LOGINISABELLE'S POV: My throat felt tight, and I could not get any real words out. I just lifted a shaking hand and pointed at the glowing phone lying on the floor. He stepped across the floor, picked the phone up, and watched the video replay. As he watched, all the warmth left his expression. His jaw set tight, his posture went completely rigid, and his hands gripped the edges of the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. "Who sent this to you?" he asked. His voice was flat, quiet, and very steady. "I do not know," I managed to whisper, holding my hands together to keep them still. "It came from a blocked number. Just like the last ones." He kept staring down at the little screen for a long, quiet moment before turning his head toward me. "Did you watch the whole thing?" I gave a small nod. I could not bring myself to explain how awful it felt to see it, but I did not have to. He could read it on my face anyway. He saw how uncomfortable and shaken I was. He set the phon
ISABELLE'S POV:A Few Days Later…I was sitting by myself in the library, holding an open book on my lap as it was such a quiet, peaceful day. It was the exact kind of afternoon that tricks you into thinking everything is okay and that danger is nowhere near you. Up on the second floor, Damon was locked in his study, working on something important that he refused to talk about. Outside, the security guards were pacing their regular rounds, the cameras were running, and the mansion felt like a solid brick fortress.None of those physical barriers mattered though. The person who was bothering us did not need to break down the front gate to get inside my head.My phone gave a quick buzz on the table, displaying a string of numbers I did not recognize. Messages from unknown senders had been popping up for days, each one slightly worse than the last. Lately, I had stopped opening them entirely. I stopped even looking at the screen, trying to convince myself that if I just ignored the no
DAMON'S POV: I did not sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing the photograph, so I gave up on rest entirely. I sat in my study with the door locked tight and the curtains pulled shut. The only light in the room came from the bright blue glow of my computer screens. The message Isabelle received was still open on the main monitor, and that photograph of her penthouse was staring right back at me. It felt like a direct warning. I must have spent four straight hours looking at it, checking every tiny detail, every pixel, and every shadow in the background. Whoever took the picture knew what they were doing. They stood across the street, likely hidden on a high rooftop or sitting inside a car with tinted glass. The text itself came from a simple burner phone, the cheap types you buy with cash and throw in the trash two minutes later. It was untraceable by normal means. Luckily, I do not operate by normal means. I have access to private networks, useful conne
ISABELLE'S POV:Living with Damon was nothing like I had imagined.I had expected tension. I had expected awkwardness. I had expected the sort of polite distance that comes from two people trying to share a space while pretending they are not desperately in love with each other.But there was no distance ro politeness but only wonderful heat.We could not keep our hands off each other. It was as if eight years of separation had built up a pressure inside us that could not be contained, a hunger that could not be satisfied, a need that grew stronger with every passing day.I would walk past him in the hallway and his hand would find my waist, pulling me against me, his lips finding mine before I could even say a word. I would be making tea in the kitchen and he would appear behind me, his arms wrapping around my body, his breath warm on my neck. I would be reading in the library and he would sit beside me, his fingers tracing patterns on my thigh, his eyes dark with want.It was intoxi
DAMON'S POV: One evening, we were sitting together in the main living room and she was curled up comfortably on the long leather sofa, holding a thick novel in her hands, her long dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. I was sitting in the armchair directly across from her, pretending to analyze a stack of security reports, but mostly just enjoying her company. "Why are you looking over at me like that?" she asked suddenly, her eyes still fixed on the page she was reading. I felt a sudden splash of warmth hit my face. I had been caught completely off guard. "I am not staring," I replied, keeping my voice calm as I set my paper down. "I am simply appreciating the view." She looked up from her book, her brown eyes bright with playful amusement. "Appreciating the view?" she repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Is that what you are calling it now?" "It is meant as a genuine compliment." "It is a bit funny." I let out a low chuckle,
DAMON'S POV:I moved Isabelle into my estate the very same afternoon.I did not give her room to second-guess the decision. I did not ask for a formal agreement or wait for a long discussion. I simply walked into her penthouse suite, packed her essential belongings into two solid travel bags, and told her in a clear voice that she was coming home with me right then. She did not argue with my decision. She did not try to put up a fight. She just looked up at me with those deep brown eyes, full of genuine trust and quiet understanding, and gave me a simple nod.I disliked seeing that subtle worry in her expression. It bothered me deeply that she had to feel uneasy simply because she was associated with my name. It bothered me that her peaceful routine was being disrupted because of the complex career paths I had chosen over the years. I disliked the fact that my history had brought unexpected complications into her world.But I was completely determined to ensure that no harm ever
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







