Chapter 368 Rejected Identity

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    Quinn stared at the card resting in her palm until her nose burned with unshed tears.

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    The crisp ck letters–Leander Fane–felt like tiny des pricking at every nerve in her body.

    He was supposed to be Rowan Bridger–her brother.

    A gentle voice broke the silence. “Quinnie?” Han called softly.

    She pivoted toward the doorway and found Han crossing the threshold. “What are you—

    “I never returned to my room,” Han exined, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I stayed outside. Just now I saw Rowan walk away, so I came in to check on you. Did the conversation go badly?”

    Quinn managed a bitter smile, battling the moisture in her eyes. “He doesn’t want his identity back. Right now, all he wants is to remain Leander Fane.”

    “Why?” Han’s brows knit.

    “Maybe he feels indebted,” Quinn murmured. “He said the Fanes saved his life, and that he’s always known the blood between them isn’t real.”

    “There might be reasons we don’t see,” Han said, voice calm. “Let’s wait until we uncover the whole truth.”

    Quinn gave a firm nod, determination shing beneath the calm surface of her eyes. She had to untangle whatever knoty between the Fane family and her brother. “Come on, back to the lounge, or Laura will start pacing.”

    She pivoted gracefully, but the cascade of loosened hair swept forward and, without her noticing, hooked itself onto one of the polished buttons of Han’s tailored jacket.

    “Hold on,” Han said, catching her wrist before she could step away. “Your hair is snagged on my button. Let me free it before you hurt yourself.”

    Embarrassment rushed to Quinn’s cheeks. She stood rigid, afraid the slightest move would tug her scalp.

    “Why’d you let your hair down?” Han asked softly as his fingers worked at the offending thread. “Weren’t you wearing it up a minute ago?”

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    Chapter 368 Rejected Identity

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    b69 /b

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    “Uh… the hair tie snapped,” she offered, scrambling for the first excuse that came to mind.

    Han’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. He lifted a single strand, letting it slide across his fingertips, and his gazended on the vivid red mark hiding at the hollow of her neck.

    “Quinnie, tell me–did you really break things off with Julius?” The question burst out before he could stop it.

    After a beat of silence, she murmured, “Yeah. It’s over.”

    “Good,” he said, relief softening the line of his shoulders.

    The word made Quinn whirl around, and the sudden jerk sent a sting through her scalp–her hair was still trapped.

    “Easy. I’m not done untangling you yet,” he warned.

    “Han.” Her tone turned solemn. “Stop wasting your time on me. I see you as a friend, arade, the kid brother I never had. I can’t, and won’t, see you as a partner.”

    “I know, Quinnie–you’ve told me.” His smile was patient, almost infuriatingly so. “But I also said I’d wait. You can’t picture it now, but who knows about the future? You never thought you’d end up with Julius, did you?”

    His words left Quinn momentarily speechless.

    He finally freed thest strand, yet kept it between his fingers, then bent to press a light kiss against the silky curl.

    “Han!” Quinn gasped and backed away two quick steps.

    The captured lock slipped from his hand, sliding free like moonlight off water.

    Han lifted his gaze, eyes steady, almost solemn.

    “Quinnie, Julius may have broken your trust. I never will.”

    For a heartbeat, Quinn said nothing, realizing only now that the boy she’d always seen as a brother understood exactly what mattered to her.

    Inside the presidential suite, Everett regarded Leander with a chill that could crack ss.

    “Serena tells me a woman named Quinn Bridger came looking for you today.”

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    Chapter 368 Rejected Identity

    “She did.”

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    “She also said that, back in Doria, the woman called you her brother. Care to exin?”

    “She believes I’m her brother Rowan Bridger. But to me, I’m Leander Fane.”

    “As long as you understand.” Everett’s voice was colder than winter steel. “I don’t give a d*mn who you think you are in private. In public, Lady Margaret expects you to be a Fane, and that is non–negotiable.”

    “Understood.”

    “Then get out.”

    He waited until Leander had closed the door, the echo of his nephew’s footsteps fading down the marble corridor. Only then did Everett unlock his phone, the blue glow breathing across his angr face like midnight frost.

    On the screeny an old photograph–colors sun–washed and creased by time. A boy of about seven or eight stood straight and proud, his small hand protectively clutching that of a girl no older than four. Their eyes, bright and trusting, looked forever into the lens, not yet aware how merciless the world could be.

    That photo was a relic.

    He bowed his head, a de of anguish carving through the ice in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the silent room, the phone trembling between his fingers. “It was my fault. I lost you. Yara–please, forgive your brother.”