Novel-novel oleh FREDDY FRED

Elena's POV.Westvale Manor felt like a mausoleum. The grand foyer that had once hosted elegant parties now echoed with desperate whispers and the rustle of wedding preparations. Staff hurried through halls carrying flowers and favor boxes, their faces carefully blank.I found Mother in the morning room, still in her robe despite the late hour. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her usual perfect composure had cracked around the edges."Elena." She looked up as I entered, relief flooding her features. "Thank God you're here.""What's wrong? Where's Vivian?"Mother's hands shook as she reached for her coffee cup. On the table beside her lay a single sheet of paper, elegant stationary that I recognized as Vivian's personal stationery."She's gone."The words hit me like ice water. "Gone where?""I don't know." Mother's voice broke on the admission. "She left this morning. Before dawn. Left this behind."She handed me the letter. Vivian's familiar handwriting sprawled across the page:*

Alexander's POV.The rehearsal dinner had been a performance. Smiles for photographers, toasts that meant nothing, my hand on Vivian's back as we moved through choreographed moments. She'd been distracted all evening, checking her phone between courses, her laughter too bright and brittle.Now, alone in my study at midnight, I couldn't escape the feeling that I was standing at the edge of a cliff.The wedding was in fourteen hours.I poured scotch and opened the Westvale acquisition files again, though I knew every clause by memory. Sometimes the familiar rhythm of business could quiet the chaos in my head. Tonight wasn't one of those times.My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: "She's not who you think she is."I stared at the screen. Corporate espionage wasn't unusual in my world—competitors often tried psychological warfare before major deals. But something about this message felt different. Personal.I deleted it and tried to focus on market projections.Another buzz. Sa

Elena's POV.The coffee shop buzzed with morning energy, but I felt hollow. Twenty-four hours until the wedding, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was watching my life through glass—present but separate, close but untouchable."You look terrible." Marcus slid into the seat across from me, his investor's suit perfectly pressed despite the early hour. "When's the last time you slept?""Sleep is overrated." I wrapped my hands around my mug, seeking warmth. "How are the market projections looking for the merger?""Elena." His voice carried gentle reproach. "We're not here to talk business."But business was safer than feelings. Numbers didn't lie or break hearts or make impossible promises. "The Thorne acquisition will stabilize everything. Vivian will be—""Miserable. And so will you."I looked up sharply. Marcus had been my friend since college, the only person who'd seen through my careful composure to the wanting underneath. His dark eyes held sympathy I couldn't bear."I'll be

Alexander's POV.The merger documents lay spread across my desk like battle plans. Thorne Industries acquiring Westvale Fashion. On paper, it looked clean. Professional. A strategic expansion into luxury goods.In reality, it was a rescue mission dressed as a business deal."The numbers don't lie," Sophia said from the leather chair across from me. My sister's voice carried the sharp edge that made board members flinch. "Westvale is hemorrhaging money. Has been for two years."I signed another page without looking up. "I'm aware.""Then why save them?"Because Evelyn Westvale had called me three months ago, her voice breaking as she begged for help. Because their family's legacy deserved better than bankruptcy court. Because sometimes mercy was good business.Because Elena Westvale existed in their world, and I wasn't ready to watch it crumble."The fashion industry is undervalued," I said instead. "This acquisition positions us perfectly for the luxury market expansion."Sophia's lau

Elena's POV.The needle slipped, drawing blood from my fingertip. I watched the crimson drop stain the white silk, spreading like guilt across perfection. Tomorrow, this dress would walk down the aisle. Tomorrow, my sister would become Mrs. Alexander Thorne."Careful, Elena." Mother's voice cut through the workshop's silence. "We can't afford mistakes."I pressed tissue to the wound, hiding the evidence. "It's just a small tear. I can fix it.""You always can." She stood in the doorway of my Azure Loft studio, her designer heels clicking against the concrete floor. Everything about Evelyn Westvale screamed old money—except for the worry lines creasing her forehead. "That's why I came to you instead of hiring someone else."The wedding dress hung before me like a ghost. Layers of imported French lace, hand-sewn pearls, a train that would photograph beautifully cascading down the Crystal Ballroom's marble steps. Six months of work. Six months of stitching my sister's dreams while mine g