Novel-novel oleh Kyla M. Palmer

Alexander’s POV For the first thirty years of my life, I despised my birthday.It was a day that served only as a grim, annual reminder of the cold, sterile environment in which I was raised. Growing up in the Grayson household, a birthday wasn't a celebration of life; it was an obligatory mark of aging, acknowledged with a firm handshake from my father, an excessively expensive watch I didn't want, and a dinner where business metrics were the only acceptable topic of conversation.I had learned very early on to treat the day like any other random day. I woke up, I put on a suit, I crushed my competitors, and I went to sleep in an empty, silent penthouse.But that was a lifetime ago. That was before a woman with dark, defiant eyes had marched into my life as a contract deal and systematically dismantled every single wall I had ever built.That was before I learned what it actually meant to be alive. To be happy and fulfilled with yourself. To be in love.Smack.The wet, sticky impact

Eliana’s POV."This isn't a schedule. This is a military occupation strategy."Damien was staring at the thick, leather-bound binder Alexander had just dropped onto the kitchen island. He looked horrified, his sunglasses pushed up into his dark hair, his usually effortless, chaotic charm completely evaporating in the face of toddler logistics."It is a highly optimized routine," Alexander corrected, his voice a low, uncompromising rumble. He was standing on the opposite side of the marble island, adjusting the cuffs of his bespoke black shirt. He looked like a man preparing to execute a hostile takeover, not a father handing over his three-year-old for the weekend. "Section four details her dietary restrictions. Section six covers emergency contacts, ranked by response time. Christian’s private comms channel is highlighted in red.""Alex, it says here that if she asks for a blue cup, but the blue cup is in the dishwasher, I have to initiate a 'distraction protocol' involving a puppet,

Three years later. Eliana’s POV "Catch her!"The shriek of pure, unfiltered toddler joy echoed off the vaulted ceilings of the foyer, followed immediately by the rapid, chaotic slapping of bare little feet against the imported Brazilian hardwood."Target acquired. Commencing intercept."Alexander’s voice, a low, theatrical rumble that completely betrayed his reputation as the most ruthless billionaire in the Western Hemisphere, resonated from the hallway.I leaned against the doorframe of the master suite, a steaming mug of decaf coffee in my hand, and watched the chaos unfold.Aria Grace Grayson, three years old and a terrifyingly perfect genetic amalgamation of both of us, sprinted past the doorway. She was wearing a tulle princess dress over a pair of Spiderman pajamas, her dark curls flying wildly behind her. She was fast—deceptively fast—but she was no match for the apex predator hunting her.Alexander stepped out from the adjacent corridor. He was fully dressed in a bespoke na

Alexander’s POV The heavy, frosted glass doors of the surgical wing slammed shut, the magnetic lock engaging with a loud, definitive click that echoed through the sterile corridor.It was the sound of a vault sealing. The sound of my entire world being locked away from me.I stood there, staring at the opaque glass, my hands curled into fists so tight my knuckles ached with the strain. For the first time in all my years of life, I had absolutely no leverage. I couldn't buy my way through those doors. I couldn't leverage a hostile takeover. I couldn't threaten, bribe, or manipulate the universe into bending to my will.I was Alexander Grayson. I literally owned the skyline of this city. I funded the very wing Eliana was currently bleeding in. But in this exact, agonizing moment, I was nothing but a useless, terrified man stranded on the wrong side of a locked door.It had happened too fast. We hadn’t even made it to the standard delivery suite. We had barely crossed the threshold of t

Eliana’s POV I was stuck.Physically, emotionally, and metaphorically stuck.I was lying on the yoga mat in the middle of the living room, staring at the ceiling fresco. I had gotten down here with the intention of doing some "gentle prenatal stretching" as recommended by Dr. Evans.Now, twenty minutes later, I realized a fundamental truth of physics: Once a turtle is on its back, it stays on its back."Alexander?" I called out. My voice echoed in the vast, empty space.Nothing."Christian?"Silence."Damien? If you're hiding in the liquor cabinet, come help me up!"Footsteps thundered down the hallway. Not one pair, but two.Alexander appeared first, skidding around the corner in his socks. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that was currently covered in... sawdust?"Eliana?" He scanned the room, panic flaring in his eyes. He spotted me on the floor. "Did you fall? Did you faint? Is it time?""I didn't fall," I sighed, staring up at him. "I tried to do a cat-co

Eliana’s POV Seven months.Twenty-eight weeks of carrying the Grayson heir.I was officially in the "waddle" phase. My ankles had swollen to the size of tree trunks, my back ached with a dull, persistent throb, and if one more person told me I was "glowing," I was going to commit a felony.I didn't feel glowing. I felt spherical."You look beautiful," Alexander lied smoothly, helping me zip up my dress.It was a white sundress—flowy, comfortable, and one of the few things that didn't make me feel like a sausage in a casing. We were supposed to be going to a "mandatory brunch" with the board of directors. On a Saturday. Which sounded like a circle of hell I didn't want to visit."I look like a marshmallow," I grumbled, turning to face him. "A very expensive, very tired marshmallow.""You look like the mother of my daughter," he corrected, his voice dropping to that low, reverent rumble that always melted my annoyance. He placed his hands on my bump—which was now undeniably prominent—a