LOGINMIRA'S POV:It makes me sick. It makes me furious. It makes me want to destroy everything she loves.I think about the night I first saw them together. I was watching from across the street, hidden in the shadows, my heart pounding with jealousy and rage. They were walking hand in hand, their heads bent together, their voices low and intimate. She was laughing at something he said, and he was looking at her like she was the sun and the moon and the stars.I pulled my coat tighter around myself, standing in the freezing cold just to watch them step inside his warm lobby.I wanted to scream. I wanted to run across the street and tear them apart. I wanted to make her pay for taking what was mine.My hands were shaking inside my leather gloves, my nails digging deep into my palms until it hurt.But I did not do anything and that's because I am patient, I am smart and I am so strategic.I watch them. I wait. I plan.I think about the security cameras I have installed. The microphon
MIRA'S POV:Six months have passed since Vivienne Thornwell died in prison.The days have dragged on endlessly, full of quiet hours spent staring at my phone and waiting for the right moment to strike.Six months of me watching from the shadows. Six months of waiting, six months of planning, six months of pretending that I have moved on, that I have accepted defeat, that I have let go of my obsession with Alistair Ashcroft.My friends think I am over him, complimenting me on how well I handle myself and how calm I seem lately.But I have not moved on. I have not accepted defeat. I have not let go.I am sitting in my penthouse, a glass of wine in my hand, staring out the window at the London skyline. The city is glittering below me with the streets full of people living their lives, chasing their dreams, making their way through the world.A soft rain begins to fall on the people and I am not one of them. I am not living my life. I am not chasing my dreams. I am obsessing over
MAXWELL'S POV:The morning light pours through the tall windows of Valancourt House on the breakfast table. The quiet buz of the early hours slowly fades away as the room fills up with life. The room is filled with the clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices and the comfortable noise that comes from a house full of family.A faint breeze blows through the cracked patio door, bringing in the cool air from the gardens outside.I am sitting at the head of the table, a cup of coffee in my hand, watching the people I love most in the world go about their morning rituals. Athena is beside me, her dark hair falling over her face as she reads the newspaper. She is wearing one of my old sweaters, too big for her, slipping off one shoulder. She looks beautiful and relaxed and utterly at home.She takes a slow sip from her mug, flipping the thin paper page with a quiet rustle that fits right into the background noise of our home.Isabelle is across from us, her sketchbook open in front
AUGUST'S POV:"Everyone knows that they are not related," she continues. "Not by blood and Celestine and Lysander have accepted them."I nod slowly."Good," I say. "That is so good."She looks at me. "You are not upset?""No," I say. "I am not upset. I am just glad that they are happy."She leans down and kisses my forehead."I love you," she says once again."I love you too." I told her too.**MAXWELL'S POV:**I walk into the room and I see my father awake.I pause near the doorway for a second, my heart lifting as I take in the sight of him sitting up instead of lying pale and still against the pillows.He is sitting up in bed, his face pale but his eyes bright. My mother is beside him, holding his hand. She looks tired, but she looks happy."Dad," I say. "You are awake."He turns his head. His pale blue eyes find mine."Maxwell," I say. "Come here."I walk over to him. I take his hand."I am so proud of you," he says.I blink. "Proud of me?""Of the man you h
ISABELLE'S POV:The room is quiet except for the soft beeping of the monitors and the gentle rhythm of my husband's breathing.Outside the window, a small sparrow perches on the ledge for a moment before flying off into the bright blue sky.I have been sitting here for hours, holding his hand, watching the rise and fall of his chest.The heavy silence between us feels different today, softer and lighter than the terrifying quiet that used to fill this space during his worst nights.August is sleeping. His face is peaceful, relaxed, the lines of pain smoothed away. He looks younger when he sleeps, like the man I fell in love with all those years ago. His silver hair is thinner now, his skin is paler, his hands are fragile and thin. But he is still handsome. He will always be beautiful to me.I trace the thin blue veins on the back of his hand, careful not to press too hard against his worn skin.The doctors said the treatments were working. The cancer was in remission. He was w
ALISTAIR'S POV:I squeeze her hand. She looks at me. Her green eyes are soft and warm."What are you thinking about?" she asks."You," I say. "I am always thinking about you."She smiles at me. "Alistair," she says. "I love you.""I love you too," I say. "I will always love you."We sit together in the garden, watching the sun sink lower and lower. The sky is darkening, the first stars appearing in the fading light. The air is cooling, the breeze picking up, carrying the scent of roses and earth and the promise of a new day.I do not know what the future holds. I do not know what challenges we will face. I do not know if we will always be this happy, this peaceful, this content.There will probably be new battles down the road, new obstacles that try to put our bond to the test.But I know that I will face whatever comes with her by my side. I know that I will fight for her, protect her, love her until the end of time.And that is enough.**CELESTINE'S POV:**I watch
The forgotten anniversaries. There had been three of those. Three times she had dressed up nice and made dinner and waited and waited and waited until finally getting a text that said "working late sorry" with no exclamation points, no emojis, no nothing.The cruel comments. Those were worse."You
Celestine Valancourt stood in the bathroom of her penthouse apartment, her bare feet cold against the imported marble floor, staring at a little plastic stick that had just completely and utterly rearranged her entire universe. There were two little pink lines staring back at her. Two little lines
KIER'S POV:I pour myself a drink and I sit in the dark and I wait for her to come back.She always comes back.But she does not come back.A week passes. Then another. The penthouse stays empty. My calls go straight to voicemail. My texts go unanswered. I send messages through her email, through s
She watched from the window as her father walked out to greet him.August Valancourt shook Lysander's hand with both of his, the way he did with people he truly respected, and he said something that made Lysander nod solemnly. Then her mother appeared, and Isabelle kissed Lysander on both cheeks, t







