of the temper went out of him. I’ll be back soon. Stay well at home, he wrote—then a second: Don’t bully my son.

Cora sagged against the swing’s chain, relieved by the joke and… disappointed by it? Be reasonable, she scolded herself.

She let the thread go quiet.

“Cora!” A too-familiar voice cut across the courtyard.

Gary. Fresh suit, fresh ring, a smugness that made Cora’s stomach turn.

“Mr. Dev,” she said coolly. “On your wedding day? Shouldn’t you be with your bride, not loitering at my door?”

He ignored the barb. “Why are you living here? Is your mother trying to stay close to… to get me back?” He puffed up. “Tell her it’s over. I want her gone. I don’t want to see her again.”